“Shouldn’t we call 911?” Pete sounds panicked.
“Dorothy is faster,” Latson says.
“You and that damn car. Jen!” Pete’s voice is next to my ear. “Can you hear me?”
I nod because I can.
“What’s wrong? Can you breathe? Open your eyes!”
I squint. “Stop yelling,” I croak out. “My stomach is killing me. It hurts to take a deep breath.”
“Is it the same thing as this morning?”
“Only a thousand times worse.”
Latson holds me tighter, and I clench his shirt in my fist in response to the pain. Leave it to me to feel like I’m birthing an alien in his arms. I can’t even enjoy the feeling of being held in them.
Before long I hear the rumble of an engine. Latson starts to walk and Pete stops him.
“Give her to me,” my brother says. “I’m riding with you. Are you going to Mercy?”
“Yes,” Latson says before handing me over.
I open my eyes as I’m jostled from one person to the next. Felix jumps out of a black muscle car and rounds the front, drawing my attention to the white stripes that run the length of the hood. “Is she going to be all right?”
“Estare bien,” I mumble against Pete’s chest. I’ll be fine.
“Let’s hope so,” my brother mutters.
Latson opens the passenger door and pulls the seat forward. Pete sets me in the backseat. As he buckles me in he says, “You’re killing me, Little J. You know that? You should have stayed home.”
“So I could pass out all alone? No thanks.” I wince. Damn pain.
Pete gives me a worried look. He knows I’m right.
The guys jump into the front seat and as soon as the doors slam shut, Latson tears away from the curb. “We’ll be there in twenty minutes, tops,” he says as he maneuvers through traffic.
I try to settle against the soft leather of the seat beneath me and pull my legs up to the side. Latson steers with one hand as he pulls his cell from his back pocket. He pushes a button and tells it to “Call Dad.”
His phone responds. “Calling Dad.”
“Are you sure?” my brother asks. “When’s the last time you talked to him?”
“Two years ago,” Latson answers.
~~~~
The lighting in the hospital room is dim. I blink to focus and search the walls for a clock. Hearing the slow tick, I find it by the television. It’s almost two a.m. I’ve been here for seven hours.
My head rolls against the flat pillow and I look down. I still have my IV. I silently thank the nurse who injected the morphine into the tube to kill my pain. After that, I didn’t care how many vials of blood they had to take. I didn’t care that I had to put on a backless hospital gown. And I didn’t care when they used the same tube to inject dye into my body for a CT scan. All that mattered was finding out what was wrong.
I look in the opposite direction and find Pete asleep in a chair beside my bed. His head is tilted at an odd angle, which makes his mouth hang open. If I had something to throw, I would totally try to make a basket. I lean over and tap his knee. “Hey.”
His eyes fly open. “What?” He blinks. “You’re awake.”
“Yeah. Why are you still here?”
“Like I’d leave you.” He straightens his body and yawns.
“Pete. I really appreciate it, but you can’t sleep in that chair. You’re three times its size. Go home. I need you to pick me up after surgery later.”
He runs his palm over his tired eyes. “Nothing’s changed, has it?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
I can’t believe I have to have surgery. Stupid gallbladder. How can such a tiny organ cause so much pain? Apparently mine is inflamed and full of stones, one of which is blocking some sort of duct. It needs to come out. Thankfully the procedure is outpatient, and I won’t have to stay in the hospital very long.
I smile innocently at Pete. “You’re going to have to wait on me for the next five days. Instead of sitting here, you should make yourself useful and go to the store. I’ll need plenty of apple pies and coffee.”
“Nope.” He leans forward. “You heard Latson’s dad. You have to watch what you eat, at least for a while.”
I frown. After my problem was diagnosed, I got a visit from my surgeon. Latson’s father drew a diagram of what was happening, explained laparoscopic surgery, and told me how long it would take to recover. He was patient and reassuring. He also looked like an older, gray-haired, more distinguished version of his son.
“Why is it you listen to him but ignore me?” I ask Pete. “I told you to leave and get some sleep. Instead you chose to stay and remind me of my restricted diet.”
“He’s a medical professional,” my brother says. “You’re just my stubborn sister.”
“Who you love,” I say sarcastically.
“I … ” Pete’s expression morphs from playful to serious. “I know I don’t say it, but I do.” He hesitates. “You scared me today. I’d be a mess if something happened to you.”
I’m not sure how to react. This is a side of my brother I’ve never seen. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Honestly, I scared myself.” I pull the blanket higher on my waist. “I’ll try not to do it again, if that makes you feel better.”
Pete smiles. “It does. Thanks.”
It’s awkward being emotional with my brother. Maybe he is finally growing up. He’s a manager now, and his apartment looks different. I haven’t seen him play a video game since I’ve been here. He’s a health nut, and I’ve caught him staring at Jules like he can’t live without her. Not that I didn’t like the old Pete, but mature Pete is pretty awesome. Even if he is overprotective.
“Well,” I say, “since I’m doing you the favor of not dying, could you do me a favor?”
“What’s that?”
“Go home.” I shove his leg. “Hug Jules. Get some rest. I plan on sleeping until they wheel me into the operating room.”
He stretches. “Are you sure? I don’t want to leave you if you’re nervous.”
I am a little anxious, but there’s nothing he can do about it. “I’m sure. I’ll see you tomorrow when they prep me for dissection.”
He scowls. “That’s gross. You’re not a frog.”
I grin. “I promise I won’t croak.”
Pete rolls his eyes.
“Hopefully the anesthesia won’t make me sick. I mean, green.”
“Stop.”
“Just think. I’ll feel toad-ally new again in a few days.”
“Really?”
“Then I’ll be able to jump right into work.”
“You’re pathetic.”
I laugh. “I’ll keep going if you don’t –”
“Fine.” My brother stands and holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m leaving.”
“Say hi to Jules for me.”
“Will do.” He gives my shoulder a nudge before he walks toward the door. “I’ll see you later. Go back to sleep.”
“Okay. See you later.”
The door closes behind him and I decide to get comfortable. I’m finally alone for a few hours. I’ve had someone poking, scanning, or talking to me since I fell over. I find the control pad that adjusts my bed and start to play with it.
“I forgot.”
“Geez!” I jump as the door opens.
Pete points. “The nurse button is right there. Call them – or me – if you need anything.”
I sigh. “I got it.”
He waves. “Okay. Bye.”
“Gooooodbye,” I drag out the word.
The door closes again.
That boy is worse than my parents. I pity his kids, if he ever has any. Which reminds me: I need to call my mom and dad before surgery. Pete called them when I was admitted, but I haven’t spoken to them personally.
The door opens again.
“Now what?” I groan. “This is getting –”
Latson sticks his head inside the room and looks around. “Is he gone?”
My stomach does a little flip. “Yes,” I say, uncertain. “Did you need Pete? He just left.”
“No.” Latson steps inside. “I came to see you.”
Really? I take in my tall, handsome, tattooed neighbor-boss. He walks over to the chair my brother occupied and pulls it closer to my bed. “Is it just me or does Pete get weird when you’re around guys?”
“He gets weird,” I confirm. I gather my hair and pull it over one shoulder. I’m sure I look like crap with a capital C.