—
The drive from Aunt Livi’s to Hamilton General Hospital takes about six minutes for most people. Kiersten and her minivan make it in a cool four and a half. She pulls into the short-term parking and flicks the locks but doesn’t cut the engine. “I love you, but I told the babysitter I’d be home by midnight, and if I’m not, she starts charging double time.”
I pause, my hand on the handle. “How old is your babysitter?”
“Fifteen. I know. I wish I would have had that kind of audacity at that age. Call me tomorrow? Let me know everything is okay.”
I nod as bravely as I can before walking through the glass sliding doors of the ER waiting room.
It’s packed, and it takes me two loops around the broken bones, fevers, and other potato-wedge choking victims before I spot Brandon on an orange plastic chair, head dropped back as if asleep, with Dougie’s husky frame curled up like a napping kitten beside him.
“Hey.” I gently shake Brandon’s shoulder. His eyes immediately fly open.
“Gemma. You’re here. Sorry about that. Must have nodded off. It’s been a bit of a day.”
Dougie, still asleep, responds with a grunt.
“How’s Dax? Where’s Dax? Is everything okay?”
Brandon looks around the waiting room as if he’s only now realized Dax is missing.
“He got called in for his X-ray.” He checks his watch. “Maybe an hour ago. Sunny called in a favor before she left. I imagine he won’t be too much longer.”
There are no free seats on either side of them. It forces me to stand, towering awkwardly above them.
“Pardon me if this comes off sounding a bit brash, but there’s no reason all three of us need to be here. Would you mind if I got this one home?” Brandon runs his hand affectionately down Dougie’s back. “My darling really does need his beauty rest. Otherwise, he’s a bit of a bear.”
I nod. “Of course, by all means. I’ve got this. You guys go.”
Dax showed up for me today. Spending the night in the ER is the least I can do.
It takes two gentle nudges and a hard shove to wake Dougie fully. It’s another fifteen minutes before I’m settled in one of their leather-vinyl-covered seats, still warm from their bodies. The monotony of the room starts to get to me, as do the scrolling CNN news stories on the volumeless television mounted on the wall and the rhythmic scraping of the automatic sliding doors. Even the monotone announcements through the loudspeaker lull me into a state where I find my own head dropping back.
But then the doors slide open, and it’s as if I can sense his presence before he even walks into the room.
His eyes scan the crowd for only a second before locking with mine. His dark hair is all mussed as if he’s been sleeping. He’s walking a little more gingerly compared with his usually confident stride, and his eyes have a glazy sheen. He’s tired, but he’s okay.
“Hey.” I open my arms and then realize that a rib-crushing hug is the last thing he needs right now.
“What are you doing here, Gems?” The tone of his voice is tired but affectionate as he reaches out a hand, cups my chin, and holds it there while I press my cheek into his palm.
“Brandon told me what happened. I’m the reinforcements. Let’s get you home.”
He takes my hand, and we walk toward the exit doors.
“Mr. McGuire,” a female voice calls from behind us. “Mr. McGuire!”
We turn simultaneously to see a middle-aged nurse in seafoam-green scrubs step through the sliding doors separating the ER and waiting room. “You left this on the counter.” She hands Dax a piece of white paper. A prescription.
We step out into the night air, which is still a little chilly despite it being August.
“We should call an Uber.” I pull out my phone, but Dax shakes his head. “It’s okay. I can walk.” He starts off in the direction of Barton Street.
“Daxon B. McGuire,” I say in a voice that is sterner than I ever thought I was capable of, “you are not walking home with a broken rib. Come back here right now. Or else.”
My empty threat is enough that he turns around, eyebrows raised.
“Or else what?”
“You and I know that even in your injured state, you could still take me, so I physically can’t do anything, and I refuse to use sex as a weapon both on principle and because I fully intend to ride that beautiful penis again when you’ve recovered, so I’m asking you, as your newly minted girlfriend, to come back here and get in a cab with me.”
He takes a single step closer. “I’m locked out of my Uber app.”
I throw my hands up. “So? Mine is working. I’m calling one right now.”
Dax mumbles something under his breath. It doesn’t sound overly happy, but he reverses his steps and waits with me until a bright-orange Mazda pulls up in front of us.
Neither of us says a word as we cruise down Wellington until we pull up in front of the pharmacy and stop.
“What are we doing here?” Dax’s eyes are rightfully skeptical.
I snatch the white sheet still clutched in his hand. “Getting you drugs. I have a plan to get you high and uncover all your secrets.” Dax tries to take the paper back from my hands, but the quick motion causes him to gasp with pain to the point that I regret testing him.
“Shit. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”
He nods, not looking okay at all. “It’s fine, Gemma. I don’t need anything.”
I have no idea where this is coming from. Dax normally would consider prescription pain drugs to be a blessing and welcome the deep, delicious sleep they bring.
“Stop being silly. I’ll go in. Just give me your insurance card.”
Dax’s face flares so red that I can see it even in the dim lighting. “Um…I had a small issue with my insurance provider. I’m between plans right now.”
Shit. Still, it’s Percocet. I can’t see it costing more than fifty bucks. “No worries, I’ll pay cash.”
I reach for the car door handle, but Dax stops me. “Honestly, Gemma, I’m fine. Let’s go.”
Dax has never been good at letting anyone take care of him. I have never been good at backing down once I’ve set my mind to something. This back-and-forth will likely end with a twenty-minute passive-aggressive argument in front of the Rexall leading to an unnecessarily obscene Uber bill—unless I impose some tough love.
“You are hurt. I have a script for some very magical pills in my hand. I’m gonna go in. You can take off and leave me stranded, but I know you won’t do that because no matter how pissed off I make you, you’re never an asshole.”
“Gemma—”
I fling the car door open, not letting him finish.
The pharmacist’s name is Stan. We talk sports while he fills my prescription. I talk up my curling abilities to impress him, and I think it works because along with Dax’s pills he hands me a Coffee Crisp from the candy bar rack “on the house.”