Twenty-Seven
Sleeping Satellite
Spence
I wake up slow, sluggish, like my bones are dough and my neck is concrete.
There’s a faint, repetitive beeping somewhere close, and as I peel my eyes open, the room blurs, then sharpens.
Hospital. Right. Ryan’s hospital room. I’m half sprawled in one of the torture devices they call chairs, spine twisted, drool probably dried on my cheek.
I shift, sitting up proper, rub my eyes until the world stops being fuzzy.
When I blink the sleep away, I look over—and Ryan’s sitting up in his bed, grinning at me like the biggest idiot on the planet. His hair is sticking out in nine different directions, and his gown is half hanging off his body, his left titty just popped out for everyone to see.
I narrow my eyes at him. “What?”
His grin gets impossibly bigger. “You broke your rule, Counselor.”
I sigh, already exhausted. “What are you talking about?”
He gestures toward me, like it couldn’t be more obvious. “We had a sleepover.”
My eyes dart around the room, searching for rescue. I point at him. “We most certainly did not.”
He folds his arms and nods like a bobblehead. “We most certainly did.”
“Whatever. It doesn’t count.”
He raises his chin, grin in place. “It sooo counts.”
I stand, stretch, running a hand through my hair. My shirt rides up, cold air on my stomach. I’m still in my jeans and designer tee from the game yesterday.
When I come down from the stretch, Ryan’s eyes are locked on that slice of skin, tongue peeking out. He lifts his gaze, unashamed. “G’morning, Perfect.”
I huff, not able to help the little laugh. “Well, now you’ve seen me in the morning with my hair all fucked up. You can stop calling me perfect.”
He shakes his head. “Nope. This actually makes you more perfect.”
I throw my hands up. “You win.”
Ryan smirks. “Always do. You, not so much.” A wink.
I give him a look. “Yeah, well, I’m not used to these kinds of negotiations.”
He laughs, and I’m glad to see him in good spirits. I cross to his bed and sit on the edge beside his good leg. My hand finds his thigh under the sheet. “How you feeling? Need anything?”
His breath catches, just a little. He looks at my hand, then me. “You can stop rubbing my thigh before a nurse walks in here and sees I’ve turned this white sheet into a ghost in my lap.”
I chuckle, squeeze his thigh, and feel my own body reacting to touching all that muscle. I pull my hand away, reluctantly. “I’m going to use your bathroom and try to scrub this morning taste out with whatever toothpaste they have here. Then I’ll go get some nasty hospital coffee. What do you need?”
He stretches his arm toward the side table, making grabby hands at the remote. “Can you hand me my nurse control?”
I cross my arms, unimpressed. “Nice try. You’re not pranking the nurses with a fast food order.”
Ryan pouts. “Humph.”
I snicker. “Also, it’s not a nurse control. If anything, they need a Ryan control.”
He grins, all teeth, and I blow out a breath. “I’ll be right back.” I point at him. “Do not try to get to that control. You need to keep as still as possible.”
As I start toward the bathroom, Ryan grabs my t-shirt, tugging me back. I arch a brow.
He gives me a sheepish grin. “Can I at least give you a fast food order? I’m starving and I don’t wanna eat the slop they call breakfast.”
I laugh. “I’ll see what I can do.”
That’s when the door bursts open, laughter and noisy chatter spilling in. Dita and Parker, arms loaded, appear like a caffeine-fueled cavalry.
“Good morning, boys,” Dita chirps, setting a drink carrier and paper bags on the little table by my chair.
“We bring tidings from Tom’s Diner. Good coffee and breakfast sandwiches.”
“Oh, thank fuck,” I nearly groan.
Ryan just sticks both arms out, grabbing for the bags.
“Man. Need. Food.”
Dita hands him two bags. “We figured. Didn’t know what kind you liked, so we got you a variety.”
He beams at her. “Thank you, D.” He tears into a sandwich and downs half in a bite. Dita passes him a coffee.
Parker sighs dramatically. “Damn. I wish a man would devour me like that.” He saunters over, blue Oxford painted on, lollipop in place. He gets too close to me, bats his lashes, and drops his voice. “Here’s something hot and creamy for you, Mr. Stark.” He hands me a cup. “Oh, and some coffee, too.”
I roll my eyes, used to Parker’s shit. But then—there’s an unmistakable growl and the sound of paper crumpling. We both turn and a balled-up wrapper nails Parker between the eyes.
“Ow,” Parker whines.
Ryan’s giving him a look I’ve never seen. He points his coffee cup at Parker. “That was unprofessional.”
Parker glances between us, eyes wide. “I’m sorry.”
Ryan doesn’t break the stare. “Yeah, you are. But seriously, you need to work on your game, bro. That was just sad.”
Parker laughs, then gives Ryan a once-over. “Maybe you could show me your ways someday.”
