9. Naz #2
When we arrive at the hospital, Scott runs over to my side and shoves a pair of sunglasses on my face before brandishing a ball cap.
He has to remind me to cover my face and tattoos.
I’m wearing a long-sleeved button-down shirt already because I don’t feel like listening to my grandmother assure the doctors or orderlies that I’m a good boy despite looking like a ‘hooligan’.
Instead, I look like a douche with giant sunglasses and my collar popped, with my ball cap pulled down low.
Scott laughs when I tell him as much.
“I really don’t think there’s much chance of any danger here. It’s a busy hospital. These people are too busy to pay me any mind.”
“Remember the mob at the hotel after someone tipped off the paps?”
“That was Will’s dumb ass and you know it.”
“Anyone could have tipped them off and the same thing would have happened.”
“I’m not Jesse. Or Will. Or Ari. Other than taking stupid pictures that make it look like you’re mooning over me, the press has never given me that much trouble. On my own, I rarely even get photographed.”
Scott makes a face, some of the color draining from his usually happy expression. “Better safe than sorry, right? After the, you know…” He ducks his head like there’s anyone around us to hear and whispers, “Bomb.”
Rolling my eyes, I pull the cap down lower and dramatically flick my collar before I start walking to the entrance. Scott walks a few steps behind me, just close enough that I can hear him mutter, “Don’t think I didn’t see that.”
A happy little zing buzzes through me as we walk up to the desk to get visitor passes and directions for where to go.
That happy feeling only lasts as long as it takes to get to my grandfather’s room.
He’s in a hospital bed, propped up to a sitting position.
There’s oxygen tubing under his nose and a ton of leads and tubes running from him to various machines.
It’s a little too reminiscent of when Jesse was in the hospital.
The feeling of looking at someone you love, someone who has always been larger than life, look so small and fragile…
It aches in an intangible way, makes me feel just as vulnerable as they look.
Scott’s hand touches my lower back, and I find myself leaning into the comforting heat just a little.
“He looks so old,” I whisper.
He looks older than I’ve ever seen. His typically warm brown skin looks pallid, every wrinkle on his face seems deeper. It makes him look even older than he is.
Grandfather’s eyes are closed, but I can tell by the way he’s frowning that he isn’t asleep. Someone probably told him to rest and pissed him off.
“Nazario?”
I flinch, shying away from Scott’s proximity as I turn around to see my grandmother walking up the hallway, the sharp click of her low heels echoing off the polished floors.
She looks just as put together as always in a silk blouse tucked into a pair of pressed trousers.
Her silver-streaked hair is pulled into a neat bun at the back of her head, makeup perfectly done so her porcelain skin looks luminous even under the harsh fluorescent lights.
If the circles under her eyes are a bit darker than usual, no one could blame her.
Aside from that, you’d never know she’d been through an ordeal at all.
Offering a soft smile, I bend down to greet her with a kiss to the cheek. “You look gorgeous as always. How are you holding up, Grandmother?”
She pats my back and then waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, we’re just fine. I told you a visit wasn’t necessary.”
“I wanted to see you. It’s been months.”
“Yes, well, the doctor said he can probably go home in the next day or two.”
“That’s good news.”
She hums her agreement. “Well, don’t just loiter out here in the hall, come inside and greet your grandfather properly. Fix your collar. And take off that hat. Honestly, who raised you?”
I can’t help but chuckle at that. “Yes, ma’am.”
There’s no point in telling her why I look like a douche right now, so I take off the hat and let my grandmother straighten my collar.
I have to bend down so she can reach around my neck.
I don’t miss the way her eyes scan the ink that crawls up the side of my neck, but at least she doesn’t say anything.
She only purses her lips and pats me on the chest when she’s finished making me presentable.
When we step into the room, Grandmother looks back at Scott questioningly.
He’s standing against the wall a few feet down the hallway, trying to be inconspicuous.
Except he’s not. He’s a very large person, and he’s also incredibly handsome.
Like, Disney prince handsome if any of them were also bodybuilders. Gaston with Eric’s hair and face.
I snort a little at my internal thoughts.
“Who is that man?”
“Oh, him?” I clear my throat. “That’s Scott. He’s my bodyguard. It’s no big deal,” I assure her with as much nonchalance as I can muster.
My grandmother leans to the side to look behind me again. “Is that really necessary?” She seems almost offended, as though his presence is a personal affront.
“Wasn’t my idea,” I say, moving past her into the room to greet my grandfather, who is sitting up a little taller now that he’s no longer pretending to be asleep.
Walking over to his bed, I reach out my hand to shake his—A proper man’s greeting, according to him.
“Hey there, Gramps.”
He harrumphs in greeting. They like to pretend they don’t like silly nicknames, but someone has to shake them up a little sometimes.
“What’s this I hear about a bodyguard?”
“It’s nothing,” I tell him, then try to change the subject. “Grandmother says you’ll be out of here in no time, yeah?”
Another harrumph. “I should have been discharged already. I’m fine.”
My grandmother sits in the chair next to the bed and crosses her ankles. “Assuming they stop inventing reasons to keep him.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“They won’t,” Grandfather says confidently. “This place charges by the hour, and I’ve got excellent insurance.”
A voice from the doorway answers before I can reply.
“Don’t tell me you’re tired of us already.”
I turn around to see a man who looks to be in his mid-fifties, with olive skin and close-cropped salt-and-pepper hair. He’s wearing a white coat over navy scrubs, a badge that says ‘Doctor Keane’ hanging from the breast pocket. He smiles as he approaches the bed.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Lester. I take it you’re feeling well?”
“Perfectly well, thank you,” Grandfather says, straightening his posture. Somehow, even in a hospital gown and grippy socks, he manages to look almost regal.
The doctor studies the monitor for a moment, then reviews something on the tablet in his hand.
“Your oxygen levels are still improving, and the antibiotics seem to be doing their job. So that’s all good news. Do you mind if I take a listen?” He holds up his stethoscope questioningly.
Grandfather nods his approval for him to go ahead, looking more than a little chuffed.
He probably thinks it makes him look weak to be examined in front of me and Grandmother.
We both avert our gazes to help him feel more comfortable, but I’ll be damned if I’m leaving.
I need to hear from a medical professional whether he’s truly okay or not.