by Lila Felix
Ass clown.
“I could try.”
Here was the thing about taking someone’s money. The first game had to be botched. You wanted to really prove to them how bad you were. Then the real fun started.
“Well, come on then.” He motioned me towards the pool table in the corner and I proceeded to completely fail at pool. I made pool balls fly all over the place and hit the eight ball in three times before they decided I’d lost. I gave up my twenty dollar bill with a fake smile.
“You know, maybe this time I can do a little better.” My hillbilly got stronger and stronger. It was like my inner Podunk roots were rebelling against being in the presence of so much douchiness.
“Well, let’s try another game.”
“Okay,” I dug in my pocket, “All I got is this hundred.”
“Well,” Ken shrugged and took another puff of his magic dragon, “Why don’t we all put in hundreds. That way it’s fair.”
Now we’re talking.
Five crisp hundreds sat on the corner of the table. Beau, the kid’s name was Beau, broke first and then tried to high five me. I sneered in his direction. And ten minutes later, I was fiving myself, five hundreds in my back pocket.
“Hey!” Ken was really upset now. When he yelled at me, puffs of steam came out of his nostrils too.
“You’ve got a little” I touched my mouth, “Stupid on your face. Next time don’t assume that just because I’m wearing cowboy boots and talk a little slower that I’m your next target. Y’all have a goodnight now, you hear?”
One of the girls stood from the miniscule circular table and approached me as I tried to leave.
“Hey, sugar, you’re going home alone?”
I looked her up and down. A pink strapless dress so tight and short that if I got her home, I wouldn’t be surprised at anything she had to show me. She left nothing to the imagination with a dress like that. And I was a guy who liked surprises. Her blonde hair was long and fell down to land right at the curve of her ass which she flicked in my direction in reaction to my once over.
But it was her shoes that slammed the ‘no’ door in my face. Not that I was interested in the first place, but when I looked down at her silvery, more sparkly than a show pony, shoes—all I could think of were purple cowboy boots.
There was nothing sexier in the world than a girl in a skirt and a pair of cowboy boots.
I bowed out of her invitation as politely as possible and went straight home and attempted but failed at falling asleep without the picture of Tate on my lap pulsing through my mind.
The next morning, my phone rang way too early and normally I would’ve let it go to voicemail, but the caller ID read Tate.
“Hello?”
After several clearings of the throat, she spoke, “Bridge, I need hospital.”
“Are you drunk?”
“No.”
She sounded like a sliver of her normal, boisterous self and something about the heaviness of her breathing scared me awake and into action.
“Call an ambulance, Tate!”
“No. Money.”
Which meant she couldn’t afford an ambulance.
“Text me your address, now.”
I grabbed the keys to my truck and took off in the direction of the parking lot. She was still stubborn I’d give her that. Who cared about the cost of an ambulance when you were in trouble? I wondered what was wrong with her. She hadn’t seemed sick last night. She’d seemed the opposite of sick.
Her dorm was only a few blocks down from mine and I left the truck running while I went to her room. Her dorm wasn’t co-ed like mine was, but this was an emergency. I tried my damndest to look at the floor and only up to see the numbers on the doors. Finally, I got to her door and walked right in without knocking. By then she was on the floor, looking whiter than Preacher’s picket fence and her hair clung to the sides of her face and her neck with sweat as their glue. Her t-shirt and pajama pants stuck to her torso and legs like her hair and the closer I got, the more she began to shake.
Two seconds was all it took to decide that an ambulance just wasn’t going to be fast enough for me. I grabbed her purse, some little leather thing with a knuckle duster on it, picked her up through a slew of pitifully pale cussing and protests, and bee-lined to my truck.
That’s when the shivering started again. By the time I climbed in behind the steering wheel, the teeth chattering could be heard above the roar of the engine. I reached over and buckled her seatbelt across her lap making sure not to clothesline her in the process and cranked on the heat.
I made a mental note to keep a blanket in the back from then on.
“Cold,” she tittered out, desperately grabbing for the vents.
“The heat’s on. Hang on.”
And that’s when I went against the cardinal rule Stockton had doled out when he bought me the truck.
Don’t speed.
I was sure he meant, “don’t speed for the joy of speeding.” Certainly he didn’t mean ‘don’t speed when there’s a sick girl in the passenger seat. Even if he did—what Stockton couldn’t see wouldn’t kill him.
That was West’s wisdom.
Her breaths became more and more labored as I drove and it seemed like the closer I got, the worse whatever was wrong with her became.
“Talk about something else,” she said with closed eyes.
I didn’t want to talk about anything else. The only real thing I wanted to discuss was why she didn’t call 911 as soon as she knew something was wrong. And what kind of roommate leaves her like that without taking her to the doctor.
That’s what I wanted to talk about.
But I also didn’t want to upset her any further.
“Um—instead of studying last night, I went to a pool hall and swindled some city boys out of Daddy’s allowance.” I patted my pocket. “Five hundred bucks.”
