15. Sarcastic Backpack
15
Sarcastic Backpack
“Silas? Are you listening?”
Will’s question cracked through the room like thunder, and I blinked lazily to clear my blurry vision until the clock on the wall came back into focus. The long hand rested near the eight, while the short hand hovered closer and closer to the three. Afternoon, it was afternoon. Where had the day gone?
Now that I thought about it, I couldn’t recall what I’d done most of the day besides lie here drifting in and out of sleep. The doctors had thankfully lowered my morphine, but it was still too much for my body to handle. It made my brain fuzzy, and I had to close my eyes, taking a deep breath to center my thoughts.
After my mini-psychotic break yesterday evening, I needed to be on my best behavior. I didn’t want to be restrained to the bed.
Aunt June had smoothed over the incident with the other nurses, but since she worked in the ER, not the ICU, she couldn’t exactly make me promises. If I flipped my lid a second time, I feared Aunt June’s charm wouldn’t do much good.
“Silas?” I jolted as Will placed his hand on my arm and tightened his fingers around my wrist. “Does that sound okay?”
Fuck, I had no idea what we were talking about. The drugs dripping down the I.V. line and filtering through my veins, combined with the concussion from my head trauma, made it damn near impossible to pay attention. I was lost inside my own head, trapped in a body that didn’t work the way it had a week ago.
“Yeah, sure,” I said with a weak smile. “Sounds good.”
Will nodded. “Okay, I’ll let the minister know.”
Minister? Oh, the funeral. Right. We were talking about Dad’s— the funeral.
Sorrow clawed at my chest, and I turned away as Will scribbled something onto his notepad. Hopefully whatever I just agreed to wouldn’t bite me in the ass later.
Knuckles grazed the back of my hand, and I opened my eyes. Ben was reading—some literature assignment for his A.P. English class—but the knuckles of his free hand stroked the back of mine absently. I didn’t think he even knew he was doing it. Ever in tune with me, he was comforting me subconsciously. It eased the tightness in my chest, and I sighed.
When I turned back to Will, my brother was glaring at Ben’s hand on mine like he was trying to telepathically set my ex-boyfriend on fire. Ben’s presence was a source of unspoken contention, but Will hadn’t brought it up yet. He would in time, but for now, he kept his silence.
Honestly, it seemed rather unfair given that Ben was the reason Will had been notified about the accident to begin with. Sure, the hospital would have tracked him down eventually, but it would have taken them longer to do so without Aunt June and Ben’s help. Dad was my emergency contact, not Will. So he had Ben to thank for contacting him when I was brought in.
Aunt June had been working in the ER the night of the accident. She’d been busy with another patient when I was brought in, but she’d stopped by to help only to face the horror of recognizing my blood-covered face on the gurney.
At the first opportunity, she’d called Ben who had contacted Will. Will and Cora packed a bag and were on the next available flight to Midway, renting a car from the airport and breaking the speed limit the whole drive from Chicago.
I’d been unconscious for almost a full week. The musical had gone on without me. Jordan had run the backstage, while the junior I’d trained, Amber, worked with Acker in the sound booth during the performance. They all did well. At least, Kim thought so, Ben had reported.
My friends had tried to stop by while I was sleeping, but only family—and apparently Ben—were allowed in the ICU. Now that I was awake, I hoped I wouldn’t be in the ICU much longer. It was cold here, and the nurses were mean. Granted, I’d kind of attacked them, so I didn’t exactly blame them for their attitudes when they checked my vitals.
“Si?” Ben tapped the back of my wrist, and I gathered my scattered thoughts, trying to focus.
“Huh?” I met his beautiful blue eyes.
“Are you okay with that?” he asked, and I didn’t know what he was talking about. Again. I really hated these drugs.
“Um, yes?”
His lips lifted in the corners. “You don’t know what we’re talking about, do you?”
No. I’d gotten lost in my head again, but I didn’t want to admit it. So I said, “I said yes, didn’t I?”
“You’re cool with Will showering you?” he asked, and I blanched.
