“Red isn’t a flavor.” Jack shrugged, fighting back disappointment that Callum hadn’t magically known Jack could have stood to see his face in that moment.
“You’re awake.” Landon sat in the vinyl guest chair and looked appraisingly at him. When he completed his mental inventory of Jack, he said, “You gave us quite a fucking fright, dude.”
“I didn’t mean to. You didn’t need to come.”
“Where’s Joseph?”
“Kentucky.”
“With Bowie?”
Jack nodded and shoved some of the chopped jello into his mouth. Joseph, of course, had been his only remaining local point of contact for emergencies, and he’d left for Kentucky very soon after Jack had seen them last. Jack did have his friends at the shelter, but none of them would be keen on emergency contact status so Jack just never updated it.
“At least it’s not green,” he said, forcing a mouthful of jello down his throat.
“Jack,” Landon finally said, breaking the silence.
“I thought I’d just eaten something off. I didn’t know it was anything serious.”
“You could have died. The doctor didn’t sound positive when he called Verity yesterday, dude.”
Jack rested against the bed. He knew the problem with his appendix had been caught early. He knew how lucky he was. It could have been so much worse. He hadn’t really been all that near death, but he wasn’t going to argue the point with Landon right now.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare anyone, but see? I’m fine. All cleaned out and just a little sore.”
“How long are they keeping you here for?”
“Four days, they said.”
Four days without his phone. Four days without Callum, who was probably going to lose his mind from the silence. Jack thought about stealing Landon’s phone and searching Callum out on social media, but he was sore and he was tired and he didn’t want to explain any of it to Landon until he felt at least marginally better. Maybe tomorrow.
“I’ve always wanted to spend a weekend in July in the hospital in New York. You’ve made all my dreams come true,” Landon told Jack with a dramatic roll of his eyes.
“You don’t need to stay. I’m fine.”
“Yeah, you’re fine here for four days, then what are you going to do? I mean come on, do you still live in that shitty little walk-up?”
“God, no. I have a place in East Harlem. Elevator and everything.” Jack puffed his chest then deflated, resting against the pillows.
“What are you going to do about work while you’re healing?” Landon pushed.
“What do you mean, while I’m healing?” Jack would go back to work as soon as he got out of the hospital. He had clients who depended on him.
“You’re joking, right? You seriously cannot expect they’re going to send you out of here with no restrictions. It’s like at least a two week healing time.”
“I’m fine, Landon.” Jack felt annoyed and all he wanted to do was go to work so he could get his damn phone and call Callum.
“You could have fucking died, Jack! You could have died.” Landon yelled at him in a surprising show of emotion.
“Landon…”
“Septicemia, peritonitis. Jack, you cannot go back to work in four days. You’ve gotta take it easy. I’m staying until you’re cleared.”
“This pillow is shit,” Jack said in lieu of addressing Landon’s commitment.
“I’m staying.”
“Whatever,” Jack snarked.
