“Wh’h’ppned?” Miles goes back to barely managing to articulate his words, but the doctor doesn’t seem fazed.
Pulling out a penlight, he leans over the bed and gently lifts Miles’s left eyelid, peering into the eye before repeating the process on the right, nodding when Miles flinches. “What do you remember?”
Miles closes his eyes and the frown he’s wearing deepens. “W’rk.” He pauses, then cracks his eyes open, seemingly forcing himself to speak clearly, talking slowly and with significant effort, “Dmitri was there.”
“That’s excellent, Miles,” the doctor smiles again. “Anything else?”
Miles gives it a moment before shaking his head, then grimacing.
“Headache?” asks the doctor.
“Uh-huh.” Miles scrunches his eyes shut. “Wh’re’m’I?”
“You’re in the hospital,” the doctor answers in the same calm, genial tone he’s been using since we were rushed in here. “You touched a live wire and, for lack of a better term, were electrocuted. The force from the electricity and the pain threw you back, and you hit your head when you fell. You’ve been in and out of consciousness for a little while, but this is the first you’ve been lucid since the accident.”
Miles winces again. “Shit. I forgot…” He gives his head another shake, this one slower than the last. “’M in trouble.”
“With who?” prods the doctor.
“M’boss,” Miles sighs.
“Accidents like this happen to even the most seasoned professionals,” the doctor assures him. “Your boss is probably going to be more concerned about your recovery than any mistakes you may have made.”
Miles deflates, seeming to slump even further into the flimsy hospital pillow. His eyelids droop, and the doctor peppers him with a few more questions, then explains he’s also being monitored for a concussion.
“You’ll be kept in for at least twenty-four hours for observation,” the doctor finally explains, “because we’re especially concerned about your body spasms and twitching. It could just be residual trauma from the shock, but if it continues, I’d like to check for nerve damage. Your only job right now is to rest and not think too hard, okay? Very minimal screen time for the next forty-eight hours, and then we can talk about reintroducing some light, non-strenuous movement into your routine.”
Miles frowns. “But…work?” Even though he looks tired, he’s more alert, and isn’t slurring his speech as much. Even I know that’s a good sign.
“Ideally, I think you need to take at least a week off to recover. And I’d like it if you had someone with you monitoring you for that time, too. Just in case there are any complications from the electrocution that we’ve missed.”
“I don’t really have anyone who—”
Miles starts, but I interrupt with, “You’ve got me.”
He startles, then winces, but still sits up a bit straighter, squinting and scanning the room until his gaze lands on me. A billion micro expressions flit over his handsome face in the span of a few seconds, everything from relief to disbelief to guilt. “You don’t have to.”
Even if I wasn’t feeling guilty for causing his distraction and landing him here in the first place, I would be saying the same thing. “Darling boy, Iwantto.”
He bites his lip, his cheeks dusting a pretty pink color. “Okay.”
And that’s that.
Chapter Eleven
“So…this is your place,” I say with a hint of curiosity as Dmitri helps me out of the passenger seat of his car. He has been practically glued to my side since the accident, only leaving the hospital when the nurses kicked him out for overstaying visiting hours.
Dmitri lives in a cozy little cottage-style home, it seems. With its white picket fence, steep, gabled roof, and inviting porch (complete with two white rocking chairs), I never would have guessed that this big, burly, tattooed man lives here.
Then again, he’s one of the sweetest people I’ve ever met, so maybe it does fit him.
“Home sweet home,” he acknowledges with a smile, then reaches to unlatch the front gate. He presses his palm into the small of my back and guides me up the cobblestone path, letting the gate shut behind us. “Just be careful of Juniper. She doesn’t realize how big she is and she gets excited sometimes.”
I frown. “Who’s—"
A deep, loud bark sounds from the other side of the front door, cutting me off.
“That’s Junie,” he answers my unfinished question fondly, then slides his key into the lock. Before he turns it, though, he pauses. “You’re okay with dogs, right? Not allergic or afraid of them?”