“What? Gross.” I glared at Will who threw up his hands in exasperation. “I don’t want you seeing my dick.”
“We bathed together when we were little,” Will said.
“Yeah, little being the opt… the op—the optional word,” I said.
“Optimal,” Ben said.
And I said, “Huh?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “You said optional. But you meant optimal.”
“Actually,” I sneered, “I meant fuck you.”
“Silas,” Cora reprimanded from her seat on the couch under the window.
“Sorry,” I grumbled.
Will scratched at his bearded cheek. “Silas, either you let me help you shower, or the nurses give you a sponge bath.”
“Ew, I don’t want them seeing my dick.”
“Someone’s insecure,” Cora sang as she flipped the page of her book. What To Expect When You’re Expecting , it was called.
“I’m not insecure. I have a nice dick. Ask Ben,” I snapped, and both Will and Ben balked. Heat rose in my cheeks as my brain caught up to my mouth. “Shit, I didn’t mean to say that.”
“Let’s just…” Will slashed his hand through the air. “Let’s get back on track. Do you wanna shower or not?”
I did. I felt disgusting and grimy. I’d received a few sponge baths by the nurses before I’d woken up, but it hadn’t been enough. Plus, I really wanted the catheter out. Showering would be a good excuse.
“Yes.”
“Then I’m helping you. You can’t do it alone.”
“I stood this morning on my own just fine,” I lied.
“You stood on your own for four seconds before your knees buckled,” Ben chimed in, his still flushed face hiding behind his book.
With a roll of my eyes, I glared at the ceiling. “Whatever.”
Closing my eyes, I blocked them out. I didn’t mean to fall asleep—I only meant to ignore Will and his hovering—but when I opened my eyes again, almost two hours had passed. The room was empty except for a familiar woman in a pair of light purple scrubs.
“Aunt June?” I said, and she beamed at me.
“How are you feeling?” Like she couldn’t help herself, she grabbed my chart and looked it over as I shrugged. The motion made me wince.
“Good. Sleepy.”
“It’s to be expected,” she said, and I grimaced.
I’d been hearing that a lot since waking up. My doctor had spent the better part of this morning explaining all of my injuries, using big words I didn’t understand and repeating the phrase, “it’s to be expected,” like it somehow made my helplessness better.
I was missing details from the day of the accident—to be expected. I was losing time—to be expected. I couldn’t focus on anything too long without spacing out—to be expected. I couldn’t fucking walk… to be expected.
“Your vitals are looking good,” she said as she set my chart aside. “I hear you want to shower tonight?”
She phrased it like a question, so I answered. “Yeah. I feel gross. And I want my own clothes.”
“Ben’s at your house now, packing you a bag.”
“Oh.” I fidgeted with the edge of my blanket. “He didn’t have to do that.”
“He wanted to, I imagine.”
Unsure what to say to that, I shrugged again.
She came to a stop at the side of my bed and straightened my messy blanket. Then she ran a hand over my hair like she had any hope of making me look presentable. It was a fruitless endeavor. A large chunk of hair on the left side of my head had been shaved off so the doctors could assess the damage of my head meeting the broken driver’s side window.
The bandage had been removed this morning, and though I’d been too chicken shit to look, I’d felt along the rough stitches holding the skin above my left ear together. It was almost two inches long and was going to scar. Badly.
My body was covered in scrapes and bruises. The seatbelt had left a diagonal, purple stripe across my torso—I wasn’t mad about that since wearing the damn thing had saved my life. And I had a bum leg that barely responded when I tried to wiggle my toes.
Yeah, there was no making me presentable, but it was nice of Aunt June to try.
“I’m so sorry about Charlie,” she said in a wobbly voice, and all the air in my lungs rushed out like I’d been punched in the stomach. “He was a good man, and—”
“I don’t—please.” I squeezed my eyes shut as grief threatened to strangle me. “I don’t want to talk about that.”
