“I do,” Eddie said. “Dylan always has the best sexstories.”
“Yeah, but we didn’t come here to talk about sex, babe. That ship has sailed,remember?”
Eddie’s expression was so comically downcast that a real belly chuckle escaped Dylan. He got up and rounded the counter and took her in his arms, squeezing her tight in a hug that felt far too much like a goodbye to keep him laughing for long. “We can’t fuck anymore, Eddie, but you’ve still got first scoop on all my escapades,okay?”
“I’d better have.” Eddie sniffed and squeezed him back. “We’re going to missyou.”
“I’ll miss you too. I already miss you, actually.” Dylan sensed Sam behind him and let Eddie go, turning to embrace his best friend. “When are yougoing?”
“Erm... tomorrow,” Sam mumbled into Dylan’sshoulder.
“What?” Dylan squirmed and tried to back off, but Sam heldfirm.
“Don’t,” he said. “This is hard enough. I can’t handle a long farewell,mate.”
Neither could Dylan. He held Sam until it didn’t make sense to hold himanymore.
And then he saidgoodbye.
Chapter Twelve
The A& E doctor pressed his gloved fingers under Angelo’s arms and frowned. “Take a breath forme?”
Angelo inhaled a shaky breath, willing his body to stay upright as the devastatingly hot doctor examined him. Seriously. When did British hospitals start getting doctors who looked like him? He thought about snapping a sneaky picture with his phone but then remembered that it was still locked in the gutted deli, and not vomiting became hispriority.
“Lean forward,buddy.”
Angelo leaned forward. The doctor’s hands glanced over his bruised ribs, and Angelowinced.
“Almost done,” the doctor said. “You look like you’re about to pass out on me. Is the pain thatbad?”
“Not in my ribs.” Angelo fought his heavy eyes. “My head. And mychest.”
The doctor said something, but Angelo missed it and fell forwards. His head hit the doctor’s shoulder and he stayed there for a little while. The bloke smelled nice, though not as nice as Dylan. No one smelled likeDylan.
“All right,” the doctor said. “I’m going to lay you down and take some blood. Breathe the oxygen, okay? It’llhelp.”
Help with what?But Angelo was too far gone to form the words. Someone else in the room?—Theresa, maybe?—spoke and then came closer, gripping Angelo’s hand. But he pulled away, even though he was dimly aware that something had changed between them. A needle pierced his skin and the nice smelling doctor touched cold metal to Angelo’s bare chestagain.
“Angelo, buddy... look atme.”
No.
“Angelo.” Theresa shook him. “Listen to thedoctor.”
Listening and looking weren’t the same thing, but Angelo forced his eyes open, squinting against the harsh overheadlight.
“Good,” the doctor said. “How is yourbreathing?”
Angelo shook his head. “I?—I don’tknow.”
The doctor seemed to accept the non-answer, like perhaps he was expecting it. He removed his stethoscope from Angelo’s sternum. “I’m sending you for a chest X-ray, but I think you may have pneumonia. It’s quite common in patients with chronic fatigue syndrome, and you might’ve been carrying it for awhile.”
Angelo’s head swam as he glanced at Theresa. Her face held no surprise?—clearly the ME wasn’t new information to her?—but Angelo had no idea when that had happened. He coughed and fire spread through his chest. His eyes watered and his skull throbbed, and it was all he could do not to vomit on the hot doctor’s vintageNikes.
Almost.
After, he settled for passing out. And he came round sometime later to Theresa holding a plastic cup of stale water to hislips.
