“How did you manage to-”
“Aw, crap. I don’t know, Lay. One minute, I’m chasing Nick down a fire escape, the next, I’m laid flat-out on my ass in the middle of the sidewalk with a busted arm. I talked to Marty already. He says it’s fine. He’s already worked it into the script. But he has to rearrange the whole damn shooting schedule for the next few days until my head heals.”
“How long will you be laid up?”
“Who knows. They’re trying to get me into a room, just so they can monitor my skull for the night. Sandy’s pretty great, but there’s no way she wants to babysit my ass for the next twenty-four hours. I haven’t even called my mother yet. She’d probably insist that I spend the night there, and I don’t want to put her through that.”
I guessed it was hard for him to be clear across the country from his home and have something like this happen. It was sweet that he didn’t want to put his mother out, but knowing her, I thought she was going to be beside herself when she found out what had happened to her son after the fact.
“What about Jenna?” I asked, without even thinking.
“Nah. She’s getting ready for a show. She’s got a trip to Milan in the morning. Besides, even if she had hopped a flight when she first heard the news, it would still be hours before she could get here.” He fiddled with the wires connected to his body, trying to sound unaffected as he added, “I suppose she could have at least called, however.”
I stared at him, speechless, wondering what kind of fiancée wouldn’t even want to hear his voice after something like this. Make sure he’s okay. Hop on a freaking plane anyway and just be by his side. She’d be passing over New York, for godsakes. How flipping difficult would it be to just layover for a few hours and grab a connecting flight?
I should have had some couth and just let the subject go, but my mouth tends to shoot off without permission from my brain sometimes. “She didn’t even call you?”
Trip tried to shrug it off like it wasn’t a big deal, but his lips tightened as his eyes settled on the threadbare blanket covering his legs. His fingers picked at a loose string dangling from the woven fabric, pulling until the edge turned ragged and frayed. “Like I said, she’s in the middle of a lot of stuff right now, Lay. She and I... we always make it a point to be independent. It’s fine, really.”
“Bullshit.” There was no way I was letting this go. “Are you kidding me? Trip, Jesus. Screw Milan. She should be on a fucking plane on her way here to you now. That’s not being independent, that’s being selfish.”
I didn’t know if it was the haze of drugs or the blow to his head, but Trip looked close to tears. I mean, who could blame him? Times get tough and his pathetic fiancée can’t even think past one stinking fashion show in order to check in on the man she’s planning to marry? I probably shouldn’t have stirred the pot, but he was acting so nonchalant. Someone needed to be outraged on his behalf. So, it surprised me when he opened his mouth to respond, not in defense of his fiancée, but to look at me and say, “Jesus, Layla. You were always too good to me. You always treated me way better than I deserved.”
I blamed the concussion for his over-emotional state, and let that comment rest for the time being. I pulled the naugahyde chair out of the corner and dragged it closer to the edge of his bed to sit down. I saw his undamaged hand lying at his side, and without thinking twice, I took it. There was something really easy and familiar about that. Something comfortable.
“I broke my wrist once too, you know. When I was eight. It wasn’t fun.”
Trip tore his gaze from our intertwined hands and asked, “Oh yeah? How’d you do that?”
“Invisible airplane.”
He let out a chuckle. “Ah. Of course. I hate when that happens. You gotta watch out for those things.”
“Yep.”
That made us both smile.
“You know,” I started in, “I never did manage to finagle that lunchbox out of the deal.”
Trip looked at me vacantly. “Uh, Lay? What the hell are you talking about?”
I laughed and amended, “Sorry. I guess I kinda started that story in the middle.”
I rested my other hand on the bed as well, absently playing his fingertips with my own. “After I’d broken my arm, my mother told me she’d get me a special present, anything so long as it wasn’t alive, like a pony or something.” He smiled warmly, and I tried to ignore the ache that that caused my heart. “It wasn’t a problem, because the only thing I wanted in the world was a Dukes of Hazzard lunchbox. Debbie Napolitano with her perfect Laura Ingalls braids had been flaunting hers all around the cafeteria for months, and I was so jealous!”