“Famished.” Max pursed his lips. “Also starving, ravenous, and anything in the thesaurus that means about to chew off one’s fingers.”
Felix pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. “Find a cafeteria and get something to eat.”
“Thanks. Can I bring you anything, Mr. FW?”
Felix was about to answer no when his stomach growled. “A bottle of water. And, you know what? A bag of salt and vinegar chips if they have any.” He handed over another five dollars.
“Salt and vinegar—my favorite,” Max said.
“Mine too.” At least they used to be, until I developed absolute control over my eating habits.
Max stopped in the doorway. “Don’t forget to wake him in ten minutes; otherwise, Nurse Ratched will rip you limb from limb.”
“Nurse Ratched reporting for duty.” A slim brunette with multiple piercings entered the room.
Max turned back to Felix. “She’s way tougher than she looks. A total ball breaker, Dad.” Then he laughed and disappeared.
“You must be the boys’ father. Max said we should expect you. I’m just going to take some vitals.”
“How is he?” Felix asked.
“Fine, he’s doing fine. We’re just keeping him in for observation. I’ll tell the doctor you’re here, and he can go over the CT scan results with you.”
“Please tell me—were they clear?”
She glanced toward the door and nodded; then put her finger to her lips and smiled. He could have kissed her. Felix stood up and moved out of her way.
“Harry, sweetheart,” the nurse said. “I need you to wake up.”
Harry woke with a sharp jolt. Shook his head hard. Ow. The nightmare still clung. Face shoved into a dirty floor; someone suffocating him. Stale sweat and coffee breath bearing down on him, crushing him. He gasped for air.
“It’s okay, Hazza. You’re safe.” Dad’s voice. Was Dad here?
The hospital. Not a nightmare after all. Worse than a nightmare because this was real.
Harry shielded his eyes.
“Are you still seeing double?” the nurse said.
“Yeah.” His hand groped air. “Dad?”
“I’m here, Hazza. I’m here.”
Never thought he’d be so happy to hear Dad’s voice.
After the nurse left, closing the door quietly behind her, Dad scraped the chair around and straddled it. He leaned over the back and took Harry’s hand. “How’re you feeling?”
“Head hurts.” Harry tried to pull himself up.
“Relax. We’re not going anywhere until the doctor gives you the all clear.”
Harry flopped back. “You came.”
“You doubted me?”
No. “No. I’m just so happy to see you. When can I go home?” He wanted to be in his bed, under his duvet, away from this waking nightmare.
“Soon.” Dad’s hand was hot and sticky; he squeezed hard, then let go.
“Mom?”
“She thinks I’m staying at the office all night. Katherine’s covering for us. We’ll call home tomorrow, and you can tell Mom you’re okay. She’ll want to hear your voice.”
“I can talk to her now.”
“Let’s wait until you’re feeling stronger. Mom doesn’t miss much where you’re concerned. She’ll hear hesitation and worry.”
Harry tried to nod, but too much movement and his head might explode.
“Once they discharge you, we’ll book into a hotel. You and Max can order room service and sleep in tomorrow. Then we’ll pick up your suitcases and head to the airport.”
“Are you going to sit up all night watching over me—to make sure I’m breathing?”
“That thought has crossed my mind. How’s the head?”
“Sore. Can I get a Tylenol or something?”
“I’ll ask the nurse.” Dad frowned, then glanced at the call button. “Is the headache worse than before?”
“Holding steady,” Harry said. “How much trouble am I in?”
“I’ll take care of everything.”
“No, I mean with you. Are you going to punish me?”
“Yes?” The nurse’s voice crackled through a speaker on the side of the bed.
Dad slumped forward to reply. “Can my son get a Tylenol for his headache?”