Page 13 of Property of Mongrel

“You’re right,” she concurs. “Have a good night, Addy.”

“You too, Betty. Talk to you tomorrow!”

I split the meal I just made, half going into a bowl and the other into a container that I’ll take into work for lunch the next day. I make enough money to eat out, but with such a limited time, I’d rather make something at home and have the majority of my lunch break available to read or even do a little bit of online shopping.

Once the dishes are in the dishwasher and my lunch is packed, I take my bowl, spoon, and water and head into my room. I’ve already locked the house down and my security alarm is set, so now it’s time to eat and chill.

Too bad there’s nobody to chill with… that would put the cherry on top of the sundae.

CHAPTER

SEVEN

Mongrel

While I’m comfortable thanks to the wild pillow that Gretchen found that keeps my shoulder immobilized, as well as the ice contraption that Doc set up, sleep doesn’t come easy. It’s more of a light doze as my mind plays over everything that the discharge paperwork said was in my future. My shoulder and arm are still pleasantly numb, although Doc did make sure to leave a pain pill and some water on my nightstand. He mentioned something about getting ahead of the pain, which I don’t understand at all, and made me promise that if I woke up and could feel my arm I would take it even if the nerve block was still partially working.

Sighing, I grip the remote and turn my television on, finding a streaming service to use. One of the good things about living in the clubhouse is we have every available package we could ever want, from ESPN to Paramount Plus, with the exception of any ‘adult’ channels. Since porn has never been my thing to watch, I personally don’t care and I’d hazard a guess that the other brothers don’t either. I snicker when I click on ‘Boy Child 1’ which is the ID I use while streaming online, along with several other brothers, then I scroll to the series that I’ve been binging.

Since I’m the one who is currently watching Criminal Minds Evolution, I’m able to pick up where I last watched. Issy created a spreadsheet of all the popular shows because at first, brothers were choosing what they liked and they didn’t care if someone had already binged four seasons, they’d start it over at the beginning. It’s almost like a library system at this point, but it beats all the ring times several of the brothers endured.

I snicker a bit remembering one of the brawls in the common room. Nerd is usually so damn laid back that when he came out of his office hollering then went up to Cue and threw a fist, everyone was shocked senseless. Apparently, Nerd was in season twelve of Supernatural, but when he logged in again, he found himself back at season four. Assuming it was an error, he found where he had left off and started watching again, only for it to happen multiple times over the next few days. So, Issy created her system and each one of us is in a group, with the exception of Rio because who wants to fuck with what the president’s binge watching?

“It was a shitshow, that’s for sure,” I murmur as I quickly become engrossed in the latest BAU case.

An hour later, I realize that I can feel my left arm tingling, so I take the pill Doc left and keep watching. Soon, however, the pins and needles feeling has warped into actual pain that has me in absolute agony. As sweat pours down my shaking body, I realize I’m going to be sick and grab one of those barf bags from my nightstand. Right now, I’m grateful for Gretchen because despite Doc’s raised brow, she made sure there were several available ‘just in case’. Hell, who am I kidding? She bought a whole sleeve of them on Amazon and stashed them in and on my nightstand, with the extras in my bathroom.

“I hate puking,” I grunt as I hold the bag. “It’s not like there was that much in me to begin with, for fuck’s sake!”

Even though I have no limitations on what I can eat, both Doc and Gretchen told me that the anesthesia still in my body could make me queasy, so I ate mostly bland foods when I finally got home and stuck to water. Still, my meals were far less than I usually ate portion wise, so I don’t understand where all of this is coming from.

As my shakes continue, I reach for my phone to call Doc, only for it to drop and slide underneath my bed. “There’s no way I’ll be able to get back up. Think, Cameron, think. Do you have anything you can use to try and get it out?”

Despite my current physical misery, I manage to get out of the bed and make my way to the bathroom, my shoulder and arm thrumming to the beat of my heart at this point. Nausea swamps me once again and I somehow manage to make it to the toilet before losing pure bile. Once I clean up, I look in the cupboard where my clean towels are and grin when I find the grippy thing that Gretchen got for me. I don’t think Doc realizes what a treasure he has in her; she went above and beyond to make sure any little tool that would help me in my recovery was purchased.

“I’m ordering more stuff for her,” I grit out as my stomach roils. After taking a piss, I wash my hand and look in the mirror, shocked when I see that I look gray. “Gotta get with Doc,” I mumble, grabbing the gripper and walking back into the bedroom.

A wave of pain nearly puts me on my knees as I stumble to the bed. Grabbing a puke bag, I shudder through another round of vomiting that is nothing more than stomach bile at this point. I’m beginning to wonder if there’s something horribly wrong because nothing in the discharge paperwork indicated this was a possibility.

Once I’m sure I’m done, I take a small sip of water to rinse out my mouth. I think I pass out for a bit and wake up with a start. My skin feels clammy and I feel the nausea start again, like one of those damn rollercoasters. I don’t puke this time thank fuck, and it finally subsides on its own. Mostly, anyhow. Still, I know I’m in trouble and it’s going to be a little bit before Doc comes in to check on me so I’ve gotta help myself.

I grab the gripper and try to get my damn phone, but I end up pushing it further under the bed. I decide to try to get to one of the brothers' rooms so they can call Doc for me. I only hope I can get there before I pass out. I have never felt this kind of pain before and if I knew it’d be like this, I would never have had this damn surgery. I make it to the door and open it before it’s lights out for me.

I come to with a groan, feeling strong arms around me as they move forward. “Get Doc,” I mumble, my mouth feeling drier than a fucking desert with all the vomiting I’ve done. I honestly lost count of the bags I used, but I’m grateful for them because that’s one mess I would hate to have to clean up. At least using the barf bags, they just have to be collected and tossed. I snicker when I think of the tied-off bags, then moan as the pain ramps up again.

“I’ve got you, Mongrel,” Doc replies. “We’re heading to the hospital, Albertson’s meeting us there and he’s going to do another nerve block to try and get your pain under control.”

“Why did this happen?” I ask as another brother comes up behind me. Before I get an answer, I’m swung up into BamBam’s arms as he heads to the front door, Doc right behind us. “I felt it wearing off and took one of the pain pills like you told me to, Doc. I don’t understand.”

As BamBam gets me into the club’s SUV, Doc hustles to the driver’s side while Gretchen slips into the backseat. BamBam looks at me and says, “It happens, brother. Go get yourself sorted out.” He then makes sure my seatbelt is on and closes my door.

Doc focuses on getting us out of the compound first then glances in my direction and says, “Bam’s right, Mongrel. At the end of the day, the muscles and tendons that were torn are highly inflamed. Add in a surgery and they’re in over-the-top mode. But Albertson will get you squared away, plus make sure I’ve got what I need to keep it from happening again.”

“Don’t want anything too strong or addictive,” I mumble, trying to focus on not throwing up. I’m in no condition to detail a vehicle right now.

“I understand why you’re doing this,” Gretchen says, “but Mongrel, you need the good stuff for a few days at least. That won’t make you an addict.”

The trip to the hospital is a blur, with Gretchen handing me another bag as wave after wave of nausea hits me once again. At this point, I’m pretty sure my stomach lining is involved since now I’ve added blood to the mix, and my throat feels like it’s on fire. “Blood,” I mumble as I swipe my hand across my lips.