14. Good Patients Get Lollipops
Good Patients Get Lollipops
Josie
“May I ask why you travel with a headlamp?” Wyatt says.
“You may.”
I don’t look up at him, keeping my focus on the tiny sliver of wood I’m trying to grip with my eyebrow tweezers.
I might need to invest in a new pair after this.
I’m sitting on the edge of the coffee table and he’s on the couch, his forearms braced on his thighs.
When he’s not jerking his hands away from me, that is.
After a moment, he sighs. “Why do you travel with a headlamp, Josie?”
Almost on instinct, I adjust the headlamp in question, which I happened to throw into my bag at the last minute. When Jacob is planning a trip, you just never know. I didn’t expect it would help me extract splinters from a hockey player’s hand, but here we are.
There are splinters of varying sizes in both of Wyatt’s palms. I have three more to go before switching hands. Though with the way Wyatt keeps twitching and jerking away from me, we’ll be here all night.
“Hold still,” I order when he flinches. I tighten my grip on his hand. The man might get bodychecked for a living, but he’s not so good with splinters. “Jacob didn’t exactly tell me what we’d be doing for the trip I thought I was going on with him. He likes to surprise me. I packed accordingly.”
“You packed like you thought your brother might want to go spelunking?” Amusement colors Wyatt’s voice, and when I glance up to try to catch a smile, the headlamp shines right in his face. He puts a hand in front of his eyes.
“Sorry.” I tilt the lamp down slightly and shift my focus back to his hand. “Good point. I can’t see Jacob purposefully entering a cave. Maybe if he fell in one?”
“Or was being chased by a bear. They probably don’t make designer spelunking suits,” Wyatt muses.
I tilt my head a little more, hiding my smile. “Then Jacob definitely wouldn’t go. In any case, I’m glad I packed the headlamp. Even if I didn’t expect to use it for this.”
I go quiet, needing complete focus as I try to grip the smallest of the splinters on Wyatt’s palm, right near what I think is his life line. Or is it a love line? I don’t know much about reading palms.
Or about Wyatt’s life. Or love life. I’ve never seen so much as a tabloid picture of him with a woman—not that I went looking—but I assume he must have had girlfriends over the years.
What I do know is that he has really nice hands. Big. Strong. Long fingers with calluses on the tips. I’ve become very acquainted with them in the last half hour, and I approve.
“So what have you done on your trips with Jacob? You didn’t say over lunch. Not caving, obviously.”
It seems weird to me that Jacob wouldn’t have told Wyatt something about our trips. But then, I wonder how much of their relationship is still based on friendship now rather than work.
“They’ve mostly been disasters. We did Miami first, which was great for Jacob since he loves nightlife and clubs. Fine for me because I like the beach.”
“But you don’t like clubs.”
My skin prickles at his confidence. It’s a statement, not a question.
I’ve always assumed Wyatt ignored me the same way I tried to ignore him.
Instead, I’m starting to get the feeling he was paying a lot more attention than I realized.
Like he knows me. At the same time, I think this is the first conversation where he’s asked any questions about my life.
Actually, this feels like our first real grown-up conversation. And it’s kind of...nice. I swallow and try to keep my focus from drifting to his impossible-not-to-find-handsome face.
“Not clubs,” I agree. “Though I do make an excellent designated driver and semi-decent wingwoman.”
“Not an excellent wingwoman?”
“No.” I smile at the memory. “People kept assuming we were a couple. I thought it was funny. Gross—but funny. Jacob did not find it amusing at all.”
“I’ll bet.”
I suddenly wonder if Wyatt has ever been Jacob’s wingman or vice versa. If the two of them ever went out together, looking to meet women. I drop the tweezers.
Leaning over to pick them up, I clear my throat and continue. “For the next trip we went to the resort in Virginia where they filmed Dirty Dancing —”
“Jacob picked Kellerman’s ?”
I pause and look up at him. “You’re a Dirty Dancing fan?”
Wyatt crosses his arms. “I’ve seen it.”
“Enough times to know the name of the resort. Interesting. Very interesting. Do you happen to know any of the dance numbers? Or the songs? It’s got a killer soundtrack.”
Wyatt mumbles something under his breath while giving me a cool stare. I laugh and go back to his splinters.
“Anyway, I’m pretty sure Jacob didn’t realize until we got there. He found a good deal, which we discovered was because it was mostly under construction. There was nothing to do— well, except family games and crafts. Which I enjoyed but...” I shrug.
