Page 38 of Grant’s Blaze

I tossed my new phone on the coffee table and stretched out on Elijah’s sofa. It was hard to remember the last time I felt so exhausted after only a half day of work.

The afternoon was even less fun.

For close to three hours, I was poked and prodded at a doctor’s office on the campus of Cedars-Sinai Medical Center. I didn’t care that Dr. Jeff Mallory was the head of the hospital’s neurology department or one of Elijah’s college buddies. I only knew that I felt like a massive piece of meat during the appointment, which included an extensive CT scan and several other evaluative tests.

After that, I met back up with my best friend in the hospital’s cafeteria and then joined him for a stroll across the massive property to the professional building off San Vicente Boulevard. Most of the resident doctors had offices at this location and saw non-emergency appointments here.

When we arrived, the waiting room was deserted. Even the receptionist had her desk cleared off and was ready to depart. I gripped the back of my neck like a life preserver—all under the unyielding scrutiny of my best friend.

“You doing okay, man?” Elijah asked calmly.

“Yeah. Yeah. But would you mind sitting in on this appointment? I’m terrible at remembering this medical stuff.” I exhaled in a whoosh. Just asking the question lessened the muscle tension immeasurably. Even if he turned me down, I felt better just admitting my vulnerability aloud.

“Not sure I’m much better, but yeah, no worries.”

“Thank you for setting all this up.” I fiddled with the new cell that Reina had plunked on my desk just before lunch. Reinstalling my favorite apps was a perfect diversion for ignoring my slashed nerves. “Damn.” Forget the apps. “Really wish Rio were here too.”

“I’m not enough for you, big guy?”

Even before I glimpsed his upturned mouth, I knew he was joking. And I was damn grateful. This guy was the most steadfast friend I had. The only time I could remember him being even slightly disagreeable was when all the shit went down with his psycho ex, Hensley Pritchett. But Santa Claus would’ve been pissy if he had to deal with that woman and her drama. Elijah had been a saint, given the games she’d played with his emotions. No one blamed him for losing his temper every now and then.

At the moment, though, I was getting the side-eye every time he saw me checking my phone. What the hell had happened between him and Rio while I was missing? I couldn’t imagine he would care if I had a steady woman in my life. He hadn’t given Sebastian a hard time when Abbigail came along. Hell, he and I had pushed for that relationship’s success from the moment we caught wind of it. It had changed our friend in a lot of good ways.

“Maybe she’s getting her nails done or something,” he offered, and I spurted out a laugh. The only time Rio wore nail polish was for special occasions. Since she was handling people’s food all day, she insisted on keeping her nails short and unpolished.

Whatever the cause of Elijah’s stress, the mystery would have to go on a little longer. The nurse took me back to meet the doctor and hear what conclusions he’d drawn from today’s test results.

Dr. Mallory was very friendly and seemed incredibly intelligent. Still, by the end of the appointment, I was more frustrated than before. He informed me that I had suffered a series of concussions from the blows to the head by my captors. Because of that, some brain functions had been interrupted, and he didn’t have a clear idea of when—or if—they’d be returning.

Which wasn’t the answer I wanted to hear, but damn it, it was the one that made the most sense. No matter how thoroughly I hated the memories that brought me to that conclusion.

One of my assailants in particular had been keen on smashing the butt of his rifle, shotgun, or pistol into the back of my skull. There were a few times he was brave enough to use his fists and heel of his shitkicker. Of course, the coward would only come that close after I was nearly unconscious and no threat to him whatsoever. Otherwise it was the non-business end of his weapon.

I swore to myself every single night—and yeah, in this moment too—that if I ever came face-to-face with that man again, I’d kill him with my bare hands.

Dr. Mallory offered to run more tests but couldn’t guarantee anything would change. We’d be no closer to a solution than we were now. He mentioned several times that given the events of my adolescence and what I described as happening now, I might benefit from seeing a therapist.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about that particular opinion other than angry. Was the medical doctor pushing me off on a therapist because he couldn’t do his job and figure out the exact physical thing that was wrong with me? Or was I just being a massive douche, refusing to accept there was really nothing wrong with me physically?

Probably the latter, and holy shit. Now I needed to add “hypocrite” along to “douche.” For the past three months, I’d extolled the virtues of therapy to Rio. I’d read professional case studies and private testimonials on individual doctors and group grief counseling centers. You name it, I’d looked at something about it. But the moment a doctor suggested I take the same advice and seek counsel with a professional therapist, what did I do?

Well…fuck.

Thankfully I’d kept most of my struggle internal—so far. At least I didn’t have to worry about eating crow on top of everything else.

That thought scrubbed my brain while I did the same thing to my face with both hands as Elijah sped down the road. He was cool about letting me sit in silence for a while, just looking out the window as Beverly Boulevard’s designer strip malls, gourmet noodle houses, and chichi Pilates studios passed by.

“Which castle, young prince?” he finally queried.

I froze mid neck grab and slowly turned to look at my buddy in the driver’s seat. When I opened my mouth to speak, I burst out laughing instead. The maniacal fit took a few minutes to settle down, and he didn’t seem to mind.

When I finally stopped long enough to get some words out, I asked, “What did you just ask me?” I swiped the tears rolling down my cheeks and sucked in my runny nose. “Holy fuck, man. That felt so good to laugh like that. Thank you.”

I rested my large palm on his shoulder and squeezed with hope that he would give me a quick look when it was safe. Eventually he did, and I squeezed his shoulder again. “Thanks for everything. Honestly. I’m not sure what I would’ve done without you the last five days.” I pulled my hand back, using it to cover my mouth with a brutal slam. I looked back up, hating that I was staving off real tears—and not very successfully. “Elijah, I’m so fucked up.”

My friend accepted my confession as if he were relieved about it. Before I could express my surprise, he gave me a definitive nod. “Why don’t you just tell me what’s going on, Big G? You know I can handle it, right?”

I heaved a breath in and blew it out, punctuating the exhale with a quick nod. “I do, man.”