“Your mother doesn’t like it when I try to organize her things,” my father said, startling me as I taped the last box.
“I’m sorry, did I wake you?” I asked, dusting myself off.
He shrugged. “You’re quiet, but our stairs never did allow for stealth.”
“True,” I said with a wry grin, thinking about how I’d had to get creative when I’d snuck out in high school. Gesturing to the closet, I asked, “Do you want me to put it back the way it was?”
He shuddered, then shook his head. “God, no. I’ll sleep better knowing it’s been fixed.”
“I’m surprised you could sleep at all knowing that there was a closet in this house that wasn’t properly organized.”
He lifted a shoulder. “Your mother is patient with my fastidious ways, so a single messy closet seemed like a fair trade.”
“That’s a good way of thinking about it.”
We went quiet, neither of us much for small talk. After a long moment, my father asked, “Son, what are you really doing here?”
I hung my head. “I, uh?—”
“This thing with Hendrix is serious, isn’t it?”
I rubbed my jaw. We’d never discussed matters of the heart, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d been referring to both Hen’s health and my feelings for him. Either way, the answer was the same.
“Yes.”
“We love having you here, but I’m curious—why aren’t you staying with him?”
“He’s at Ozzie’s. They don’t need me underfoot.”
“Hmm.” He nodded to himself. “Your mom wants us all together for breakfast, but she’ll understand if you decide to spend the rest of your time with him.”
I wasn’t sure which was more uncomfortable, waiting till after breakfast to return to Hen or having my father express his understanding. “I don’t want her to think?—”
He held up a hand. “She knows.”
“Okay.” I let out a relieved breath. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Of course.” He knocked on the doorframe. “Sleep well. Also, if you don’t tell your mom about the closet, I won’t, either.”
“Fine, but when she finds it, I’m letting you take the blame.”
He chuckled, then left me alone with my thoughts. Despite the long day and the impromptu closet organization, sleep didn’t come for a long, long time.
CHAPTER 3
hendrix
I woke up early, earlier than I had in years. I was blurry as I watched the sunrise through half-open shutters. I didn’t know how long I lay there, going in and out of sleep as the sky brightened. I knew I was in Ozzie’s guest room. I remembered that much. I couldn’t remember the name of the guy who’d driven me to the airport, but he’d been solid.
I should probably send his kids to college or whatever.
I went to scratch my nose and ended up painfully tugging on an IV line in the back of my hand.
Following the tubing, I squinted, spying a banana bag hanging from an IV pole. Another bag, nearly empty, contained some kind of creamy liquid. I followed the line from that bag to my nose and realized it was the cause of the itch. A feeding tube was taped to my nose and cheek.
I swallowed, now aware of the tube that wound its way through my sinuses and down my throat. Shit was thoroughly unpleasant.
My eyes went back to the IV in my hand.
