“Tomorrow, I think,” I said softly. “I’d go tonight, but she’s probably in bed already.”
“Can I help you pack?” said Rem. “And maybe you can give Dr. Lucia a call while you’re at it, too.”
“Thanks, Rem.” I leaned forward on the couch to hug my best friend, knowing I’d miss him most.
“So,” Rem said as we both got to our feet to head down the hallway to my bedroom. “Jake Collins. If you don’t want him, can I have him?”
Chapter3
Korbin
“Jesus Christ, Tate, did you get lost?” I leaned down and peered into the driver’s side of Hansen’s truck, scowling at my best friend.
“What are you talking about, man? I’m only three minutes late.” Hansen grinned and got out of the truck, reaching out for me as I hobbled to the other side of the truck, a crutch under each arm. I’d never needed crutches before, not until now, and if I had it my way, I would burn the motherfuckers in a glorious flame and dance on the charred metal.
“Let me help,” Hansen said, his body unnaturally close to mine as he reached once more for my arm—or anything, really, to lend a hand. But I brushed him off until he finally forfeited and stepped back, hands in the air. “No need to bite my head off.”
“Thanks, man, but I got it.” Deciding it was too much work to stow the crutches in Hansen’s backseat, I threw one crutch, and then another, with unnecessary force into the bed of his truck, hearing them cling against the steel of the truck with a satisfying bang. I looked at Hansen, who only watched me with raised eyebrows.
“Well, now we’re late,” he said as I lowered myself into the cab of the truck, wincing as smoldering embers started up in my knee, radiating down my leg and into my toes. While the surgery a few days ago had been successful, for the most part, the pain was real, and my refusal to take any sort of pain medication was coming back to bite me in the ass. Now I had to have my best friend drive me like a toddler across town for my surgery follow-up with the doctor. Things couldn’t be better.
Hansen hopped into the driver’s side and clipped his seatbelt into place. Then he stared silently over at me until I did the same. He leaned forward and peered at the front window of the house, a grin forming on his lips.
“Wave to your mommy,” he said, eyes landing on the front window where my mother stood behind the glass, waving at us, spectacles nearly falling off her nose. With a groan I raised one hand up and waved goodbye to my mother as Hansen started the engine and pulled out of the driveway.
“How has it been being home again?” he asked. “Is your mom happy to have you?”
“She’s Italian, of course she is,” I muttered. “She won’t stop hovering. She’s like a frail little mother hen thinking I’m some broken-down little chick she has to save.”
“I’m sure she appreciates your company,” said Hansen. I knew he was probably right, so I didn’t retaliate with some snarky comment. “Speaking of company, how is Amanda? Is she still hanging around like a lost puppy?” he laughed good naturedly, but I groaned.
“She stops by at least once a day,” I said. “She’s even offered to drive me to my appointments, too, but I just can’t do it.”
“How come?”
“I don’t think the feelings we have for each other mean the same thing,” I said with a shrug. “I think she wants something more, and I don’t. But, to be fair, the help is nice. She brings dinner sometimes.”
“Well at least there’s that,” Hansen said with a laugh, shaking his head. “She’s not bad to look at, you know. I’m surprised the feelings aren’t mutual.”
“I haven’t had feelings for a woman in years,” I told him honestly. “And it’s not about to start happening now.”
“Fair enough.”
Silence settled between us for a moment, but it was a tense silence. Finally, Hansen looked over at me, looking serious suddenly.
“Korbin,” he said, and I could feel that we were treading on dangerous territory, about to cross a partially frozen lake that might or might not collapse beneath our weight. Hansen was testing it.
“Tate,” I said, refusing to look at him. I focused instead on the passing scenery outside the window, at the dreary, drab afternoon that Washington often had to offer us on a silver platter.
“Man, you have to talk to me,” he said, peeling his eyes off the road to look at me. “You haven’t been doing well since the accident. What’s going on?”
“It’s this knee, Hansen,” I said, feeling my teeth smash together in irritation. “It’s fucked me up, put me out of work.”
“It’s only a couple of days,” he said. “The doctor said that you’ll heal, and there’s a high probability that you’ll be able to return to work doing exactly what you’ve always done.”
“The fact that there’s any probability at all is what worries me,” I muttered. “Because what if it doesn’t? What if I can never return to the firehouse again? I was aiming for that promotion, Hansen. And now this? Maybe I should just quit while I’m ahead.”
“Come on, man, don’t think like that,” Hansen said, reaching over to grab my shoulder. “You of all people knew the dangers of the job when you signed up, you know. I believe your exact words were, ‘I laugh in the face of danger. Muahahahaha.’”
