Holy shit, how was this my life? Seriously, I’d gone from being a dull little student and daughter of an NYPD detective who was overprotective to the max, to a woman on the lam from a psycho, then engaged to a crazy former USAF captain, with a dog who took down a psycho and chewed on him, to… to… to…
“My life is whacked,” I announced unnecessarily to Garrett and the paramedic.
Not looking up from what he was doing, the paramedic replied, “At least it’ll never be boring. There’s a lot worse that could happen than having a whacked life.”
Looking at me out of the corner of his eye, Garrett rasped, “Happiest day of my life meeting you, pretty girl. I wish I’d caught that box jellyfish when it stung me so I could give it a steak dinner, too.”
The paramedic frowned down at him. “You got stung by a box jellyfish? Dude, so did I!”
Even though he was weak and it was clearly costing him, my fiancé exchanged box jellyfish war stories with the guy, even going as far as to tell him about the meme that’d brought us together.
Totally whacked.
Chapter Fifteen
Garrett
Waking up was never easy, and if everyone was honest, we all took that extra five minutes in the super comfy spot we’d somehow found the second the alarm went off. Thanks to my military career and being a police officer, I’d been woken up for immediate action on many occasions, so I appreciated those five minutes more than most.
So, when I felt sleep lifting, I stubbornly kept my eyes shut and willed my brain to shut the fuck up. I also willed the pain in my right shoulder to do the same—annoying bastard. The last time I’d felt something like this, I’d ended up rolling onto Tamsin’s phone during the night, where she’d left it on the bed because she’d fallen asleep watching something on it. The time before that, it’d been the burns I’d gotten in Raqqa. They’d been mean bitches, and I still felt ghost pains in the area two years later.
The instinct to shift my ass slightly to try and get the phone out from under me took over, but the shooting pain that took over the area in question was enough to have me going from saying ‘fuck no’ to waking up, to ‘that isn’t a phone’.
It felt like someone was stabbing me with a hot poker, and it was bad enough that my eyes shot open as I rolled all the way onto my back, groaning and reaching across with my right hand to touch the area carefully. What followed was an unpleasant medley of pains and sharp stabs.
The shoulder that was already trying to kill me protested even more, and the hand that was covering it now made it feel worse. It felt like it’d been dislocated, and just to add to it, something sharp was tugging in my right hand.
“What the fuck?” I was sure that was me speaking, but it sounded slurred and rough like I’d been out drinking all night. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d done that, so maybe I’d drunk too much and fallen down?
“Don’t do that, you’ll fuck up your IV,” the female voice that meant the world to me admonished, gently pulling my hand away from the pain.
I probably should’ve done that myself, but having that much assault your body at once confused the shit out of your common sense.
“They got the bullet out of your shoulder, Garrett, but it did some damage—like bullet’s do, duh—and is all bruised.” The duh made me smile slightly because that was just Tamsin’s personality perfectly, even when she was telling you that you’d been shot.
“The doctor said they were going to do some binding stuff just to give it time to heal. They only just brought you through from recovery about twenty-five minutes ago, so I think they’ll be coming in any minute to do it.”
Blinking against the harsh light shining on me from the window, I realized I was in a room I didn’t recognize.
And it fucking stank.
“Don’t be mean. This is what a clean hospital should smell like.”
I’d said that bit out loud, then.
“Yeah, you did. A lot of patients do that after an anesthetic. It’s kind of funnier when it’s not someone you care about, though.”
I wasn’t sure what we’d gotten up to the night before, none of my memories were making sense. Then again, it didn’t feel like my brain was making a whole lot of sense in general. Whenever I tried to take control of it and say something, ask something, or even move my limbs, nothing happened.
“You’re on a lot of pain medication, but the good news is that your tattoo worked, and they didn’t give you a volatile anesthetic. Don’t get me wrong, for the surgery they had to do, they worried that you’d wake up without it, but in the end you were okay. That doesn’t mean you’re not hopped up on some serious pain medications, though, my guy. Your body has to be feeling like cooked spaghetti and your brain like a colander.”