Chapter 6 #2
She locks the wheelchair at the edge of the bed, and instead of waiting for her help or instructions, I stand and shift to the bed, swinging my legs up with a grunt.
“I don’t ogle,” I grit out.
A knock sounds at the door and there’s a flicker of hope that Aspen’s back before it swings open and an unfamiliar woman walks in.
“Hey, Emmett. I’m Cleo, the social worker. I’m here to talk about your discharge plan.”
“What do I need to tell you so I can get out of here?”
My mood flips on a dime with Aspen gone.
It doesn’t matter what she made me feel or how I opened up.
Our time is over, and it’s for the best. That realization only sharpens my need to get the hell out of this hospital—back to the world as I know it and back to my crew to do the only thing I’ve ever been good at.
Cleo glances up from her tablet, already tired of me.
“The address we have listed is in Coyote Creek. Is that where you will stay after discharge?”
Starting off with a bang.
My eyes track Becky as she reconnects the IV pump beside my bed.
“No. I’m getting approved for a short-term rental closer to the hospital.”
“I wasn’t aware we had any of those nearby,” Cleo comments.
It seemed unlikely to me, too. But after realizing how long this recovery was going to take, I had to ensure my living situation wouldn’t be a hurdle to me getting out of here. I’d much rather go home, but living in a van while I heal won’t get me back to the fire line faster.
“This just became available.”
It’s also fully furnished, so I’ll have everything I need—comforts I haven’t allowed myself in years.
“And how long do you think you’ll be there?” she asks, tapping away.
“Until I’m cleared to return to work.”
“In the event it falls through, we have transitional housing available. It’s a bit of a hike, but we offer transportation to your appointments.”
As soon as I hear her mention “transitional housing,” I tune her out. Before my grandparents gained custody of me, I lived in a foster home for a few weeks; the memory sets me on edge.
“It won’t fall through.”
“Do you have transportation for tomorrow?”
I rub my palm over my jaw. “I’m still working on that part.”
Cleo smiles. “We can arrange transportation.”
“Fine,” I say.
I have half a mind to ask her if we’re almost done, but I’m already being enough of an ass. So I grit my teeth and wait for the next question.
“And do you have someone lined up to help you after discharge?”
“Just me. But I’ve always gotten by on that.”
Each question chips away at my patience.
She frowns, but she can’t exactly force me to make friends, nor can she wish a family into existence.
“There are things you’ll need help with for a while. We can set up a home health nurse to check on you for the first few days.”
I don’t want anyone in my space.
“I’ll manage.”
Becky snorts at my bedside as if she’s heard that line a thousand times.
“O-okay.” Cleo studies me for a second before nodding once and typing on her tablet. “I’ll note that you declined home health.”
There’s a pause, and I think she expects me to give in, but I just cross my arms.
“One last question, but I’m pretty sure I know the answer.”
“Trust your gut,” I say flatly.
Cleo lifts her head, recoiling slightly, like she’s not sure if she heard me correctly or how to interpret it. She presses her lips into a flat line.
“A lot of people find it helpful to talk to someone after something like this. Is that something you’d wa—”
She’s barely finished when I answer, “No.”
She flips her tablet over in lap, looking up at me. There’s an annoyance there she doesn’t bother to hide. One I’m sure is reflected in my glare.
“You realize that speaking with a therapist could be a condition of your return to work?”
That wouldn’t surprise me; Carl is always trying to get me to open up.
If he thought I’d agree to it, the man would move me into his house to keep an eye on me.
But that’s how he is with the whole crew. He lives by the motto, family in fire.
For him, that goes beyond just the fire line.
He’s nosey, and overbearing, but he’s been that way since he hired me at eighteen. It took him a while, but he learned the harder he pushes me the more I retreat.
Once, he told me if all he can do is worry from a distance, it’s still better than not caring at all.
“I’ll cross that bridge when I get there. But I’m good.”
She opens her mouth, then thinks better of it, snapping it shut.
Thank fuck.
“Anything else you need from me?”
“No. I think we’re done here.” She clicks the tablet, making the screen go black as she stands.
“Great. I could use some rest.” I doubt I’ll sleep, but I do want the room.
“If you end up needing transitional housing, any of the staff can put you in touch with the care management team.”
No sooner has Cleo left than Becky stomps back to my bedside, clearly pissed.
“Stop terrorizing my staff.”
“Terrorizing . . . a minute ago I was ogling. You’re giving me whiplash, Becky.”
“And you’re giving me a headache. You better not be lying about having housing.”
“I’m not.” I grab my phone, dismissing the email notification from Carl with paperwork and pulling up the text from Anna, from Vireo Capital, the company listing the loft. “See.”
I hold it up for her to see.
“I’ll know today whether I’ve got the place for the next two months.”
She barely glances my way. “I’m not going to miss you, Emmett Slate. But I hope everything works out the way you want it to.”
“That’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me.”
Her laughter fills the room. “Don’t get used to it.”
“I don’t plan to . . . So . . . tomorrow?” I’m too nervous to finish that question, but Becky knows.
“No promises, but that’s what it sounds like.”
When Becky leaves, I snag my phone and shoot off a text to my grandmother’s nurse, checking in.
Her response is quick, telling me they’re having a good day. It’s all I can really ask for and it makes me feel slightly better about being away for longer than I planned.