“I’m leaving the door cracked so I can hear if you need anything.”
“I don’t want you listening to me pee. Go away. I’ll call if I need you.”
“I could just wait here.” He crosses his arms over his chest and stares down at me with a clear challenge.
“Fine!” I grit through my teeth, and he closes the door most of the way. Shimmying my pants down isn’t easy. I have no idea how I’m going to get them off later. The sounds of their murmurs can be heard through the door, but I can’t make out what they are saying.
Thankfully, the bathroom is tiny, so I can hop while leaning myself on the counter to get to the sink to wash my hands after relieving myself. The door pushes open as soon as the water turns on, and Memphis comes in, looking pale.
My nerves ratchet up. Seeing Memphis unsure and worried freaks me the heck out. Oswald pokes his head into the small room too, taking up all the available remaining space. I focus on his calmness so I don’t really start to panic.
“I’m ready,” I tell them, even though I’m not.
Memphis
My stomach isin knots while Waylynn is in the bathroom. Her foot already looks bad. While I’ve dealt with this kind of shit with Oz—sprains and bloody noses are fairly common at his level with sports—it has never freaked me the fuck out because I always knew he would be okay.
When Waylynn looked up at me, clearly in pain and her chin all bloody, I fucking froze. Oswald steps out of the bathroom, leaving the door cracked a little. “Jesus, I think her foot is broken,” he whispers with urgency.
“Not sprained?” My voice is flat.
“I don’t know, it’s swelling fast.” He pushes his hair back, then shoves my chest roughly as if he just remembered I’m flaking out. “Snap out of it. She’s scared enough already.”
“I’m good,” I lie. Oz rolls his eyes, then the water in the bathroom turns on, and I push past him to get into the bathroom ahead of him. Maybe seeing her standing will help.
Boy, was I fucking wrong.
She’s pale and her lips are a little blue, or maybe it’s just the blood has stained them, making her mouth look like a darker color. Her eyes are wide, and she’s watching me as if I might be able to do something to help, which finally makes me pull my head out of my ass.
“Where are your keys?” I ask after she says she is ready. I think it will be easier for her to get in and out of her own car. The truck doesn’t have great leg room with her crammed in the middle.
“In my purse.”
“I’ll grab it,” Oswald pipes up and disappears behind me.
I step closer to her. “I’m so sorry you got hurt, Waylynn,” I murmur as I lean down to pick her up.
Effortlessly, she wraps her arm around my neck but argues about the position. “I’d rather walk.”
“And I’d rather carry you.” I angle us to get out the door and find Oswald waiting near the apartment entrance with the door already open for us. If I weren’t so worried about jostling her, I could get down the stairs faster, but as it is, I’m thankful that I only live on the second floor.
Oswald ran ahead so the car is parked on the grass right in front of the main door. My arms are shaking a little as I lower her into the front seat, but I manage to set her down as gently as possible.
I slip into the back after closing her door, and Oz backs up, probably doing a burnout on the grass because he’s in such a rush. “The hospital is just a few blocks away,” he tells her as she leans her head back and lets out a heavy breath.
The minute we arrive at the emergency entrance, I hop out of the car, ready to carry her again, but she waves me off and points at a wheelchair in the vestibule. “You are not carrying me through the hospital.”
I think about arguing, but her face is still pinched in pain, so I growl and stomp on the rubber mat for the door to open. “I’ll park and be right in with your purse.” Oswald leans forward and addresses us both, but mostly Waylynn.
It’s a little awkward getting Waylynn into the chair, but she manages it mostly on her own. I spin her, being careful not to hit her foot on anything, because she’s holding it out beyond the footrest.
“Hi,” Waylynn says softly to a woman behind a high counter.
The woman looks Waylynn over, then her eyes rise to me, and they narrow for just a second. It’s like she knows this is my fault. “What’s going on, young lady?”
“Um, I had an accident. I hurt my foot,” Waylynn tells her.
“It looks like your chin has a cut too.” The nurse or whatever she is looks up at me again. I hold her stare, but she can probably see my guilt.