“Dirty.” She managed a faint smile
“It was dirty. But they deserved it. They had the collars of their Polo shirts popped up. It was too much. I couldn’t help myself.”
When I looked over for her response, she’d passed out.
People passing out scared me. And the really weird thing was, it made me think about my parents. I hoped to God, every time I thought of the way they died. I hoped to God they’d gone quickly.
And that’s when the emergency room with all its red crosses and reassuring signs came into view.
As soon as I parked at the entrance of the emergency room and pulled her from the passenger’s side, scrub-clad women barreled from the automatic doors with a slim white bed and a wheelchair. After seeing her condition, they decided on the bed.
“Don’t worry, Tate, sweetheart. We’re gonna take you right in.”
But Tate didn’t respond.
One of the nurses asked me to move my vehicle—and with robotic motions I somehow managed not to wreck it.
When I went inside, the same woman pointed me towards those horrific waiting room chairs. The emergency doors that led to the place where she was refused to tell me anything, regardless of how long I stared at them.
Wait, how did they know her name?
Chapter Eight
Tate
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
In those first moments of consciousness, I was disoriented. I knew I couldn’t be in my own bed or even back at my parents. But if not there… then where?
And that’s when the steady, high-pitched beeping poked through my remaining drowsiness. I groaned.
The traumatic events of last night and this morning slowly infiltrated my memories and I covered my face with my hands. I let out a long groan of frustration, remembering who I’d called to get me here.
Damn it, I was so very over this thing.
And the last person I wanted to drag into my whole medical tragedy was Bridger.
Like seriously, the very last person.
But I couldn’t get ahold of Carter. She must have gone home with one of those preppy cowboys an
d by the time I realized I couldn’t avoid the trip to the hospital, none of my other emergency contacts answered either. My parents lived in Ohio. Otherwise I would have called them.
They had been livid when I told them I wanted to leave home for school. They couldn’t help me out financially anyway, not with all the medical bills they were already paying. And since I had to pay for it all by myself, I decided they didn’t have a final say. Still, I knew they wanted me to stay close to home because they were worried about me. Even though, I’d been in remission before I left.
I’d wanted to be close to my grandparents. And if I were honest, I’d wanted to get away from mom and dad. They meant well, and I knew they loved me more than anything, but they could be a little… parental. Through junior high, I’d dealt with their constant hovering while I tried to ruin my life. And then as soon as I got my life together, sickness had hit me and they hovered even worse. I wanted some freedom. I needed some freedom.
Not that their concerns weren’t completely warranted, especially after what I’d been through in the last two months. But this wouldn’t last forever. I knew that. I needed this breathing room.
I spread my fingers and peeked through them. Bridger sat in the hospital-style rocking chair recliner ten feet away. He’d nodded off and his chin rested on his shoulder. His arms were folded across his chest and his eyebrows were scrunched together. Even in his sleep, he looked grumpy.
I smiled. I couldn’t help it. He couldn’t be more adorable and I was a little disturbed by how much his boyish charm got me all hot right now.
I watched him for a few minutes as I devised my plan. Bridger clearly had something going on in his personal life and I didn’t want to add to that. I would do anything to take back my desperate call in the week hours of the morning.
Plus, we were having some difficulty just being friends again. I didn’t want a friendship out of pity or good will. I wanted Bridger to be my friend because he wanted to be. I wanted him to drag his ass to karaoke because he wanted to, even if he was reluctant. I didn’t want him to start showing up places because he was afraid I would die if he didn’t.
Like literally die.
Because I wasn’t going to. But obviously Bridger wasn’t a glass-half-full kind of guy and if I started explaining my symptoms and condition and treatment… he might freak out.
And the alternative… that he cared about me so little that it wouldn’t bother him at all… well that was worse. So much worse.
The nurse came in with a fierce expression on her face and I knew I was in for it. In fact, I could already hear the start of her thirty-minute lecture.
Cary and I went way back, since my freshman year. She was the nurse I had during my first check-up here, and she’d been so completely awesome that I’d asked for her during the second six-month check-up second semester of my freshman year. During the third, just two months ago, when my test results didn’t come back like we’d all hoped they would, she’d been there to hold my hand. And she’s been playing surrogate mother for me ever since.
I loved this lady.
I did.
But she was about to unknowingly fill Bridger in on every bit of the part of my life I wanted to keep quiet for now.
I couldn’t let that happen.
So I made myself meet her angry blue eyes and I molded my expression into my own stern don’t-mess-with-me face and put one finger to my lips.
She raised her eyebrows at me like, “Say what?”
And I was all, “Shh!”
Only we had that conversation silently.
I gestured at Bridger and then dragged my pointer finger across my throat.
Her eyebrows shot even higher into her graying blonde hair and she gave me a “WTF?” expression.
I let out a giggle.
“Not a word,” I mouthed.
“Girl,” she shot back. “You are sick!”
“I know that!” My hands moved wildly around me.
“I know you know that!” At least she could keep our conversation soundless. Bless her. But her hands and body moved as much as mine did. We looked like mimes on meth. “Who is he? He’s hot, Tate!”
