Chapter 21
Trevor
Today is a complete disaster. I scoot the stiff hospital chair closer to Kenzie’s stretcher in the ER as her blood pressure cuff deflates.
I might have been that obnoxious rich guy earlier, telling the medical staff that I’d donate a hospital wing if Kenzie got priority care.
Turns out, a triage nurse took one look at her overly swollen lips and pulled Kenzie back immediately, muttering something about airway issues.
Kenzie’s unexpected allergic reaction made her face puffier than a spooked blowfish, but it wasn’t until we were in the ER room that things really went off the rails.
Kenzie scaled my back like she was going for a piggyback ride, insisting we leave, because the medical staff wanted to insert an IV to give her antihistamines.
Apparently, Kenzie is deathly afraid of needles.
I was worried that I’d have to physically restrain her or something equally terrible, but after we saw the doctor, our nurse came back with a nasal syringe filled with something to “calm her nerves.” Shortly thereafter, she was able to start an IV and give Kenzie three medicines to reduce the swelling.
All because I took Kenzie to the restaurant at the golf course before our afternoon tee time, and the chef decided to put pureed walnuts in the soup without updating the printed menu. I’d even scanned the menu for her food allergies—bananas, pineapples, and walnuts—prior to ordering.
My hand grips the bed rail separating us, nearly crushing it to dust. I should sue that restaurant for endangering Kenzie’s health—or at the very least publicly shame them for such a careless mistake.
What if I hadn’t reacted as quickly as I did?
Our entrees hadn’t even arrived before I yanked Kenzie from the table and broke a myriad of traffic laws to get her to the hospital.
What if her reaction had been more severe?
A thick lump settles at the base of my throat.
“You know what’s nice,” Kenzie says, patting my knuckles with a sing-songy tone. “These.”
The nurse warned me that the nasal medicine Kenzie received has the side effect of making people feel a little loopy.
So far, Kenzie has complimented the outfits of every staff member, even though they’re all wearing matching scrubs, petted the warm blanket she received, mistaking it for Banks, and asked if the heart monitor played any other songs.
Kenzie pries my fingers from the railing, turning my hand over in hers. “I like these.”
My mouth releases its scowl when she taps each of my fingertips with a corresponding boop.
“And these.” Her voice shifts into astonished tone as she flips my hand to run her thumb over the calluses on my palm. “These feel so good against my waist.”
A flush starts at the base of my spine and runs backward until my neck pricks with pins and needles.
This morning, we’d barely made it out of the house because Kenzie came bounding into the kitchen wearing the clothes I had my personal assistant drop off for her.
I don’t golf other than participating in the occasional charity event, so I’d simply thrown on the Waves polo and navy golf shorts I’d worn last time.
Kenzie’s white polo with pink-tipped collar matching her pleated pink golf skort almost made me swallow my tongue.
I stood there, speechless, while she told me how excited she was about playing golf, pulling her hair into a high ponytail.
Though I obviously appreciated the way the sporty clothes hugged her curves, it was Kenzie’s energy that I’d missed.
I felt like a man who’d been living in shades of gray for the last nine days, and Kenzie was a technicolor rainbow.
As she tugged on her white visor, her polo rode up just enough to reveal a hint of freckled skin. That was when my willpower snapped. Without thinking, I rushed across the room, slipping my thumbs beneath the hem of her shirt and crushing her lips with mine.
A knock on the glass door to the ER room pulls me out of my memory.
“Oh no.” Kenzie drops my hand. “The principal is here.”
I can’t help the chuckle escaping me. “We’re in the hospital, remember? There’s no principal.”
“Look busy,” Kenzie tells me, straightening her blankets. “Where is my darned pencil?”
A staff member pushes back the privacy curtain, letting themselves in. “How are we feeling, Ms. Rogers?”
“Oh, you’re not—” Kenzie giggles, waving her hand in front of her face.
The twenty-something man smiles until he catches sight of me, freezing for half a second before striding toward the various monitors hooked up to Kenzie and surveying them.
“I see the swelling has gone down a little bit,” he says with a grin, trying to focus on Kenzie but sneaking glances at me.
“Where’s Rose?” I ask, my voice gruff.
I liked the no-nonsense but warm composure of the older woman who’d started Kenzie’s IV on the first try. Kenzie had nearly been in tears, saying it usually takes six or seven tries. Rose’s weathered demeanor belied her obvious competence. This guy looks like a newborn fawn in comparison.
“She’s on lunch, so I’m looking after her patients. My name is Dylan.”
An unpleasant grunt escapes my throat as I continue to frown at him.
Look, I know I’m acting like a grumpy caveman when usually I’m the first to put everyone at ease. It’s just…nothing about today has gone to plan.
We were supposed to have a relaxing lunch and then fumble our way through nine holes of golf.
Or rather, I was going to fumble. Kenzie would use that incredible brain of hers to figure out all the correct angles and crush me.
