He didn’t remember the trip to the hospital or any of the tests they did. He woke up to his mom hovering over his hospital bed.
When he was finally conscious and coherent, he croaked out, “Elliot?”
His mom ignored him and started crying and fussing over him.
“Mom. I’m fine. Where’s Elliot?”
His mom sniffed, patting his arm. “I don’t know.”
“Where’s my phone?”
“I don’t know.”
“Mom!”
“Damon. Please calm down. Here,” she said. “Text him with mine.”
Damon grabbed it and squinted at the phone. His head started pounding.
The doctor came in. “I don’t recommend looking at screens until your concussion passes.”
Damon’s mom snatched the phone back.
“Concussion?” Damon asked. “How long will I be out?”
“Your concussion should clear up in two weeks, but your broken arm will take longer to heal.”
“My what?” Damon said. He looked at his arms.
The doctor hung an x-ray film on the view box and turned on the backlight. “You have a fracture right here, see? We’ll get you in a cast, but it’ll be about eight weeks until it heals.”
“You got the wrong x-rays, doc,” Damon said. He wiggled both arms around in the air. “My arms are fine.”
The doctor’s eyebrows furrowed. He grabbed Damon’s left arm and poked it, asking if it hurt. He rechecked the x-rays and mumbled something as he left.
Damon turned to his mom. “Can you please text Elliot? Tell him that I’m okay?”
Damon’s mom nodded and texted him, but as the littleswooshof a sent text message filled the room, someone skidded to a stop outside his room.
“Elliot!” Damon said, smiling.
Elliot sighed out a relieved breath. He walked into the room and leaned down, wrapping his arms around Damon. “This hospital is a maze. They moved you twice since I got here,” he mumbled.
Damon hummed and hugged him back. Nothing else mattered. Elliot was here. Everything was okay now.
“I’ll leave you boys alone,” Damon’s mom said, walking out.
Damon nuzzled his nose into Elliot’s neck, breathing in his crisp piney scent. His Elliot scent.
“I was so afraid,” Elliot said. His forehead was pressed to Damon’s shoulder. “It was like—”
Like the car accident, Damon knew he was about to say. He ran his hands up and down his back. “I’m okay. It’s okay.”
Elliot sniffed, and Damon became aware that his shirt was damp with tears.
“Hey,” Damon said, pulling back. “I’m okay, really.”
Elliot tried to smile.
