chapter forty-three
Knox
It’s been three days since I woke up in the hospital. They’re finally discharging me today, and I can’t wait to sleep in my own bed. I’m still sore as fuck and look like a blowfish, but it gets better every day.
Aston, Katie, and Weston have been by my side the whole time. They’ve been taking turns sleeping here overnight. Katie slept over last night, and I found out from her that Aston was all the way in Texas when this happened. He flew here from Houston… for me.
And I don’t understand why.
We haven’t spoken for months, and he was so hurt and pissed the way we left things. We haven’t had a chance to talk to each other about anything besides superficial conversations. The night it was his turn to stay with me here, I was so doped up on pain meds that I conked out the entire night. By the time I woke up, Katie and Weston were here.
I desperately want to get him alone and talk to him.
I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t good as fuck to see him. We saw each other here and there before school let out, but we didn’t have any classes together and he seemed to avoid my house like the plague. So, aside from that drunken FaceTime call months ago, I haven’t really seen him. Waking up and seeing him by my side… I don’t know, it solidified things with me. Made me realize how I felt. My feelings for him run so fucking deep, it’s suffocating sometimes.
He’s here at the hospital now, with Katie and Weston, and he looks so fucking good. He’s wearing a blue Mariners baseball hat, a white Nike crewneck, black joggers that hug his ass and thighs perfectly, and black Nike tennis shoes. I’ve been ogling him since he arrived about two hours ago, and I’m not being very slick about it. I’ve caught Katie smirking at me knowingly at least three times.
“Have you talked to your mom at all?” Weston asks.
“Nah, she’s texted a few times. Kinda hard to text with this cast on, though, so I didn’t respond.” After my dad was arrested a few days ago, she texted me several times—not really sure why she’s pretending to give a shit. If I had to guess, it’s probably got more to do with what her fucked up husband being locked up will do for their “image” and less to do with me being in the hospital.
“You can stay at my house for the rest of the break, bro,” Weston says. “We have the guest house that no one’s using. I already talked to my folks, and they’re fine with it.”
Having everyone look after me and figure shit out for me is embarrassing and not something I’m used to. I’m relieved he offered, though, because staying at my house with my mother was not high on my list of shit I wanted to do.
“Alright, thanks, man. I really appreciate it.”
The four of us just chill and bullshit for the next hour or so before the doctor comes in and clears me to be discharged. They give me strict instructions on what I can and can’t do over the next eight weeks while my body heals fully. No drinking, no strenuous activity, no swimming or fully submerging myself in water with my cast on. Basically, I can’t do anything fun for the rest of the summer.
Thanks, Daddy Dearest.
The nurse should be back with my discharge papers anytime now and then I’m home free. Katie is in town for another few days before she has to head back to Georgia for the remainder of break, and I’m happy that she’s also staying at Weston’s. Hanging out with them seems like the best remedy after this shitstorm I’ve been through the last week.
The food lady brought me Jell-O earlier—lime, of course—and I’m working on finishing it before we leave, as Aston stands up.
“Anderson and my parents are landing soon. I gotta go pick them up,” he says, looking between the three of us before zeroing in on me. “I can text you later… if you want?”
“Okay. I mean, yeah, that’s fine with me. Thanks for everything, man.”
“No problem. I’ll catch you guys later.” With a wave and a look over his shoulder at me, he’s gone. My eyes linger on the door he just walked out of a little too long, wishing he didn’t have to go.
******
Showering is a fucking joke.
All I wanted when we got back to Weston’s house was to take a nice, hot fucking shower, but of course, it can’t be that easy. The obnoxious, clunky ass blue cast is ruining my goddamn life.
Okay, that’s fucking dramatic, but shit.
First, I had to locate a plastic fucking bag and duct tape to wrap it all up before I could even get in the shower. That easily took fifteen minutes. Then, by the time I was able to actually get in the shower, doing everything one-handed proved to be a challenge all on its own with broken ribs. Trying to open the shampoo or the body wash bottles… not easy at all. I had to turn the temperature of the water down because I worked up a fucking sweat trying to maneuver the bottles. Probably could’ve asked Katie or Weston for help, but fuck that. They’ve done enough for me, and I would like to keep at least some of my dignity.
Katie went to the pharmacy for me while I was basically fighting my way out of a wet paper bag, and Weston ordered us pizza for dinner. I’m finally starting to get my appetite back, and anything other than hospital food sounds really fucking good right about now. My head hurts like a motherfucker still, and loud noise triggers the pain. I’ll be happy when that goes away.
