Page 113 of Resilience

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When they got to Tulsa, Athena still wanted to go to the hospital. Sam headed to Tulsa County, which was the go-to for the Bulls, as Willa had worked there for decades. She was head of nursing now, but she’d started off as a Labor & Delivery nurse and was almost always in the room for family births.

When Sam, Athena, and Blanche arrived in the L&D waiting room, their family had the place packed, as usual. Sam always felt kind of bad for any woman having a kid at the same time a Bulls old lady was pushing one out. Though the room was big enough that there technically were more chairs than the Bulls needed, they were a big and rowdy bunch, not to mention intimidating to the normies, so they pretty much always had the whole room to themselves.

Probably the most intimidating person in the waiting room was not wearing a kutte. Little Tildy, Kelsey and Dex’s two-year-old daughter, was wearing a black hoodie with little cat ears on the hood and charging at people while screaming “MEOW!” with every decibel she could reach, like a baby kaiju.

When Athena saw her mom and dad and started to move away from him, he caught her arm without thinking. He’d seen something else going on behind Tildy, and wanted to point it out. She gave him an irritated look, and so did Jacinda—and then it occurred to him that there was a good reason those two women would want to reconnect at once. Whoops.

Since he had her attention, he nodded toward the far corner of the room. “Look.”

She looked, and her irritation faded away. “Wow. That’s awesome!”

Sam nodded. Gunner was in the waiting room with the family.

He was in a wheelchair, which had an IV pole with two different bags on it and electronic controller gizmos for both; he was wearing two hospital gowns, one as a robe, and had one of those useless waffle-weave hospital blankets over his legs; and he was pale and skinny—those legs were already shockingly thin, his knees sticking out like strange rocks—but it was still great to see him here. With family, part of a celebration.

The last time Sam had seen Gun, he’d thrown a water pitcher at him.

“I’m going to go say hi,” Sam said.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” Athena replied. “I need to talk to my folks.”

Sam kissed her cheek, and they split up.

Mom, Mason, Aunt Leah, and Larissa were sitting with Gun. When she saw him coming, Mom stood and met him halfway. “Hey. How’d everything go?”

“Good. Smooth.” That was as accurate a report as Sam had any business sharing.

“She feels okay?”

“Yeah. She says it feels like a bad day of her period.”

Mom nodded like she knew what he was talking about. Also not his business. Instead he tipped his head toward his uncle. “He looks better.”

“No, he still looks like shit, but today was a better day. He got word that he’ll probably be home in time for Thanksgiving, and then we heard that Kelse was here, and that seemed to spark something for him. Like something good to focus on, I guess.”

Sam grinned. “Another little kid to teach all the bad words.”

His mom laughed. “Exactly. He loves corrupting the minors. And you know he’s extra squishy for Kelse and her babies.”

“Hey!” Gun called, his voice still a bit hoarse and weak. He’d lost all feeling and function from the waist down, but some above-the waist stuff was impaired as well. Like his diaphragm, among other things. There was an oxygen tank on the back of his wheelchair, too, in case he needed it. “Quit talking about me over there, and get over here and talk to me.”

“Sorry, Unc,” Sam said. “Just getting the truth from Mom because you’re a nasty liar.”

“Fuck off, you little fucker,” Gun growled with a smirk. He raised his arm that wasn’t full of tubes, and Sam ducked low for a hug. Fuck, he was skinny. His shoulder blades stuck out sharp enough to cut. It had only been weeks since Laughlin, and it seemed like Gun had lost thirty pounds.

“Sorry I was an asshole the other day,” he said softly against Sam’s ear. “Some of this bullshit really gets me down.”

“Don’t be sorry. I say make use of this time when nobody gives you grief for being an asshole. Spread it around as much as you can. Pretty soon, people are going to stop giving you a pass. Don’t waste this moment.”

Gun laughed—a real laugh. Then he coughed, and Larissa jumped up to grab his cannula. Gun took it and gave his daughter’s hand a grateful squeeze, but he didn’t put the prongs in his nose.

Sam stepped back. “Hey, where’s Aid?”

“We told him to stay at school,” Aunt Leah answered. “He’s missed so much this semester, and he’s trying to catch up so his grades don’t slip low enough he gets kicked from the team.”

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