Lennox
The incessant beeping is the only clear sound and I’m unable to open my eyes. I squeeze them hard and then lift my heavy lids. A sliver of light passes through and pierces my irises like needles. I groan at the intrusion and shut them again.
Somehow she knows I can hear her and she’s clearly trying to warn me, no…prepare me I guess, so I ease awake. I’m not sure.
My heart rate kicks up a notch according to that machine that I typically only see in actual movies.
Finally my eyes peel open and the light hurts, but it’s better than the first time. The woman dressed in scrubs walks to the door, dims the lights, and then comes back to the side of the bed.
I’ve got an IV in one arm and a sling on the other. My head pounds and my ears are ringing and I’m not sure which one annoys me more.
“Where’s Jace?” My raspy question is choppy and broken. Was he on the stage? Was he hurt? Shit, I can’t recall where he was. I clear my throat and ask again, more demanding this time. “Where’s Jace?”
She pauses as she side-eyes a glance in my direction with a curious expression. There’s no threat here at all, she looks like someone’s hip grandma, but I don’t need anyone else questioning or leaking anything they witness in private.
I play it cool. “I mean, was anyone else hurt?” I ask, generalizing the question.
“Not that I’m aware of. You arrived in an ambulance about three hours ago, no one else from your set is being seen here.” I breathe a sigh of relief, my heart monitor shows it and the nurse glances up then back at me.
“You’ve got a mild concussion and your shoulder was dislocated. You’ll want to keep your arm in a sling for a few days and it’ll be tender for a week or two. You also have a few stitches on your forehead but the cut wasn’t too deep so it shouldn’t scar too badly.”
“Not too bad,” I reply, in an attempt to be positive and charming but even that hurts.
“Yes, Mr. Rome, you’re very lucky. It could have been a lot worse.”
“Is…” I clear my throat again, “Is there anyone here to see me?” I inquire with a tad too much curiosity and hope in my voice.
“Jace Wilder has been chomping at the bit. Making quite the scene out in the lobby.”
My heart flutters in my chest and the monitor sings along with it.
Fucking shut up machine.
The nurse smirks, she bloody smirks, then asks, “only family is allowed back but…should I—”
“Yes,” I spit out faster than I should. “I mean, yeah, no reason to cause a scene. He can come back,” I say, coy as hell. Slick in all my non-chalantness.
“I’ll go get him,” she says with another one of those knowing, motherly smiles, then exits the room.
She comes back a few minutes later and Jace races through the doorway in front of her, urgently coming to my side.
“Holy shit.” His eyes trail my entire body and not in the sexual way I like. “Are you okay?”
“I’m all good. Dislocated shoulder, a couple of stitches. Nothing to worry about,” I reply, making no big deal of it.
“Don’t forget about your concussion, Mr. Rome.
You hit the ground hard and were completely knocked out.
You need to take it easy for the next forty-eight hours, then if you don’t have any headaches or dizziness you can gradually return to your normal activities.
But they should be kept light and easy for the next couple of weeks,” the lovely nurse adds, calling me out as she sets a cup of ice water with a straw curved at the top on the table next to me.
“I’m going to check in with the doctor and he’ll be around to see you shortly.” She smiles at both of us then retreats from the room.
“I told you so,” Jace says all angrily and kinda cute.
“You can’t say that to me when I’m still in the hospital. There’s a common courtesy thing of waiting at least a year, or never.”
He rolls his eyes at me as he pulls up the blanket covering my lower half, then moves his fingers over my chest fixing my hospital gown like he needs an excuse to touch me.
“The entire stage collapsed on top of you, Len.”
He shortens my name, saying it so goddamn vulnerably it makes my heart skip. No one has ever called me that before and with such care.
I glare at the monitor that’s going to be the death of me, then back at him. He’s got a smug arse look on his face now and I sort of wish I had the energy—and privacy—to kiss it off him.
He reaches up and gently touches the area around the cut on my head. I flinch at first but he caresses the area softly, lovingly.
We share a look, one of those deep heartfelt looks. Like we both might be brave enough to confess what this is, but his phone rings tearing our gazes apart. He reaches in his pocket, Gordon's name is displayed over the face and he swipes to answer.
“Yeah, he’s okay. I’m with him in his room now.”
“Concussion—”
“Mild concussion,” I add, loud enough for Gordon to hear.
“Mild concussion,” Jace repeats mockingly. “Dislocated shoulder and a couple stitches, but he’s okay.” he pauses, and I faintly hear Gordon’s voice through the phone.
“Yeah, it could have been way worse.”
He pins me with a, I told you so look, then his expression drops and his brows pinch together.
“What?” he snaps his gaze to the telly mounted on the wall, then back to mine with a troubled expression on his face.
“Turn on the TV.”