Heading into the main house after getting dressed—which took almost twenty fucking minutes—Weston is watching some movie in the living room. He must hear me come in, because he looks over his shoulder and says, “’Sup, man. Feel better after your shower?”
“No, not really. That shit took so long. Fuck this fucking cast.”
“Sorry,” he says, chuckling and turning back to his movie. “I’m sure it’ll get easier the longer you have it on. How long do you have to keep it on again?”
“Eight fucking weeks.”
“Damn. At least it’ll come off before we gotta go back to school.”
“Sure, silver lining,” I deadpan, earning me another chuckle from him.
The front door opens, and in walks Katie with my prescriptions and pizza boxes. “The delivery guy was pulling up as I was.”
“Dope, I’m fucking starving,” I say, turning on my heel and making my way into the kitchen. “What do you guys want to drink?”
“I’ll take a water, please,” Katie says, grabbing plates out of the cupboard.
“Uh, Gatorade for me, please.”
Grabbing their drinks, and a Gatorade for me too, I make my way over to the kitchen table, easing down in one of the seats as my phone vibrates in my pocket. Using my fucking phone is becoming increasingly challenging with this whole one working arm bullshit. Pulling it out, my heart feels like it actually skips a beat when I see a text from Aston pop up.
JT: Hey, just got home from the airport. Are you back at Weston’s yet?
I set the phone down on the table, so I can type out a response easier.
Me: Yeah, got back about an hour ago.
JT: How’re you feeling?
Me: Eh. Okay. Could be worse, I guess.
JT: What are you guys doing now?
Me: About to eat. His parents are gone for the weekend—Lake Chelan, I think.
JT: Cool Cool.
JT: What about tonight? What’re your plans?
Me: Nothing, just chillin’. Wbu?
JT: Same.
JT: Be okay if I stopped by later?
Me: Yeah, that’s cool with me.
JT: Okay. Around eight sound good?
Me: Sure.
JT: K, see ya then. ;)
My skin buzzes with the anticipation of seeing him. There’s so much I want to say to him, and while the idea of putting myself out there and being vulnerable is terrifying, it needs to happen. Losing him all those months ago broke me, making me realize how much I care for him, and distance has done nothing to dampen those feelings.
“Hey, daydreamer,” Katie says, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Pepperoni or cheese?”
“Cheese, please. No clue if these meds will fuck with my stomach.”
“Probably a good call,” she agrees, setting the hot, greasy pizza in front of me. She and Weston take their seat at the table too, none of us waiting any longer to dive into our food. Hospital food is so bland and boring, and my taste buds thank me as I enjoy the flavors of the marinara and cheese.
Taking a drink of my Gatorade, looking at Katie, I ask, “Where are you sleeping here if I have the guest house?”
“In the room across from Weston’s.”
“How cozy.” I look between the both of them, lifting a brow.
“So, Aston’s coming over later?” Weston asks, and it throws me off.
“How do you know that?”
“He texted me a minute ago, making sure it was okay. Said he already asked you.”
“Oh.” That makes sense, I guess. “Yeah, in a few hours. Probably just wants to make sure I’m okay.”
“Don’t do that,” Katie says in between bites.
“Do what?”
“Downplay. You both are so fucking stubborn.” She laughs. “It’s unbelievable. You are crazy about each other, but also oblivious as hell to the other’s feelings. Neither of you wants to admit your feelings, and I don’t get it.”
“He ended things, Katie.”
“Yes,” she drawls, “because he thought you weren’t that serious about him. You inadvertently hurt him, and he had to protect himself. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t care for you.”
“Who’s fucking side are you on?” I’m defensive—it’s stupid—but I can’t help it.
“Knox, it’s not about sides. He flew here for you. He heard you were hurt, then jumped on the soonest flight for you. He refused to leave your side, had to be forced to go home for a few short hours each day to shower and rest, and stood up to your asshole father for you. Open your stubborn fucking eyes, Knox. He’s crazy about you. You’re crazy about him. My gosh, boys are stupid.” She sits back in her chair, crossing her arms, and rolling her eyes.
She’s so dramatic.
“It’s just not that simple, Katie.”
“Why, though?” This time, the question comes from Weston. How nice of them to gang up on me when I’m weak and fragile.
“Because!” My head throbs at my outburst, and I have to talk myself into calming down. “Because, man. He fucking hurt me, okay?” The last part comes out as more of a cracked whisper.
“It sounds like you both hurt each other, babe.” Katie sighs, reaching for my hand across the table. “Hear him out, okay? Tell him how you feel. Communicate. You may be surprised how much that helps.”
“Fine. You guys are a pain in my ass.”
“You love us.”