Ryan snickers, features softening. “That was better. But if you ever hit on him again, I’ll break all your fingers.”
Parker’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh. Kay.” He backs away.
Dita is smirking, looking between me and Ryan. I point at her. “Shut it.”
Dita smirks at me, bags in hand, and walks over. She brandishes one and says, “Your usual boring sandwich.”
I take the bag, grumbling, “I’m not boring.”
She hands over the other bag. “Your toothbrush, toothpaste, and mouthwash. And I fed Fucker while I was at your place.”
“F-Bomb!” Ryan practically coos, then shoves another giant bite in his mouth.
I stare at the bag, then at her. “How did you know I stayed the night?”
She cocks her head, giving me a look that screams, really?
Then, in a mock whisper, she says, “I’m soo good at my job.”
I laugh, snatch the bag, and then my voice softens. “Thank you. I appreciate you.”
She smiles, gentle for a second. “I know you do.” Then she’s brisk again, turning on her heel toward the door. “We have to get to the office. Just text if you need anything. We have everything covered.”
I nod, “Thanks again, guys.”
“Come on, Parky,” Dita calls, and they disappear with a flurry of bags and perfume.
I look over at Ryan, who’s destroying his third sandwich, crumbs everywhere—gown, sheet, probably all over his chest. I just watch him and he pauses, cheeks bulging.
“What?” he says around a mouthful.
I shake my head. “You were jealous.”
“Fucking right I was,” he says, then pops the rest of the sandwich in his mouth.
Later, after Ryan’s had a nap while I caught up on emails, the door swings open and we’re suddenly surrounded by a team of doctors in white coats and serious faces. I open the notes app on my tablet so I can jot down anything important Ryan will need to remember.
One steps forward. “Ryan, I’m Dr. Kravitz. I was the lead surgeon on your case yesterday. How are you feeling today?”
Ryan grins. “I feel okay, considering. A little restless in this contraption.”
The doctor nods, then gestures to his flock. “We’re a teaching hospital, so I’d like my colleagues to listen in. They’re aware of your elevated need for privacy, but you can ask them to leave.”
Ryan shrugs. “Nah, it’s all good. Learn away.” He winks at the group. One of the female residents giggles, twirling her hair, and I roll my eyes at the ceiling.
“Thank you,” Dr. Kravitz says. “How’s the pain?”
Ryan shrugs. “Just some intense throbbing, but the pain meds are working.”
Dr. Kravitz moves around the bed to where Ryan’s leg is hoisted. “That’s good. The pain should ease a little each day.” Ryan nods. “I’m going to check the wound, and a nurse will come clean it and teach you how to do it at home.”
Another nod from Ryan. Dr. Kravitz continues, “We’ll also get your leg out of this suspension sling today. I only require it for my athlete cases for the first day, to give you the best recovery… and because you’re a restless lot.”
Ryan laughs, and I can’t help but chime in, “Good call.”
Dr. Kravitz glances at me. “I know the ED staff explained the surgery yesterday, but it’s easy to forget in chaos.”
Ryan chuckles. “Yeah, I don’t remember a word.”
The doctor offers a sympathetic smile. “The procedure took just over two hours. We performed an Open Reduction and Internal Fixation, or ORIF. Basically, we realigned the bones, used metal and screws to hold them, then did surgical cleaning and stitching.”
I clear my throat. “What does that mean, long-term?”
He looks at me, then Ryan. “You’ll be here another day or two so we can watch for infection, which is a significant risk with compound fractures.
” Ryan’s face finally sobers, and I see it hit him, the real weight of all this.
Dr. Kravitz goes on, “Once you’re released, physical therapy needs to start within two days.
No weight on your leg for at least six weeks. ”
Ryan’s head drops back against the pillow, and I flinch for him.
Dr. Kravitz’s tone softens. “Comply with restrictions and aftercare, and your odds of a good recovery are much better. Understood?”
Ryan nods, just once. “Yeah.”
“Keep the wound clean, leg elevated for the first week, and follow the instructions the nurse gives you. Do you live alone?”
Ryan slumps. “Yes.”
Dr. Kravitz nods. “Okay, do you have anyone who can stop by a few times a day that first week? You’ll need help.”
Ryan stares at his palms, voice small. “I can hire someone, or ask one of my sisters—”
“He’s staying with me,” I say, voice firm. Ryan’s head whips toward me, eyes wide, looking shocked. Not as shocked as I am, honestly.
I keep my gaze on the doctor. “I can work from home for a few weeks. He’ll try to push it if he’s left alone.”
The doctor nods, approvingly. “Very well.” He lowers the sling, careful, and checks the wound. “Looks great, Ryan. I have every confidence you’ll heal well if you follow care instructions.”
Then Dr. Kravitz sighs, prepping us for the next blow. “Now for the hard part.” I turn to Ryan as he swallows, nervous.