Eventually, he got medicated again and fell asleep.
I pulled up a chair beside his bed. “You know I wasn’t trying to be a bitch, right?” Mia said. “People tend to call strong women bitches.”
“Not me. And I know.”
“He’s my little brother. I love him. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him. I’ll figure this out. It’s…fuck, he’s crazy about you. Darren might be cocky and not, well, not always know when to take things seriously, but it’s a defense mechanism. He’s protecting himself because of our dad. But I always knew that when he did love, he’d love big. Looks like that’s now, so we figure it out. That’s what our family does. You jeopardize the happiness of one of us, you fuck with all of us.”
“Um…in this situation, I’m the one fucking.” My eyes went wide, and Mia chuckled. “I’m not— I didn’t mean fucking. You know what I meant!”
“I know, but it was funny. Darren loves you, and if you don’t purposefully hurt him, we’re all good. It’s not your fault. It’s society’s fault.”
Her words made my blood warm, my heart swell. But… “He doesn’t love me.”
“Yeah, sure, okay.”
I smiled. She was kind of great.
“Also, you love him too, so we’re all good.”
I didn’t bother denying that.
The conversation ended then. Mia went back to work on her laptop, and I went back to being a weird ass who watched Darren sleep. The hospital staff pulled in another cot, and eventually Mia and I went to bed.
It took me forever to fall asleep because I couldn’t stop thinking about what Mia said—that Darren loved me, and the things about his career. All that collided with Darren telling me he was demiromantic for me, because of course he would say it like that.
My eyes were full of sandpaper the next day. We didn’t talk about anything important that morning, and pretended Mia hadn’t said anything.
The doctor came in to see Darren. He had two eight-inch sutured wounds on his arm, and it was swollen, the skin tight. The surgeon said it looked good and that they would discharge him.
The nurse soon came in with the papers, explaining the rehab process and emphasizing that he couldn’t work out, not even his lower body because it would be too taxing for now.
Darren wasn’t happy about that. He was subdued in a way I hadn’t really seen him before.
We said goodbye to Mia in the parking lot. She said she’d keep in touch, and then I was driving Darren home.
His family was in and out the next couple of days. Anson checked in when he could, and as much as I knew he wanted to support Darren, it was clear it upset Darren. He wanted to be practicing with Anson. He wanted to be playing.
After the game on Sunday, which we watched on TV, Darren said he was tired and needed a nap, but I knew he just wanted to be alone. He was sad, and I understood that. Even though his injury wasn’t my fault, the possible fallout if anyone found out about us would be.
Over the past few days, he’d gotten more and more frustrated that he couldn’t do things on his own, annoyed with his brace, or obsessing over his incision site. He also tried to fight taking his pain meds until it became too much to bear. He didn’t laugh or make as many jokes as he typically did, and when he allowed himself to, I knew it was an act. He was trying to pretend everything was okay when he was upset, when he knew this could all go downhill fast.
So when West called and asked if I wanted to hang out at You Belong with him for a little while, I jumped at the opportunity.
We were in his office, ready to work, when he asked, “How are things going?”
I shrugged, not really knowing what to say. “In some ways it’s fine. He’s healing, and it’s nice to spend time together. He’s attentive, and we have fun and all that, but…” I didn’t know how to word it without making it sound like Darren was being a dick. He wasn’t. He paid attention to me and treated me well, but I could tell he had a lot on his mind, which obviously made sense. “I worry he’s starting to regret it…” I finally put words to what I hadn’t wanted to voice.
“Did he say something to make you think that?”
“No, that’s the thing. It’s just…he snaps, and I know he doesn’t mean to. You can tell he’s stressed out about everything. He’s got to figure out how to move forward with me, and what’s going to happen with his arm, and what it means for his future. It’s a lot to hit at once. I can tell he’s freaked-out but doesn’t want to upset me.”