survive, and pretend the last few days never happened.
The nurse returned with the brace and showed me how to slide it on my foot, even though I already knew. She handed Maximo my discharge and prescription papers before recapping the doc’s orders.
By the time she finished her spiel, the pain meds had hit my brain.
Those pills were not Motrin…
My head was a floaty balloon, and I was exhaustedly loopy.
Have the lights in here always been so bright and annoying?
And has Maximo always been so hot?
No. Definitely not.
It’s the drugs.
Monsters aren’t hot.
I need to get out of here. I’m pretty sure my balloon head can just float me away.
Not waiting for help, I stood and wobbled, both from the meds and my foot.
Maximo looked ready to throttle me. “Careful.”
“I’m fine,” I said for what felt like the billionth time that day. So much so, the word didn’t even sound real anymore. “Fine, fine, fine.”
“I’ll let you get her home. Contact us if there are any issues.” She looked at me. “Feel better, Dove.”
I didn’t like her calling me that. I didn’t like her voice.
But it was better than her calling me sweetie, so I wasn’t bitchy. “Thank you.”
“Let me see if I can find you some clean clothes to wear,” she said as she headed for the door.
“We’re set,” Maximo told her.
My eyes darted to my crusty clothes and I grimaced. I’d rather stay in the open butt hospital gown than try to put that mess back on.
When she opened the door, handsome goon was standing in the hall. He tossed a bag to Maximo and left just as fast.
Maximo pulled out a pair of fleece PJ pants and a gray tee.
Oh, thank God.
He tore the tags off the shirt and handed it to me before turning around.
I slid the scratchy gown off before pulling on the super soft shirt. “Pants, please.”
“Sit,” he ordered.
Right. It’d be kind of hard for me to put them on when I can’t even stand.
I wiggled onto the exam table. Maximo took a step closer but stopped suddenly. He handed me the pants before giving me his back again.
Once I had my pants on, I stood to pull them the rest of the way up. I tried to take a step toward the wheelchair—I wasn’t a total irresponsible dummy—but Maximo picked me up. “I can walk.”
“And look where it got you.”
“Fine, I can ride in the wheelchair.”
“Or you can be quiet and let me carry you.”
I narrowed my eyes but stayed quiet. If he wanted to waste his time and energy hefting me around, that was on him.
It beat the scratchy wheelchair fabric against my back.
When we got outside, the goon was waiting with the SUV. Like the ride there, Maximo got in and settled me on his lap before handing the goon the prescriptions. “Get these filled.”
“I can do it,” I argued.
“Ash has it handled.”
“There’s a pharmacy on my street. I’ll bring them in tomorrow when I go shopping.”
“Your street?”
I nodded through my yawn, exhaustion and pain meds double teaming my brain. “You didn’t throw me out of the car. Or take me somewhere to kill me.”
“You thought I was going to kill you?”
“Uh, yeah,” I said, the duh going unsaid but highly implied. “But you didn’t, so that means you’re dropping me off at home.”
His body went tight. “You’re not going back there.”
“I live there.”
“Not anymore.”
“What do you mean? It’s all I have.”
“Not anymore,” he repeated.
I was trying to keep up with the conversation, but it made no sense in my medicated haze. “The point is, you saved my life. I won’t go to the police. We’re even. You can just drop me off wherever.”
His voice was firm and angry. “I’m not dropping you off anywhere.”
“I can’t just stay.”
“That’s exactly what you’re going to do.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re seventeen, and I’m not going to drop you at that dump so you can be homeless in a few days.”
“Homeless?”
“That shithole is in foreclosure.”
The familiar money stress settled on my chest, but I breathed through it like I always did. It wasn’t a new occurrence. I’d been managing that anxiety since I was ten and first understood how royally fucked we always were. “I’ll figure something out.”
I always did.
I always held it together. I always made it work. I always survived.
“I’m not having this fucking argument. You’re not going to live alone in that slum. You’d be dead by the morning,” he bit out, shaking his head. “Christ, I’m offering paradise and she wants hell.”
I was about to