***
Apparently Lily wasn’t too happy about the pictures of Randy with the models at the fundraiser. All of his clothes have ASSHOLE scrawled across them in various colors of permanent marker. On the front of his boxers is the warning: SMALL DICK INSIDE. It’d be funny if it happened to someone else.
Usually he and Lance would laugh off something like this. Not this time. Randy looks legit sick over it, and not in an I-have-a-new-stalker way. It’s in a this-is-fucked-up way instead. He throws the last of his ruined clothes into his bag and zips it up.
“We should get you to the hospital; that needs stitches.” He points to my forehead.
“Vi’s gonna take me.”
“I can follow in the rental.” He picks up a note off the nightstand, flips it open and scans it, then shoves it in his pocket.
Vi appears in the doorway. “That’s okay. It might take a while. You can head back to Toronto if you want and I’ll bring Buck back with me.”
“Won’t it be outta your way if you have to take me to the airport?” I ask.
“It’s fine. I don’t mind.”
My head hurts too much to argue, so I let Randy deal with the rental vehicle. I have to wonder if he’s going to make a stop in Guelph. If that’s the case, he should probably stop at a sports store and grab a cup, just in case.
Violet runs back into the cottage once the car is loaded to grab something she forgot. She comes back holding the orange Play-Doh sculpture with the superhero cape. She hugs it, then tucks it safely into the backseat with a sweatshirt wrapped around it.
“Do you wanna explain that?”
She pats the head. “It’s the Super MC. It’s an homage.”
I shouldn’t ask the next question. I’m almost positive I don’t want the answer. “An homage to what?”
“The near-fatal strangling of Alex’s MC when I made it into a superhero. It’s a long story. I promise you don’t want to hear it, but someone might tell it at our wedding—if we end up having a wedding. I hope I can convince him to elope.”
I was right. I didn’t need to know any of that.
***
We find our way to a hospital in Bracebridge. It’s small compared to the ones in Chicago, but the people are nice, as is typical in Canada. Someone recognizes my name, and Violet knows all the right things to say, so they see me almost right away. Head injuries always take precedence. I’m concussed, but only mildly. My nose is broken, and the gash on my forehead takes six stitches to close. Up until today, I’d managed to get by without breaking any parts of my face since I got my teeth knocked out in high school. Figures it’d be Waters who changed that.
I get the usual spiel about having someone wake me up every couple of hours. A doctor sets my nose and bandages it. The black eyes haven’t appeared yet, but I’m sure they’re coming. While I wait for someone to give me the requisite painkillers and sign off for me to leave, I check my messages. I have emails from Amber that, had I checked them yesterday, would have given me the information I needed about the fundraiser and why it might not be the best idea. I wish I’d read them sooner. Or checked my voice mail, since I missed a call from her as well. Sometimes I feel as dumb as people assume I am.
I’ve got nothing from Sunny. I hope Bushman isn’t consoling her right now. I want to message her, but at the same time I don’t. I’m conflicted, and it sucks.
From the hospital we drive toward Toronto. The canvas of pale blue dotted with soft white turns pink at the edges as the sun starts to sink behind the tall trees lining the highway. It’s already late; by the time we get to Toronto it’ll be dark. I feel bad that Vi has to drive. I’m on pain meds, so I’m not safe behind the wheel.
“I’mma call the airline and see if I can get a flight out tonight.”
“Why don’t you come back to Guelph with me?”