He blinks and looks at me. “What?”
“Your ribs. You’re favoring your left side. How are they?”
“Bruised,” he says. “Maybe a hairline fracture. I didn’t get the X-ray.”
“You probably should’ve.”
“No, I’ll be okay.”
He takes a breath and his weight shifts back toward the door, gathering himself to leave. “Can I get you anything from downstairs or bring you anything from Panama City?”
He’s asking if he can bring me something like he’s a concierge at a hotel instead of a stranger visiting a spinal unit.
“No, you don’t have to bring me anything. Thanks for asking though.”
“I know I don’t have to. I’m asking if I can. I want to if there’s something you want or need. Just tell me. Surely there must be something.”
I look at him closer. He’s sincere.
“Well, the coffee here is terrible,” I say.
“Yeah, I know. Tex gave me a cup. It’s an insult to beans everywhere.”
“I heard there’s a better place right down the road. The nurse said their cold brew could raise the dead.”
“Got it,” he says, nodding and backing towards the door. “Cold brew from the place down the road. I’ll be back tomorrow and I’ll bring it to you.”
He’s offering to drive four hours round trip tomorrow to bring me better coffee. I really should tell him there’s no need to make the trip. That he doesn’t need to come back. Ishould say, go home, live your life, it’s not your fault. All the right things. But I’m tired and the drugs they’re giving me are dulling my brain.
“Okay,” I say instead. “Tomorrow works for me. Is Benji your real name?”
He smiles, just for a split-second. “No, my name is Benjamin, but it never stuck. My friends and family call me Benji.”
He stands there for another second, looking at me. The guilt is still there, sitting in the tight set of his shoulders and how he can’t quite hold my eyes for more than a few seconds at a time.
“I’m very relieved you’re alive, Officer Weaver,” he says. “See you tomorrow.” Then he turns and walks out. The door closes behind him with a soft click and I’m alone again.
Well, that was odd.
I shouldn’t want him to come back. There’s no reason for him to. He’s hanging onto this like he somehow caused it, and I should probably put a stop to that.
I’ll clear it up with him tomorrow.
Assuming he actually comes back.
Chapter 8: Benji
The next afternoon, I pick up a pizza for Mickey because it’s the one thing I can do. I can’t fix his spine or travel back in time and get off that stool when Sheila told me to. But I can sure as hell walk into a pizza place and order an extra-large, double stuffed, everything on it with extra pepperonis pizza.
The surest way to every straight man’s heart.
I carry it into the hospital like I belong there, which apparently is all the security the building requires. I also bring two cold brews from the tiny place down the street, because he requested it.
I’d spent the morning at the beach house with Callie’s mother, who had strong opinions about everything. I smiled through all of it and said “absolutely” to whatever she wanted.
I’m wearing the same outfit I wore for the client meeting, a fitted linen shirt and pants and my favorite silver chain, because showing up to a consultation in a wrinkled T-shirt is not something my career can survive. So here I am, strolling through the spinal unit carrying a pizza box in linen like I took a wrong turn to Sunday brunch.
I knock lightly when I reach his door.
