Hmph.
“Come on.Sit down.You’re recovering from surgery, you have decent painkillers on board, and youneed the rest, Damien.Humor me.”
I grudgingly let him get me settled on the sofa in the front parlor, a small room that lacked the comfy vibes of the sitting room but had the benefit of not smelling like smoke and burned carpet.“One of Max’s movies is on,” I said, grabbing the remote from the side table.“Want to watch it with me so I can give him shit about it later?”
“You need my help for that?”
“No, I could watch it on my own but it’s more fun to make fun of baby Max with a friend.”I patted the sofa cushion beside me.Charlemagne took that as his cue and jumped up, curling into a kitty comma and propping his chin on his paws.He sent Ben a defiant glare that saidI dare you.
Ben’s lip twitch was more obvious this time.“I’ll take the recliner.”
A tiny part of me was disappointed, but a larger part was just exhausted.My fresh cast itched like hell and my arm throbbed.The singed patch of my hair didn’thurtbut it feltwrong.The scalp beneath was little sore, like a mild sunburn, and my discomfort was more from the knowledge it looked weird than any actual damage.But still!Gingerly, I reached up to touch the stubbly, tender spot, my lips twisting into a pout.
“It looks fine,” Ben said quietly.“You can’t even tell really, not when you brush your hair like that.”
“Really?”I started to reach for the spot again, caught myself, and shoved my hand under my thigh.“I was thinking I should just shave it all off and start over.”
“Wouldn’t that be a problem, getting roles?”
“Ah...maybe?”
Ben’s gaze was searching for a long moment or two, roving over my face, reading something there that made his own expression ease a bit.“It’d be a shame if you did.I like your hair.”
I tried to respond with something witty and urbane but all that came out was a squeakyOh.
Ben disappeared into the kitchen while I brought up the movie on the big screen over the fireplace.When he returned, Ben had snacks and drinks as well as the bottle of painkillers I’d been hoping to avoid.“Those make me sleepy,” I complained.
“Take the hint,” he teased, handing one of the soft throw pillows to me.“Rest will help you feel better.”
“Swear to god, you and Max will get on great when he finally gets to come visit,” I sighed, giving in to the yawn.My jaw popped and eyes watered, an embarrassingly loud groan of exhaustion escaping with my exhale.“Sorry, sorry,” I muttered, eyes heavy as the movie started, my best friend’s face, albeit ten years younger, appearing on screen.“He’s a huge believer in the healing power of naps.”
“I like him already,” Ben said, voice low and quiet.
And I was out like a light, before the opening credits finished telling us all about the war-torn planet Max’s character, Prince Varden, was protecting from the hordes of...something blah blah.
When I woke hours later, the room was bathed in the glow of the t.v., the lamps off and curtains pulled.Ben snored softly in the recliner while Charlemagne curled on my chest, opening one eye to glare me into submission.
Muffin pressed his cold nose to my cheek.“I’m fine,” I promised, voice rough and soft.“Go back to sleep.”
Somewhere in the dark, Tony’s tags jangled and his little feet pattered on the floor in his perpetual search for a chew bone.
I closed my eyes and drifted a bit, the weight of the cast on my arm and the dull throb in my ribs background radiation to my exhaustion.But, like it always does, my brain had to be a bit of a bastard and startwhat if-ing me to wakefulness.
Flailing as quietly as I could, I managed to get my phone off the coffee table without dislodging Charlemagne.He’d been given the all clear from the vet in Malm’s Corner and sent on his way with Ben, who was assured they’d call as soon as the usual fosters they worked with had an opening.
So it looked like we had a cat.
Or I had a cat, since he was sleeping on my chest and not Ben’s.
Charlemagne glared at me when I opened my laptop, balancing it precariously on one upraised knee, the bright flash of light making us both squint.Max had sent me a Russian novel length email, which all boiled down toBen emailed Kathleen, are you okay, I’ll murder you myself if you’re notandHoly shit, another one?
I chuffed a small, humorless laugh at that.Fumbling a bit, I managed to reply.
I’m okay.Tired AF.Call you later?
His reply was nearly instant.Video call at 2 pm your time, dorkface.You’d better be there.
I smiled a tiny bit then.I’ll do my best.
