“What happened to you?” I tug my own ear. “Are you okay?”
He scrubs a hand down his face before looking around theroom. “You were admitted after being unable to stay awake, and you’re wondering about my ear?”
I nod.
“Stay awake, Wifey. I promise to tell you the story when we get home.”
Wifey? That’s the second time he’s gone with that term. A man so imposing and formidable calling me Wifey kind of cracks me up.
“Is your motorcycle okay?”
“I hope it’s where I left it. I haven’t been home yet.”
“Why not?”
His eyes bug and his neck jerks, and a sinister mask falls over his features. “Because you were targeted this afternoon. Because I thwarted a break-in and then you were targeted in a place I promised you would be safe. Because, Lorien, you are here.” He enunciates every word as if he’s spitting projectiles.
“Oh.”
Liam
“Oh.” Staring at the ceiling, I count to three. “She says ‘oh’. Give me strength.”
“Are you praying?”
I am, in fact, seeking patience in this situation. This woman is infuriating and wild and, apparently, drove into and through a brick wall as she removed the driver’s side door from its hinge, scraping it along a tow truck. If Cian is telling the truth, and I don’t think the man knows how to lie, she chanted, “Oh crêpe, oh crêpe, oh crêpe,” until she stopped saying anything at all.
He arrived less than sixty seconds later, scooping her into his truck, having enough clarity of mind to grab her purse and keys, and took her to the ER. He’s no expert, but there’s no way herten-year-old import isn’t totaled. So, car shopping is now on the agenda, after locking down her townhome like Fort Knox, adding more cameras, doing some defensive driving courses, and maybe a handgun course.
Maybe that’s overkill. Butkillis the only word in that sentence that sticks in my mind.
“Why are you pinching the bridge of your nose? Do you have a headache? I have something in my purse for that.” She twists, looking around before uttering a low groan.
My wife’s in the hospital. I’d bet my life savings she won’t take kindly to being wrapped in bubble wrap, and she keeps worrying about me instead of getting better. “It’s been a day.”
“You can say that again.”
“Are you hungry?”
As if asking triggered her hunger, her stomach growls. She throws her hands over it, like that’ll make it quieter.
“Be right back.” I wander into the hall, asking the man at the nurse’s station the status of discharge and if Lorien is allowed to eat. While he’s checking, I update the group chat.
Me: Awake and ornery. No clue on discharge. Will keep you posted.
Sariah: Let us know when she’s up for visitors.
Ayla: Glad things are good. We’ve got to stop having these kinds of group texts. Let’s do babies instead.
Sariah: That’s on you. I’m tapped out for now.
Ayla: I meant Liam.
I choke on my own spit and throw myself into a coughing fit.
Cian: Leave the poor man alone. He’s had a heck of a weekend.
Ayla: But it’s his turn.
