“Let’s call it outside-adjacent, to be safe,” I hedge. “You’ll still be on hospital property, but there’s fresh air and a view.”
“That doesn’t sound terrible.”
He’s trying so hard to be cool about it but sits up too quickly to hide his true feelings. The rushed movements make him recoil in pain, and I rush to his side.
“Hold up, Hotshot. Let me just check a few things before Becky revokes your field trip privileges,” I urge gently before taking his forearm in my hand to flipping it over and check the line taped to his arm. “Nice and slow.”
The IV’s already been capped—no wires or monitors still hooked up.
Emmett gives a dry grunt. “She unhooked me this morning. Guess they finally trust me not to flatline.”
“It’s a whole new world now,” I tease, unlocking the wheelchair brake and moving it closer. “The air is clearer today, but if at any point you feel short of breath, I need you to tell me so we don’t do more harm than good with this adventure.”
“Cross my heart,” he says, but I’m certain he’d agree to anything to get outside.
“Ready?”
I let him do most of the work, only providing some stability as he rises. “There you go,” I say when he’s standing, and the look he shoots me is dangerous enough to kill.
“Just humor me.” I tighten my grip on his elbow, taking some of his weight as he lowers into the chair with a cringe.
“Get me the hell out of here,” he grumps with none of the venom from before.
Laughing, I set the brown bag on his lap, unlocking the wheels. “Your meal, sir.”
He glances over his shoulder, his mouth pulled to the side. “You brought me lunch.”
“Don’t get too excited; it’s from the cafeteria and part of your approved food plan.”
“So, same shit, different day.”
“But in a brown bag.” If sarcasm was healing, Emmett would be discharged here and now. The only indication that he appreciates my tone is a grunted exhale.
I turn him toward the nurses’ station as we leave his room.
“Give her a lick of trouble and I’ll be an even bigger pain in your ass for the rest of your stay,” Becky warns without looking up.
Emmett huffs out something that sounds a little like a chuckle.
“I’d tell you she’s all bark and no bite, but that’d be a lie,” I whisper conspiratorially.
“I heard that!” she yells after us.
“You were supposed to.” My retort comes easily. My half-baked plan to cheer him up is as much for me as it is for him.
Humming along with the piped-in music, I press the button to call the elevator.
“You seem like you’re enjoying babysitting me far too much.”
I doubt he intends it as a dig at me. From what I’ve gathered he’s more about the self deprecation than outright putting down others.
“Are people not normally happy to be in your company?
“Never,” he grumbled.
Once we’re inside, I lock the wheels and reach around him to hit the G. “You need better friends, Emmett Slate.”
“We both know I’m not Mr. Popularity,” he says as we start our descent.
