The doctor walks into her room. “Your CT scan results were normal. The stitches we put in will dissolve so you won’t need to come back to have them removed. You do have a mild concussion so you need to be supervised for the next twenty-four hours just as a precaution. Do you have someone that can stay with you? If not, we’ll need to keep you overnight merely for observation,” he says.
For once, Myra wishes Jackie was moved in already.
“Um, let me call someone,” she says as she pulls out her phone and dials Porter.
“Hi, Myra,” he answers in a happy voice.
“Hey.”
“You doin’ okay?”
“Yeah. I slipped and fell on the driveway today, and have a mild concussion. Could you stay with me this evening? Doctor’s orders.”
“Oh my goodness, are you all right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just had to have a few stitches.”
“Okay. Hm. Let me see here,” Porter says before he pauses. Myra bows her head and closes her eyes. “We had two guys call in sick today with the flu so I’m the only one covering second shift at the station, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to have to cover third shift as well. And Erika is pulling a double because a couple nurses called in sick. There’s a nasty flu bug going around. Let me see if I can work something out, and I’ll call you back.”
Myra takes in a deep breath. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll get someone else. But thank you and I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”
“If I can work something out, I’ll call you back. And I’ll check in on you in the morning, all right?”
“Thanks, Porter.”
Myra closes her phone and stares at it. She has no one else to call. Of course she knows other people in this town because she grew up here. But she doesn’t know anyone well enough to ask. She has nobody.
She slowly looks up at the doctor. “Guess I’ll be spending the night,” she says in a small voice.
“Okay,” he says. “Let me go arrange a bed.”
Myra turns on her side and stares at the wall. She has no parents, no brothers or sisters, no boyfriend, not even a cousin to call. Nobody. And her one and only friend lives on the other side of the country now.
For a moment, she wishes she was back in Philly again, close to Susie. Her heart begins to beat faster and her eyes start to sting with tears when she thinks about the fact that she could just die here in Nyssa in that broken-down old house and no one would ever even notice she was gone.
Her chest feels compressed, and she can’t get her breathing under control. Sitting up, she shuts her eyes tightly and buries her face in her knees and takes in slow, calming breaths. After several difficult minutes, her heart rate starts to slow and the panic attack eases off. A tear slips down her cheek; she quickly wipes it away when the door opens and the doctor steps back into the room. She bites her lip hard to keep the tears back.
“Well, you don’t have to stay with us after all,” the doctor says with a smile. “The nurse got busy and forgot to give me a message. Apparently, the gentleman that dropped you off is back. I spoke to him briefly, and he’s agreed to watch you for the next twenty-four hours.”
Myra’s mouth gapes open. “What?” she asks as she stares at him for a minute, trying to collect herself and let the information sink in. “Oh no,” she says, shaking her head. “I do not want to go with him. I’d rather spend the night in the hospital.”
“Oh.” The doctor frowns as he looks up at her from the computer. “Are you sure? I can get a bed for you if you like, but you might be more comfortable at home in your own bed tonight.”
She sighs as her shoulders slump. She knows she would be much more comfortable at home, but no way will she let Dylan spend the night with her. But what if…? She sits up straighter. She can just have Dylan drop her off at the house and then go home. And she can stay by herself. Problem solved.
“Yeah, you’re right. He can stay with me,” she says quickly to the doctor.
He smiles. “Great. Okay, I gave him a sheet to read over about what symptoms to watch out for over the next twenty-four hours. If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to give us a call or call your primary care doctor, okay?”
Myra nods and waits until they discharge her. With a prescription for pain killers in hand, she grabs her bag and makes her way towards the waiting room. She pauses before going through the door, nervously chewing on her thumbnail and leaning against the wall.
She can’t figure out why the jerk bothered to come back. She doesn’t need his help. Peering through the small window in the large wooden door, she spots Dylan sprawled out in a chair, his right ankle resting on his left knee while he intently reads a piece of paper. Taking in a deep breath, she opens the door.
Keeping her eyes on the exit, she marches right past him to the door. He jumps up and takes a few long strides to catch up with her.
“Where ya going?” he asks.
She continues to ignore him and scans the parking lot. “To your truck.”
“Wait here and I’ll go get it.”
“I’m perfectly capable of walking.”
Spotting his truck in the parking lot, she makes a beeline for it. He remains silent as he comes up behind her and opens the door for her.
She waits until he backs out of the parking spot before she finally looks at him. “Why’d you bother coming back?” she asks.
He turns his head towards her. When their eyes meet, his have a softness to them as they stare into hers. “I don’t know.”
Myra looks down at her lap. “Look, you got me out of the hospital, and I appreciate that, but I don’t want you staying. Just drop me off. You can go home and get some rest.”
“Uh… no.”
Myra’s mouth drops open. “You can’t spend the night with me. I don’t know you at all; you’re a complete stranger. You… you could be a rapist for all I know.”
He turns his head to glare at her. “Are you fucking kidding me? If I was a rapist, don’t you think I would’ve attacked you by now?” He shakes his head as he looks back at the road. “I’ll just sleep on your couch. You won’t even know I’m there. I made a promise to that doc and I plan on keeping it.”