I hadn’t realized how much I’d been looking forward to losing until I’d been on my flight home last night.
Between our golf game and the second event I had planned for this evening, I was going to finally break the news about Aaron over a shared container of her favorite ice cream. Hopefully the sugar and the exhilaration of whooping me in golf would lessen the sting of Aaron’s betrayal.
Instead, Kenzie is hooked to an IV, electrical wires crisscrossing over her patient gown, looking like someone who’s gone too far with lip filler.
Another knock and Dr. McAllister strides into the room.
“Hey, Kenzie,” she says, rubbing sanitizing gel between her hands. “I need to take another quick look inside your mouth, okay?”
She pulls a pen light from her scrub pocket and does a quick exam.
“The good news is things are looking better on the inside, but I’d still like to keep you a bit longer.”
“Okey dokey, artichokey. I’m fine as long as he’s here.” Kenzie shrugs while thumbing in my direction.
Then she places her hand beside her mouth like she’s going to whisper to Dr. McAllister, but everyone in the room hears her loud and clear. “He’s my fairy godfather in leg guards.”
“Is he now?” The doctor raises a blonde eyebrow.
Kenzie’s empathic nod can only be described as chaotically cherubic.
“I used to call him my supportive older brother, but I can’t say that now.” Her lips twist like she just took a bite out of a putrid lemon.
“Why is that?”
I get the feeling that Dr. McAllister gets a kick out of patients being hopped up on Versed—the nice ones at least.
“Kissing your brother is gross, and kissing Trevor is…” Her sentence drops off in a dreamy sigh that would win a teen sitcom actor an Emmy.
“How much longer do you think she’ll need to stay?” I ask, but not because I care about the time. We can stay here for the rest of the day if it means Kenzie is safe. I interrupt because I have a feeling that non-drugged Kenzie probably wouldn’t be whispering these kinds of details to strangers.
“An hour. Two, tops. The mucosal edema has markedly decreased, but I’d like to see her lip swelling lessen before sending her home.”
A terrifying thought zips to the front of my mind, and I rub my suddenly sweaty hands over my shorts.
“You’re sure everything will be fine after that? The swelling won’t come back, and she won’t have”—I swallow over my tight throat—“trouble breathing or anything?”
Dr. McAllister’s smile softens. “No. This is a simple allergic reaction. I don’t anticipate she’ll have any other issues as long as she avoids walnuts in the future.”
“I’ll see to that.”
I’d already cleared the kitchen of her allergens the second Kenzie mentioned it offhandedly months ago. I only eat bananas at the clubhouse now, even though I used to keep them on the counter for a quick snack.
“Then I can do anything, right? I don’t need to stay at home?” Kenzie asks in a rare moment of lucidity. Maybe the loopy medicine is finally wearing off.
The doctor tucks away her pen light. “Whatever your heart desires.”
Kenzie practically squeals, waving energetically as the doctor leaves. Dylan hovers, even though there’s nothing left for him to do.
“Hey, I wanted to ask. Is there any way…” He rubs the back of his neck, stalling.
“Give me a pen,” I say with a sigh, back to the grouchy version of myself.
I knew this was what the pause was about before, why he couldn’t stop looking at me. Dylan wants an autograph, even though Kenzie should be his sole focus. The man practically salivates as I quickly scribble my signature on the back of his patient notes.
“That was nice of you,” Kenzie says once he’s gone.
“I guess,” I grumble, still upset about the situation.
“You look strange, frowning.” Her fingertip pokes me in cheek. “Bring back my Trevor.”
My Trevor.
I like the sound of that way too much. The idea of belonging to Kenzie, of being hers.
That tiny little word attached to my name feels like sparklers ignited beneath my skin. I’ve never belonged to a person, not really. I’ve belonged to a team, to a franchise, but never to one person who chose me for something other than my skills on the field or my bank account.
A deep, settling sensation filters into my chest, feeling eerily similar to the resonance that vibrates up my forearms after I’ve hit a home run. When that happens, I don’t even have to watch the ball, I just know.
Kenzie likes me…for me.
A wild grin tugs on my lips as I press my cheek into her palm.
“There he is,” she says through a widening smile. “That’s much better.”
I turn and kiss her palm, the wattage of my smile doubling. “What do you want to do for the rest of our hospital date?”
Her noisy inhale pulls an easy chuckle from my lips.
“That’s what we’ll call it. A hospital date. Then we haven’t lost any time today.” Kenzie’s earnest smile tugs at something deep in my soul.
“I think Dylan owes me a juice box. I’ll get two, and we can pretend they’re wine.”
“Yes.” Kenzie’s laugh tumbles free. “And we can play charades.”
“Whatever you want.”
I sit up, gently moving her hand from my cheek to intertwine with mine. Then I click the nurse call bell, waggle my eyebrows at her, and call “Garcon” toward the privacy curtain.
One thing is for certain, for the rest of the day, Kenzie will be my sole focus.