“Jacob did not. I’m sensing a theme—you and Jacob don’t have a lot in common.”
“Not particularly. It’s kind of funny how he plans the trips— usually based on what he likes—but then ends up unhappy. The last one was a cruise where we got norovirus. We both came back paler and five pounds lighter. And then there’s this trip. Which is...”
I trail off, unsure what words to use. Not a sibling trip at all. But...surprisingly fine? Norovirus-free? Enjoyable despite me not wanting it to be?
“I’m sorry,” Wyatt says.
“This isn’t your fault. I don’t think Jacob had any intention of taking a trip this summer. He just used it as an excuse to get me to do what he wanted.”
I can’t quite keep the bitterness from my voice. Or the little tremble at the end.
Because yeah—I’m going to get a down payment for a house out of it. I should focus on that. Not the fact that my brother basically tricked then ghosted me.
But I got excited about taking a trip with him. Nervous too, as I always feel when I travel or dip a toe into the water outside my comfort zone. I miss my brother. And it feels a little like I got stood up. I should be mad, but instead I’m just a little sad about it.
That’s the thing with family—they’re like a bunch of stubborn splinters. Really difficult to remove, even if you sometimes want to.
“Josie.” Wyatt’s voice is soft. Briefly, he shifts his hand, brushing his fingertips over my knuckles and letting them rest there. “I really am sorry you’re stuck with me.”
Hearing him say it—even if I’ve thought it—makes me feel protective of him. And angry all over again with my brother.
“I’m not stuck with you. Even if Jacob got me here using false pretenses, I’m choosing to stay.”
“For money,” he clarifies.
I hesitate. “In part.”
The reality is...I’m staying for more than the money. Maybe I didn’t realize it until he said it, but I’m here for Wyatt now. I’m unexpectedly invested in his recovery. And if someone had told me I’d feel this way three days ago, I’d have laughed while calling them a liar.
Honestly, I’ve barely thought about the money.
As excited as I was at the idea of a down payment, I haven’t looked once at the real estate sites bookmarked on my laptop and phone.
Sure, I haven’t had much time, but I’ve had enough .
At home I sometimes scroll the sites a few times a day just to see new listings or what’s gone under contract.
Looking for a house just hasn’t been on my mind. Or...something.
Taking Wyatt’s hand again, I start back in on the splinters.
“Jacob aside, do you usually travel or take trips with friends during the summer?”
Friend , my brain silently corrects. Sad as it is, Toni is my only real friend. I have lots of acquaintances, but my friendship standards are high, I guess. Plus, no one tells you how hard it is to make friends once you’re out of college and in the real world, the working world.
“No.”
“Really? All summer off and no vacation? Nothing for you ?”
It does sound sad when he puts it like that. But I wouldn’t expect a man with a multimillion-dollar hockey contract to get it.
“I usually tutor during the summers.” I can hear the defensiveness in my voice. “Just to pick up a little extra income.”
“You don’t usually— Ow!”
Wyatt yanks his hand to the side because maybe I wasn’t as gentle as I should have been just now.
The splinter breaks into two tiny pieces.
An almost microscopic bit remains between the points of my tweezers, but most is still lodged in his hand, which he’s now clutching to his chest like an injured paw.
“Maybe we should leave them. They’ll eventually absorb into me, right?”
“That’s not a thing. They’ll drive you nuts until I remove them,” I tell him. “Hand?”
I hold out my own, palm up, trying to meet his gaze without blinding him with the headlamp again. With a sigh, he drops his big hand onto my smaller one. But he continues flinching every time I come at him with the tweezers. I wish I had a roll of duct tape or a horse tranquilizer.
“You are a terrible patient,” I tell Wyatt as he tries to jerk his hand away from me. Again. “And that’s saying something considering my usual patients are under ten years old. Be good .”
“If I’m good, will I get a trophy?” he asks.
“No.”
“A medal?”
“Nope.”
“A ribbon?” he asks. “You do this for elementary school kids. Surely you’ve got a stash of rewards for them.”
“My good patients get lollipops.”
“I’ll take a lollipop.”
I smile at the mental image of Wyatt with a lollipop in his mouth.
“Sadly, I did not pack lollipops. Even if I did, you wouldn’t deserve one with all your arguing and the way you keep jerking your hand away.
” He pouts. “If you’re lucky, your reward will be a splinter-free hand.
But to get that, you’ll have to stop moving . ”