“Yeah.” I cut off the last bit of bandage, tucking in the loose end, and Andrew exhales with relief.
“Someone was asking about you.” She moves aside and lets the Kid step forward.
“Hey, Kid.” Andrew tries to act more awake and even sits up, but he gasps. Now that he’s not lying down, I can see how his left shoulder slumps; it’s popped out of its socket. He leans against me and his eyes flutter as if he’s getting light-headed. I reach around and brace him, holding his good hand with mine, which he squeezes gratefully. Then he tries his best to smile at the Kid. “How you doing?”
“I lost Bobo.”
“Shit.” Andrew actually sounds disappointed, not like he’s faking it for the Kid’s sake. “I’m sorry, Kid.”
“Who’s Bobo?” I ask.
“His hippo.”
The stuffed animal. “Oh, wait!” I jump up and open the trunk. The handgun is right on top of the stuff I grabbed. I take it, makingsure the safety is on, and tuck it into the back of my jeans. Then I move around the sleeping bags and find the blue stuffed hippo that had been lying on the road. But the arm I grabbed it by is stained with Andrew’s blood.
Sorry, Kid, but at least Mr. Bobo is still alive and with us. I carry it around to him and his eyes light up.
“You rescued him from the alligators!” He reaches for the hippo and hugs it tight.
“Of course he did,” says Taylor. “I mean, he’s the guy who fought off a pack of lions.”
“Wait, what?”
In the car, Andrew snorts and starts to laugh but immediately cries out, wincing. He puts a hand across his heart, his chest muscles probably sore as hell from his arm being pulled from its socket.
Taylor sees Andrew’s pain and says to the Kid, “Why don’t we let Andrew rest for a bit.”
The Kid holds up Bobo’s arm. “He’s bleeding.”
I open my mouth to tell him it’s Andrew’s blood and Mr. Bobo is okay, but realize it’s Bobo’s left arm. Just like Andrew. I reach into the car and grab the scrap of gauze.
“This should help,” I say. “It helped Andrew, see?” I wrap the gauze around the hippo’s arm, and there’s just enough to cover the blood. “There. Brand-new, right, Mr. Bobo?”
“Bobo,” the Kid says, like he’s scolding me.
“Sorry. Right, Bobo?”
“You have to kiss it to make it all better,” Taylor says, smirking. “Everyone knows that.”
I look up at her and she hides her smile behind her hand. So I takeMr.—sorry,justBobo’s—arm and give it a loud kiss.
“There. All better?” I ask. The Kid nods and Taylor laughs as she escorts him away. I put my head back into the car and Andrew is grinning despite his pain.
“What was all that about me fighting off a pack of lions?” I ask.
He snorts again but tries not to laugh. “Yeah, the kids were wired one night after too much sugar at a monthly social, so I told them about DC and the lions.”
“And just made up the part where I fought off an entire pack of lions?”
He nods. “It was more interesting than ‘big cats hate water and it started to rain.’”
So much suddenly makes sense. How all the kids looked at me like I was some awe-inspiring giant, how they were so scared of me at first. And No-Filter Frank asking why I didn’t have scars.
“You’re such a liar,” I say. But I can’t help but laugh now; of course these kids would be intimidated by a tall guy who could take on an entire pack of lions without a scratch. And now they have alligators to add to the myth.
“I prefer the termstoryteller.” I grunt and give him a side-eye. Then he slowly holds up his arm, wincing a bit. “You forgot to kiss mine and make it all better.”
I lean across the back seat and gently kiss him. I don’t let my hands touch him because I know he’s in pain. One kiss. Two kisses. Three.
