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The pageant week started tomorrow, but all I could think about was going to check on my boyfriend in the hospital.
32
CRAIG
Iwas startled awake by my name being called repeatedly. It pulled me from my sleep, and I saw Jonesy’s face looking down at me, smiling and wearing makeup. The sight of him made me snort a quick laugh, and he batted his eyelashes at me.
“Jesus, that’s a sight to wake up to,” I rasped, my voice hoarse, blinking to clear my eyes.
He laughed. “Uh, sorry, babe. I forgot I still had face paint on. I can go wash it off.”
“And…and what are you wearing?”
“Undercover. Makeup artist. Remember?” he replied, almost acting offended.
“Sorry…concussion, remember?” I retorted. We both laughed.
“How are you feeling?”
“Actually, I’m feeling better. My headache is almost gone.”
“That’s good. Maybe they’ll let you go tomorrow.”
He leaned over and kissed my forehead before grabbing a small duffel. “Let me go change, and wash off the makeup. I’ll be right back.”
Dr. Jenson walked in a minute later. “How are you feeling?” she asked, coming up to the side of my bed, holding a clipboard under her arm. The sound of running water coming from the bathroom made her turn and look.
“That’s just my boyfriend,” I replied, motioning to the door. “I’m doing okay, I guess. I’ve been sleeping a lot today. My headache is much better. My arm and chest still hurt, though.”
“They’ve been giving you Tylenol regularly, so I’m sure that’s helping with the headache. As for the arm and the cracked rib, if you want something stronger after we release you, I can prescribe something.”
“I think I’ll be okay with ibuprofen and Tylenol at home. I really hate taking anything stronger.”
She looked at my tray, which had a plastic contraption I had to breathe into every hour when I was awake. “I see they’re already making you use the spirometer,” she said with a chuckle.
“Fuck, yes. It hurts, too,” I said, wrapping my good arm over my chest.
“It’s important, so keep using it,” she replied. “Your ribs are going to be sore, and you need to take deep breaths even though it hurts. You’ll be instructed how to use the spirometer at home. Ribs take a long time to heal. You’re in good shape, so I can tell you’ll be doing better in six to eight weeks. As for your forearm, that will take a couple of weeks longer.” She pointed to my cast with the clipboard.
Jonesy came out of the bathroom, his face free of makeup. He’d also changed into snug-fitting jeans and a blue polo, his physique clearly defined. My dick took notice.
“Oh, excuse me,” he said as he looked at the doctor, stopping mid-stride.
“It’s okay, detective. I’m just letting him know how long his injuries may take to heal,” she replied.
“Speaking of being discharged, what do you think, Doc?” I asked, hoping it would be tomorrow.
“We’ll assess you tomorrow, but from what I’m seeing, either tomorrow or the next day.”
“Will he need help at home? He’ll be staying with me,” Jonesy said, his brow pinched.
“I’m not an invalid, babe. I’ve even been walking around a little and going to the bathroom.”
Dr. Jenson placed a hand on my arm. “He’ll be able to be by himself most of the time. I would recommend no strenuous activity. He may need help getting dressed, and his cast will need to be waterproofed when showering. You’ll find your energy will be limited for a few more days,” she said, glancing down at me. “I’ll check on you tomorrow.”
After she left, Jonesy set his duffel on the chair and braced his hands on the side rail of my bed. “Honestly, I don’t think you’re going to be alone much. I’m sure our friends will drop by to check on you,” he said. He brought a hand up to stroke my cheek.
“You know what would make me feel better?” I asked softly. He raised his eyebrows as if to say, ‘What?’
