“Just need a minute. It’s nothing.”
“It’s not nothing. You’ve been in pain for weeks now. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. Ensign—” She summoned Carmichael over, who was the most junior officer on their staff. “Ensign, I need you to take the Lieutenant over to Urgent Care at the medical center—”
“I can drive.” Apollo tried to stand again and failed. Fuck.
“Don’t mess with me, Floros. No way are you getting behind the wheel of a car in this shape. And no way are you avoiding the doctor. Carmichael, you stay until Floros is checked in. And Floros, you’re taking a few days of medical leave, regardless of what they say over at Urgent Care. I want you to heal up.”
“Yes, ma’am.” There was no arguing with her in this mood. “They’ll probably just give me some muscle relaxers—”
“And you’ll take them.” She nodded sharply before leaving him to hobble to one of the official vehicles with Carmichael hovering like Apollo was in imminent danger of falling on his face. Which, honestly, he was. The pain was so bad that he had to grind his teeth and clutch the door to avoid moaning on the ride to the medical center. He still couldn’t fully straighten, and sitting back down was out of the question as he checked in at the Urgent Care desk.
“Do you want me to wait with you?” Carmichael was looking a bit green around the gills, clearly not comfortable around sick people. He was fresh out of the academy, with shiny pink cheeks and almost white-blond hair.
“Nah.” Apollo had to grind out the word. It was so bad that it hurt to simply breathe, each inhale triggering a fresh spasm. “You did your duty by the admiral. Get back to work.”
Only after he left did Apollo realize that he didn’t have a way home. He checked his phone. Darn it. His in-laws should already have the girls, and he didn’t want to interrupt their special time. His friends were likely all on duty. Guess that left the one person he’d rather not have see him like this.
Can you give me a ride home from the Naval Medical Center? At Urgent Care. Not an emergency. Just my back, he texted Dylan. Fuck. Typing hurt.
“Lieutenant Floros?” A young nurse in blue scrubs called his name. “This way please.”
Apollo struggled to follow her down the hall.
“Do you want me to get a wheelchair?” she asked.
“No.” Apollo forced his feet to take another step. He’d hiked in broiling temperatures, loaded down with a hundred pounds of supplies. He could make it to one little exam room.
He hadn’t had this level of pain in years, but he still knew the drill, a painful exam that went over his old injury and flare-up history followed by a two very long needles to his hip, one with opiate painkiller, one with muscle relaxer, an order to call his regular doctor and get an appointment ASAP for an updated MRI, and a handful of prescriptions.
Thanks to the shots, he was able to lurch out of the exam room more or less upright. But hell, he hated meds. They made the whole world fuzzy around the edges. He checked out then headed for the car...
Wait. No car.
He fished out his phone but heard his name before he could unlock the screen.
“Apollo!” Dylan bounded up. “I came as soon as I could.”
There you are. Apollo’s pulse sped up in a way that had nothing to do with the medication cocktail zooming its way through him.
“I’m fine.” Damn but he was tired of saying that. And why was he so fucking glad to see Dylan? Like man-I-want-to-hug-you glad? He didn’t get that happy over anyone. “We better get back before the girls are done with their dinner.”
“Already handled, my friend.” Dylan led the long walk to the car at Apollo’s water buffalo pace. “Check your messages. They’re willing to have the girls do a sleepover, and I’ve got bags with their pajamas and Bee Baby and Kitty ready for Marilyn to pick up.”
“You met Marilyn?” Apollo wasn’t really sure how that would go over. He loved his mother-in-law, but she was a bit of a force of nature.
“Yup, when they picked the kids up from day camp. We exchanged phone numbers just in case you got stuck at work. And luckily, that meant I could text them when you got sick.”
“I’m not sick. And you didn’t have to do that.” Apollo sounded like a grumpy beaver trying to protect his crumpling dam, but he didn’t care. And sure, the girls had slept over at Marilyn and Pat’s place, many times, but he wasn’t sure he liked how easily Dylan had taken charge of the whole situation.
“Yes, I did.” Dylan opened the passenger side door for him. He’d brought the SUV, not his own little hybrid, for which Apollo was profoundly grateful as it meant less bending. “And besides, this way I get you all to myself.”
Apollo’s gut gave a strange flutter, made worse by the fuzzy edges of his consciousness. Alone. No kids. Him high as kite. This should be fun.
Chapter Ten
Apollo on painkillers was hilarious.
“This reaction has happened before with the medications for your back, right?” Dylan asked as they finally pulled into the house after a brief stop at the pharmacy for Apollo’s prescriptions. He’d convinced Apollo to text Marilyn and let them keep the girls until tomorrow morning, but at the moment, corralling the twin terrors would be easier than Apollo on painkillers.
“Reaction?” Apollo blinked. He had wandered the aisles of the pharmacy in a daze, captivated by random objects like battery-powered fans.
“Yeah. I almost asked the pharmacist whether you tripping balls is normal.”
“It’s normal.” Apollo gave him a lopsided smile. “Muscle relaxers. Every damn time. And the painkiller just makes everything floaty.”
“You must be a fun drunk.” Dylan came around the car to get Apollo’s door before the guy faceplanted on the garage floor.
“Don’t get drunk,” Apollo said, all earnest seriousness. “I can handle liquor.”
“Ha.” Dylan snorted. “I’m asking Dustin about that, because I’m thinking that you drunk off your ass is too funny to miss.”
“This is different.” Apollo walked like he was trying desperately to pass a DUI test and failing miserably. “Drinking makes things loose. Pills make...pretty.”
“Pretty, huh?” Dylan steered him toward the stairs. “Let’s get your pretty self to lie down before you fall down.”
Apollo climbed the stairs leaning heavily on the rail, then lurched his way to—
“Wrong room.” Dylan tried to steer him away from the guest room back down the hall to the master, but it was like trying to move one of the ponderosa pines in his parent’s backyard.
“Sorry,” Apollo slurred. “Got so used to sleeping in there before you came—”
“Hold up. You weren’t sleeping in your own room?” A whole lot made sense—how tired Apollo had been since Dylan got there, his crankiness, and the falling asleep on the couch thing.