A long silence stretched between us until she sighed and patted my shoulder. “Okay. Just know that Henry and I are here for both you and Will. Anything you need.”
“Thanks.” I watched her walk toward the door, biting my tongue. But the concussion or the drugs—probably both—weakened my self-control, and I said, “Aunt June?”
She paused in the doorway. “Yes?”
“Could you cut my hair?” I touched the unshaved side, swallowing around the lump in my throat. “Before, you know, the… funeral?”
Her eyes were glassy, but no tears fell as she nodded. “Of course, sweetheart.”
Then she slipped out as quietly as she had snuck in.
After dinner, I ordered everyone out of my room as a nurse prepared to remove my catheter and I.V. Cora left with a peck to my scalp, heading back to my house to sleep. Will had been sleeping on the couch in my hospital room, and Ben would have too if there had been space—and if the staff would have allowed it. But he’d been at the hospital every day without fail, Will had admitted rather grudgingly.
The catheter removal hurt like a bitch, but the nurse merely rolled her eyes when I whimpered. She had little patience for my dramatics. I preened when Ben returned to the room and petted my head in comfort.
“You were very brave,” he said, mostly teasing, but I soaked in his touch all the same.
Other than holding my hand, he hadn’t touched me very much today. I had a feeling it was Will’s doing. My brother watched our every interaction like an angry hawk.
“It’s getting late,” Will hinted, failing at subtlety. “You have school tomorrow, right?”
Ben grimaced, giving me an apologetic look. “Sorry, Si, I can’t miss any more classes.”
“It’s fine. I get it.” I pouted when he pulled his hand back from my hair. “I’m not gonna graduate, am I? I’ve missed so much school—”
“You’re gonna graduate,” Will interrupted, jaw set. “I’ve been in contact with your principal. Ben’s been collecting your assignments.”
“I turned in a few worksheets for you,” Ben whispered. “If anyone asks, you totally did them.”
When he winked, I chuckled. Will scowled.
“Silas will still graduate, and he doesn’t have to cheat to do it.”
“Like you never shared homework answers,” I accused, and Will held up his hand to placate me.
“I did my fair share of copying, I know. But Ben doesn’t have to do all your homework to make sure you pass your classes. You’ve always had good grades and attendance. The teachers will work with you on make-up assignments. Principal Moore said you’ll graduate as long as you put in the effort and don’t skip school the rest of the year.”
“I don’t skip school,” I muttered sullenly.
Before Will could respond, his phone trilled. “It’s Uncle Rick. I’ll be right back,” he said, sounding more tired than I’d ever heard.
Uncle Rick had stepped in to shoulder some of the weight of responsibility. He was taking care of the complicated legal issues that came with death, like Dad’s life insurance and his will. I didn’t even know Dad had a will.
Selfishly, I was thankful I was lying fucked-up in a hospital bed because it meant I didn’t have to worry about those things. Uncle Rick, Will, and Uncle Henry were working together to take care of the overwhelming pile of adult responsibilities I refused to acknowledge.
Medical bills. Car insurance claims. Funeral planning. I wanted nothing to do with any of it.
It made me an asshole, shoving it off on Will, but I’d always known I was a self-centered prick. And Will allowed it because he was a better man than I was.
“You just focus on getting better,” he’d said this morning. “I’ll take care of everything.”
I might have said, “You’re gonna be such a good dad,” or something along those lines because Will’s eyes had watered, and he’d patted my hand and cleared his throat noisily.
“There’s a chair in the shower,” Ben said, bringing my attention back to the here and now. “I brought you some clothes, so you don’t have to wear that gown anymore.”
“Thank God,” I groaned in relief. “I’m tired of feeling a draft on my ass.”
He laughed as his cheeks flushed. “I can imagine.”
When Will didn’t return after several minutes, I picked at my thumb nail and muttered under my breath, “Can you help me to the bathroom? I need to piss.”
I’d barely finished the request before Ben was standing up and shoving his chair out of the way. “Of course. Here, let me—”
“I can do this part on my own,” I said as I sat up straighter and moved my right leg to the side of the bed. My left leg was more troublesome, but I breathed through the pain in my hip as I slid the cumbersome bitch across the mattress.