I snorted and then we both fell into silent giggles.
“No one,” I mouthed.
She pursed her lips and waved her hand around. She was so not buying that.
“I don’t want him to know,” I told her instead.
She jabbed a hand at him. The gesture was obvious. How was it possible to keep it a secret now? He’d brought me to the hospital. Obviously, he knew something was going on.
“Tate!” she silently screamed at me.
“Don’t!”
“Girl!”
“Cary!” I pointed two weak fingers at her as sternly as I could.
And that’s how Bridger woke up to us.
He cleared his throat and we both looked over at him with guilty expressions on our faces. Then we both cut our eyes back to each other with a silent warning.
Then we both started giggling again.
“How are you doing?” Bridger asked, wisely ignoring our silent antics.
“Good,” I answered too quickly. I tried to sound positive, but my voice was overly bright. I tried to sit up and show him I was fine, but my body collapsed back on the pillow. Damn it, the third day was the worst. I rubbed my hand over the permanent port in my chest that made my treatments so much easier. You couldn’t see it, but I could feel the hardness of it beneath my skin.
“Good?” Bridger did not look convinced.
I didn’t exactly blame him.
“Oh, this?” I gestured at my thin hospital gown and then grabbed for the sheets to hike them up to my chin. “This is nothing. Just a bit of food poisoning.” I glanced down at my arms and noticed a rash for the first time. It covered every inch of skin I could see and mostly likely kept going to the places I couldn’t see. Damn! Where did that come from?
“Food poisoning?” He looked even less like he believed me. He shifted on his seat and leaned forward. His eyes flashed to Cary and demanded the answers he foolishly thought she would give to him.
That girl was on my side.
“Mmm-hmm,” Cary warbled.
Okay, maybe she was on my side, but clearly she was terrible at playing it cool.
She started checking my vitals, and I got the impression it was mainly in an effort to escape Bridger’s suspicious gaze. His eyes burned from across the room, and I knew, I just knew, he was ready to move heaven and earth to make sure I felt better.
A small part of me crumbled and then melted into goo because of that.
Bridger wasn’t just the gentleman type. Or the kind you took home to your mom. Bridger was the White Knight kind of man. He didn’t just fight battles for you, he conquered, destroyed and smote the enemy to the ground.
Despite the whole surly, pissed-off-at-the-world thing he had going on, there was a really great guy hidden inside him. Or at least from what I remembered of him.
“You got food poisoning?” Bridger asked slowly.
“Yep.” His green eyes narrowed on me, and then flicked up to Cary, who happened to add my next dose of anti-nausea medication to my IV at just that moment. “Really bad food-poisoning.”
“Are you sure, Tate? Because you were nearly passed out when I found you this morning. I don’t think food poisoning-”
“I have Celiacs!” Shit! Why did I say that! I panicked. That’s why. But shit! I didn’t really know what Celiac Disease even was! I mean, a gluten intolerance, sure. But what did that mean? Was it more than just not eating bread? Shit again! Now I was going to have to give up bread! “I accidentally ate gluten last night. My body was not happy with me.” Understatement of the year. Try, my body wanted to murder me. Was trying to murder me.
Plus, I loved bread.
Why did I say that? Why did I lie?
“Oh,” Bridger replied. He settled back in his chair and seemed to accept my answer. “So that was an allergic reaction of sorts?”
I cleared my throat and committed to this stupid lie. “Yeah. An allergic reaction.”
He looked at Cary again. She kept her back to him while she tried to stare me down. I ignored her completely. She could yell at me later.
“So does that happen often, because everyone seemed to know who you were when we got here last night.”
“It does. I, uh, I have a hard time paying attention to my diet.” Well, that part was true at least. I really didn’t pay attention to what I ate. And maybe that would catch up with me someday, or maybe I wouldn’t live long enough for it to matter. The important thing was… I loved junk food.
So.
Yep.
Bridger still looked skeptical, but I didn’t think he knew what other questions to ask. And it wasn’t like I was going to offer him any answers. I smiled at him.
“Okay, I’m done with you for now,” Cary announced. She put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed as hard as she could. “By the way,” she gestured at my splotchy body, “that’s from alcohol. Did you drink last night?”
I nodded meekly.
Her glare turned fierce. “I know you were warned about what would happen if you mixed alcohol with-”
“Never again!” I threw my hands up in surrender before she said something else. “I’m sober from this day forward. I promise.”
“Good.”
I bit back a wince and tried to glare at her discreetly. “When can I leave?”
“The doctor wants to see you before you go. And she’ll want to run some… She’ll want to make sure all your levels… She’ll want to go through the usual routine with you.”
I was too annoyed with having to see Dr. Masters later to really care about all Cary’s sentence detours. And I couldn’t help but be proud of her creativity. Still, it was late Saturday afternoon. Dr. Masters wouldn’t be back to the hospital until tomorrow morning. I really didn’t want to stay overnight.
Thankfully, my deductible had already been maxed for this year. It didn’t cover ambulance costs, but this visit would be paid for.