And she isn’t happy to be here.
Twenty-Six
Colt
The trio moving in through the door bring a combination I both hate and love.
“Hey, bro,” Blake says, his smile obstructed by the mask over his mouth and nose, but I can see it in the flare of his eyes, hear it in his greeting.
Good to see him in person.
Fucking great, despite the circumstances that brought me here.
But it only takes one glance behind him to see that my mom is in a tizzy of epic proportions and my dad is extremely unhappy about being dragged away from whatever it is that he passes his time with these days to be here.
Probably playing games on his phone.
“Hey,” I say.
Blake rolls closer, leans forward and rests his arms on the edge of the bed. “So, this is a change in circumstances, isn’t it?”
I brace for the punchline, knowing Blake’s dark humor often knows no bounds.
“Usually, I’m the one in a hospital bed.”
Okay, that wasn’t so bad.
I snort.
Blake grins.
My mom tsks.
My dad has his face buried in his phone, doing his best to forget the rest of us exist.
Kylie reaches over me, hand extended. “Blake,” she says as their palms meet, “it’s lovely to meet you in person.”
“Have you washed your hands?”
Kylie stills at the sharp question from my mom and slowly straightens. “I’m sorry?”
“For not washing your hands?” My mom rushes over, reaching into the giant bag she calls a purse and extracting a bottle of hand sanitizer. “Hospitals are filthy places.” She squirts a glob of sanitizer into Blake’s palm and then her own and starts rubbing her palms together furiously. “Then again, I wouldn’t expect most people to know that.”
Blake rolls his eyes—because really, what else is there to do when our mom is in a mood like this?—then looks at Kylie. “Nice to meet you too.” A wink before he turns my way again. “Told you she was way too hot for you, bro.”
I try to smile.
I really do.
But my mom is fluttering around behind him, muttering to herself as she continues to rifle through her bag, and I know nothing good is going to come of this interaction.
Blake’s eyes grow serious. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” I say automatically.
He looks up at Kylie.
“He has thirty-six stitches in his head, a Grade Two concussion, and a dislocated shoulder.”