I’d set my recovery back with my freak out yesterday. I’d nearly dislocated my hip a second time, and the sharp pain was my punishment. At least I could feel my toes. At least I could walk.
At least you’re alive , my brain reminded me.
Yeah, I was alive, but Dad wasn’t, and—I stopped the thought process in its tracks.
“Si?” Ben’s hand cupped my elbow, and I grasped onto his forearm. “I can carry you if—”
“No. I can do this,” I insisted.
His lips pressed into an unhappy line, but he didn’t argue. He stood, an immovable anchor, as I used him to heave myself to my feet. My head spun, and my legs threatened to buckle. Digging my fingers into Ben’s arms, I refused to fall.
“Slow and steady,” he said.
“Shut up, Ben,” I said, and he snorted.
It was slow going. My feet shuffled more than stepped, and sweat broke out over my forehead from the effort before we’d made it halfway. But Ben was a steady support.
By the time we stumbled into the bathroom, my muscles were trembling and sweat was literally rolling down my temples. I collapsed onto the toilet, shifting until my gown wasn’t trapped under my ass and legs but still covered my giblets.
“Fuck standing up. I’m peeing like a girl,” I warned.
“Okay, Mackenzie.” He snickered. “I’ll wait outside.”
I flipped him the bird as he stepped out of the bathroom, leaving the door ajar. His laughter continued even after he was out of sight. I propped my weak arms on my knees and buried my face in my hands.
Thanks to the catheter, it took a few minutes for my urinary tract to remember how to work, but finally, I was able to pee. I sighed in relief.
Once I’d finished, I gazed at the shower stall longingly. I couldn’t make it to the stool on my own, and Will—as far as I knew—was still on the phone. Ben was here, though.
Sure, it would be awkward letting my ex shower me, but it wasn’t like he hadn’t seen me naked before. Plus, I felt more comfortable with Ben’s assistance than Will’s.
“Hey, Ben,” I called out, and Ben ducked his head inside.
“Yeah?”
I pointed to the shower as my cheeks heated. “Can you help me?”
He hesitated, glancing behind him toward where I assumed Will was standing outside my hospital room. “I can get Will—”
“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before,” I said, accepting the loose-tongued bravery that came with the oxycodone the nurse had me swallow after my dinner. “I mean, like, if you’re willing. I’d rather you helped me.”
His index finger tapped against the doorjamb as he chewed on his lower lip. “I guess.”
“It’s okay if you don’t want to.” I ducked my head in embarrassment. “I mean, I know I look like I got run over by a lawnmower…”
I drifted off as Ben frowned, pushing into the bathroom where he loomed over me. “It’s not that,” he said severely. “I don’t care about that.”
Right. ’Cause he didn’t want me like that anymore. We weren’t together. It was hard to remember when his presence in this cold hospital was so damn warm.
“Silas.” My name punched from his chest in a rush, and he knelt before me, uncaring that I was still sitting on a fucking toilet where I’d just pissed blood.
Carefully, so fucking carefully, he pushed the hem of my hospital gown up my leg until his fingers reached the disgusting purple and green bruise on my upper thigh where the steering wheel had cinched my leg. His thumb rubbed a gentle circle over the marked flesh.
“You’re still the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen,” he said, gaze locked on where he touched me. “I don’t think there’s anything that could ever change that.”
My throat thickened with emotion I wasn’t ready to face. So I said, “You wouldn’t be saying that if I’d actually been run over by a lawnmower.”
With an endearing smile, he lowered his head and placed a sweet kiss on my kneecap. “Even then,” he confessed, and my heart lurched.
“If the lawnmower had chopped off all my arms or legs?” my mouth said, even as my brain imagined all the ways I wanted to smash our faces together.
Sparkling blue eyes met mine, and he chuckled. “I’d carry you around like a sarcastic backpack.”
And God, how I laughed.