Myra stares at the stern, rigid lines of his profile for a moment before slouching in her seat.
* * *
Myra’s cell rings.
“Hey.”
“Hey, hon. How’s it going?” Susie asks.
“Not good.”
“Did you fall through the roof too? On top of the contractor, I hope.” Susie giggles.
“No. I was taking a box out to the garage and slipped. I hit my head, and had to get six stitches.”
“What? Are you joking?”
“No. I’m serious.”
“Jesus, Myra, is that house cursed or something? I know that damn thing’s haunted because that ghost tried to get me, but now I’m thinking it’s cursed too. What are the odds of the two of you getting hurt like that? Weird…”
“I know.”
“Was Dylan there when you fell?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh shit. Let me grab some popcorn. Tell me.”
“Well, he dropped me off at the hospital and left. Then I couldn’t find anyone to stay with me because since I have a concussion, someone is supposed to stay with me for the first twenty-four hours…”
“That asshat,” Susie shouts.
“Susie, just let me finish. He came back. And he’s going to…” she pauses, taking in a deep breath, “… stay. He’s an asshole for sure, but he just left to pick up my prescription and stop by his house, and then he’ll be back.”
“He’s spending the night with you? This is just getting better and better. I need some extra butter for my popcorn.”
“I didn’t want him to, but he insisted.”
“Hm. This man’s assholish, tender ways have me a bit confused.”
“Me too.”
“I can’t believe you had to get stitches. I wish I was there. D
o you need anything?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“Good,” she says before she sighs heavily. “Myra, this is the worst time to bring this up, but I have to; I have no choice. I’m really sorry about this okay? But I need to talk to you about something important, all right?”
“You’re scaring me. What’s going on?”
“Well, I was at my desk earlier. Actually, this part is really funny. I stopped on the way to work to get gas and went in and bought a box of powdered sugar donuts. I got to work and was at my desk munching away at them when your shitty little ex came up behind me and cleared his throat loudly. And I had just taken a big bite, but because he scared the living shit out of me, I inhaled and that powdered sugar went straight down my throat. Have you ever sucked that shit down your lungs before? God, it was horrible.”
Myra snickers.
“So I turned and started hacking uncontrollably and a big chunk of donut went flying out of my mouth and landed just a few inches from his prissy black penny loafers. I so wish it had landed on his shoe because that would’ve pissed him off something fierce.” Susie laughs evilly.
Myra smiles as she wraps a blanket around her knees.
“You know what? I could never be a coke addict. Do you think that’s what it feels like when people snort coke? How could they stand that?”
Myra shakes her head. “How would I know? I’ve never even smoked a cigarette before.”
“Yeah, I know. How did I end up talking about snorting coke? I so need to get tested for conversational ADD. Anyway, that prick demanded information about you for the billionth time, and I told him to fuck off again for the billionth time. So he told me that if I didn’t give him your number or address immediately that he was going to hire a private detective to hunt you down.”
Myra gasps.
“He still has no idea that you’re in Nyssa; it hasn’t even crossed his little pee brain. I’m so glad you threatened Lori in HR with a lawsuit if she released any more information about you because, just so you know, I talked to her, and he’s been harassing her as well. She felt so bad about giving him your phone number.”
“What is wrong with him?”
“I don’t know. I also told him to go suck his own ass and that I hoped the dick he hires shoves a dick up his nether regions.”
“That’s awful. I can’t believe you said that.”
“That man brings out the worst in me. I absolutely hate what he did to you; therefore, I absolutely hate that prick.”
“I’m so glad I never brought him to Nyssa with me. We were together for two years, and he never once came here. I always had to go by myself because he always had something else going on.”
“That’s because he’s a selfish dumb dickhead.”
“As soon as he figures out I’m in Nyssa, it’ll only take him a matter of minutes to find me because this town is so small. I don’t ever want to see him again.”
“I know. Maybe his wittle bwain won’t figure it out.”
Myra’s lips curve up.
“I made sure to wipe my work computer clean of your emails and everything. I also put you under an anonymous name in my cell phone. It’s under Lasqueesha,” Susie says with a giggle.
“Huh?” Myra says as she hears Dylan’s truck pull into the driveway. “I have to go. Dylan’s back. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Wait. Just make sure you don’t sleepwalk tonight and try to shine his tools with your mouth, okay?” Susie says before busting out laughing.
“God,” Myra shouts as she rolls her eyes. “I’m hanging up on you,” she says before promptly closing her phone.
* * *
Dylan grabs Myra’s prescription and his book off the seat of his truck and slowly makes his way to her porch. When she opens the door, he gives her the filled prescription. “Thanks,” she mumbles as she steps back to let him in.
He nods. She stares at him for a minute before sighing and walking into the kitchen. He hears the rattling of paper as she takes the bottle from the bag.
“You’re in for a boring night,” she says as she walks back towards him from the kitchen. “I just wish you’d go home.”
“Get over it,” he mumbles.
She shakes her head. “Well, there’s the couch. Do you want to watch TV or something?”
“Nah, I brought a book.”
“Where are your clothes?”
