Chapter Seven #2
“Speaking of phones, give me your cell number.” Once that was done, Nate said, “As for me, I need to meet with the equipment manager tomorrow to fit my new gear—so I could grab books or magazines while I’m out.
Make a list of any toiletries you need that we can order from Baker’s, and I can pick those up as well. ”
“That’s really thweet of you—and generous—but the grocery store doesn’t have clothes and if I’m gonna be here longer than another day or two, I can’t keep wearing yours.”
Nate’s eyebrow arched and his eyes slid to Wesley’s discolored chest.
Wesley breathed a laugh, careful not to expand his muscles too much. “You know what I mean.”
Nate grinned.
“Just how long were you planning on letting me stay anyway?”
“Well, I…” Nate fiddled with his phone. “I dunno. The doctor said a few days, so a few days.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.” Nate nodded.
“Well then, instead of store run, can I impose on you to drive me to my house and let me grab my own toiletries and clothes. I’ll pay for your gas.”
“I can do that. When I get back from the practice facility, we can head to Plattsmouth.”
“Okay, thanks. That sounds good.”
* * * * *
Wesley blinked awake in the darkness. He wasn’t sure what had woken him.
Maybe the soft hum of the air conditioner kicking on, maybe the upstairs neighbor, maybe nothing, but it was still the middle of the night.
Once again bolstered by Nate’s huge bed pillows, he rolled to his side, closed his eyes, and nestled in.
He breathed deeply and evenly. Then again.
And again. Pressed his eyes closed a little tighter. Breathed deeply once more.
When drowsiness didn’t overtake him within a few minutes, he pictured and named crayon colors, one by one.
Red.
Orange.
Yellow.
Blue.
Green.
Purple.
Black.
Brown.
White.
Gray.
And on and on.
Carnation pink. Apricot. Bluetiful. Cerulean. Indigo. Scarlet. Cadet blue. Chestnut. Melon. Peach. Sky blue. Tan. Timberwolf. Wisteria. Burnt sienna. Cornflower. Goldenrod. Granny Smith apple. Lavender. Macaroni and cheese. Mahogany. Mauvelous. Purple mountains majesty...
Wesley huffed. Well, crud. If he was already reaching deep into the sixty-four pack of Crayola crayons, sleep clearly wasn’t in his immediate future.
It seemed he’d gotten enough rest, and now that he took stock, in addition to the actual soreness related to his injuries, his back ached slightly and his legs felt twitchy, the way they did when he’d spent too many hours lying on his sofa, binge watching episode after episode of “Hell’s Kitchen” or “Chopped.”
Yeah, time to get up and move around, at least for a few minutes. Maybe a little something in his stomach and more ibuprofen so he could get a little more sleep and get back on schedule.
Wesley sat up, his vision adjusting to the darkness.
The lingering throb in his head had dulled to a steady ache; no longer the sharp pounding from earlier, but still insistent.
The stiffness from all the lying around pulled at his torso and back, a slow, dragging soreness.
His bruised chest protested with every small shift, the deeper aches lurking beneath his skin.
The zings, twinges, and pangs from moving were still there—just no longer screaming, merely murmuring their complaints.
He shuffled into the living room, using the wall to brace himself on the way to the kitchen. After taking a couple ibuprofen tablets and choking down some vanilla-flavored Greek yogurt, Wesley was once again drawn to the glow beyond the living room windows.
He used the dining room table and living room furniture for support on his unsteady hobble to the large-framed view overlooking North Omaha.
Why hadn’t Nate unpacked? He claimed he didn’t like this place, but why?
Compared to where Wesley lived, it was a mansion.
Well, maybe not quite, but it was spacious and had a great view of the city. Everything was close by.
He shrugged. Not really his business. Just a few more days and then he’d be back in his own life, leaving Nate to his.
Maybe they’d meet again, maybe they wouldn’t.
Unless Nate asked for Wesley’s help, he wasn’t one to offer anything unsolicited.
Except maybe sex. But given his current state, even that was off the table.
He wasn’t sure what floor Nate lived on, but the view of Omaha, lights glimmering for miles, was amazing.
Wesley had wanted to stay in Omaha or one of the surrounding communities, but the pay versus cost of living in Plattsmouth when he’d been job hunting had been better.
He earned enough to keep himself housed, clothed properly for a schoolteacher, keep his classroom fun for his students, and pay his few debts.
The window was cool on his forehead as he gazed at the city. Despite the hour, there was still traffic on the freeway in the distance and the major roads that crisscrossed the urban landscape. White headlights and red taillights floated along the streets below.
A faint noise—toilet flush?—indicated Nate was also awake and moving about. The muffled footfalls on the carpet warned Wesley that he was headed his way.
“Hey...you okay?” Nate asked, his voice hushed as he joined Wesley at the window.
Wesley nodded. “Just woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep. My body’s tired of being prone, I guess.” He turned—and forgot the rest of what he meant to say. Nate stood there, bare chest catching the dim light.