He didn’t get any clothes because he normally just sleeps naked or in his boxers. “Uh… I’ll just sleep in my clothes,” he mumbles, annoyed that he can feel his cheeks turning pink.
She clears her throat. “Okay. I’m going to work on my computer. Want something to drink?”
He shakes his head.
Dylan takes off his coat and sits on the couch. Pulling out his iPod, he tucks his ear buds in, presses play and opens his book.
* * *
Myra curls her legs underneath her. She can see Dylan out of the corner of her eye as he opens his book. He must have his iPod turned up fairly loud because she can hear the sound of the bass thumping hard from where she sits.
Sighing, she opens her outline and tries not to think about him as she begins concentrating on her story and her characters. And before long, she starts typing.
* * *
Dylan repositions himself on the couch, trying to relieve some pressure on his aching back. He’s read the last sentence in his book about twenty times and wouldn’t be able to tell anyone what it said if his damn life depended on it. His phone in his pocket vibrates. Yanking it out and glancing at the caller ID, he huffs as he turns it off and shoves it back into his pocket.
He shifts his gaze back to Myra. Their eyes meet for just a second before she quickly looks back down at her computer. From his position, he has a fantastic view of her profile and can’t seem to stop watching her. He finds himself fascinated by her constantly changing facial expressions. He doesn’t know what the hell could be so exciting on that computer of hers. He’s seen her forehead scrunch up, watched her smirk, smile, look excited, chew on her bottom lip, bite her nails and even gaze at the fireplace as though her mind was a million miles away.
Snapping his book closed, he turns up his iPod even louder and leans back, closing his eyes. At least that way he can’t stare at her anymore.
The next thing he knows, a hand softly touches his shoulder. His body jerks as his eyes pop open. Looking up, he sees Myra standing over him. He yanks the ear buds out. “What?”
“Sorry. I didn’t want to wake you, but you’ve been asleep for a few hours. Are you hungry?”
Straightening in his seat and starting to wake up a bit, he inhales and smells something delicious. Stretching his arms over his head, he runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah,” he grunts.
“It’s nothing fancy. Just some soup and sandwiches.”
As he starts to stand, he groans at the pain in his back. “I’ll be in there in a minute,” he tells her through gritted teeth. She stares at him for a moment before she nods and walks back to the kitchen.
After stretching his back out for a few minutes and slowly walking down the hall, he finds Myra has poured steaming hot soup in bowls and has also made some kind of chicken sandwich with crispy, grilled bread. His stomach rumbles loudly.
“Have a seat,” Myra says as she waves towards a chair. “I have iced tea or water. Sorry I don’t have more to offer.”
“Tea’s fine,” he says as he sits down. She sets a glass of tea in front of him and sits across from him, giving him a small smile before she picks up her sandwich and takes a small bite. Dylan digs into the soup, his eyeballs rolling back in his head at just how damn delicious it tastes. He also moans a little. They eat quietly.
After finishing off two more bowls of soup and eating every bite of his sandwich, he sits back in his chair and stares at Myra. “That was good,” he tells her. “Thanks.”
She smiles back at him. “You’re welcome.”
“How’s your head?” he asks.
&nbs
p; “It’s fine. A little sore but I’m okay.”
“You shouldn’t have been up cooking. You need to rest.”
She shakes her head. “I’m good. Really.”
He doesn’t believe her but doesn’t feel like arguing. “It’s getting late. How about you go to bed, and I’ll clean the dishes. Is it okay if I sleep on the couch?”
“Oh no, I have two extra bedrooms upstairs…”
“I’d rather sleep on the couch.”
“But…”
“I’ll sleep on the couch.” His eyes narrow.
“Fine,” she says as she stands and pushes her chair back roughly. “I’ll get you a pillow and some blankets.”
She exits quickly and he stares at the dishes on the table, not really knowing what the hell to do with them. Myra doesn’t own a dishwasher. And he uses a dishwasher. Like once a month. He unbuttons the sleeves of his flannel shirt and rolls them up his forearms. Picking up the dishes off of the table, he sets them in the sink and just stares at them.
“How about I wash and you dry?” Myra asks from behind him.
He blows out a quick breath and nods in agreement. They quietly wash the few dishes quickly and put them away.
“Goodnight,” she says in a soft voice.
He clears his throat. “If you need anything, come get me, all right?”
She gives him a quick nod in response.
* * *
Myra stares at her reflection in the mirror hating the dark circles she sees under her eyes. She barely slept at all last night due to the fact that her head ached and a certain cranky, handsome asshole happened to be downstairs sleeping on her couch. She shakes her head at herself before walking into the bedroom to slip on some jeans and a sweatshirt.
Back downstairs, she sneaks a glance at him on the couch. His bent right arm rests on his forehead while his left arm lies on his naked stomach. The white t-shirt under his flannel shirt has ridden up. Averting her eyes quickly, she makes her way into the kitchen where she starts coffee and some pancakes.
Just as she plates the pancakes, he walks into the kitchen. His black eye looks darker – yellow splotches dot the edges of the bruise now, and his eyes are bloodshot, his face scruffy. He looks exhausted.
“Good morning,” she says.
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