Page 63 of Notorious

Later in the afternoon, I’m back in my room when there’s a knock on the doorjamb. I found out real quick that if I closed my door, they’d open it every ten minutes or so to check on me, so it’s easier just to leave it open. “You have visitors,” a nurse says with a smile.

“I do?” Is it Kurt? He said visitors, though. Plural.

“Do you want to see them? Come on.”

I follow him down the gleaming hall into a common room with seating and low tables and come face-to-face with three tall men wearing suits and ties.

Thankfully, I like all of these well-dressed men. They’re my lawyers: Danny Villaseñor, Noah Weston, and August Ramirez. Noah and August are the founders of the firm. Danny’s my lead attorney. All of them are the sort of people you wanna know. Them being here must, again, be Kurt’s doing, and I’m obliged to him for telling them what was going on so I didn’t have to.

“Johnny,” Danny says, and he holds out his arms. While I suppose it could seem weird that I’m hugging my lawyers, I’m told that lawyers are people, too, and I believe it. At least with respect to this particular firm. “How are you doing?”

I raise an eyebrow. “I’ve been asked that a lot in the past little bit here, so I hope all y’all will excuse me while I come up with an answer. The truth is, not great, because, well, I’m in a mental hospital. That must mean that something’s wrong.” I pause. “But I think I have hope.”

As I say it, I realize I might actually be telling the truth.

Noah’s eyes visibly well with tears, and August, his husband, reaches over and takes his hand.

“We discussed it in the car on the way here, and we feel like we let you down,” August says. “You’re going through all this turmoil with the lawsuit, and we should’ve referred you to a therapist. We’re truly sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. My mental health ain’t your responsibility.”

“But we could’ve predicted that this would be challenging and done something about it, and the fact that we didn’t … that’s bothering me.” Noah’s sincerity is breathtakingly sweet. I’m not sure how someone so innocent got to be a lawyer—and a damn good one, too—but I guess anything is possible.

“Well, nothing happened,” I say. Then I cringe, because a lot of bad stuff damn near happened. “Okay, that’s not a hundred percent true. But it ain’t your fault. Even if you’d told me to get my head shrunk, I probably wouldn’t have listened. Don’t blame yourself for my issues.”

“It’s hard not to. We know how difficult the depositions and hearings have been on you,” Danny says.

“It’s okay,” I say. “Y’all are trying to help. I’m grateful you’re here. Not sure many lawyers make house calls.”

“More than you’d think. We visit a lot of people in the hospital or at their homes if they can’t come to us. We just don’t talk about it much,” August says.

We sit down and chat for a while. “I still can’t believe that y’all came all the way up here to see me,” I say after a bit.

“We were in the neighborhood,” Danny says with a grin.

“We’re your friends, and we wanted to make sure you were really okay,” Noah says. Just then, there’s another knock at the (open) door.

Kurt’s standing in the doorway, smiling at me tentatively. He’s so handsome and sweet and … there for me. Fuck that “don’t form bonds during recovery” bullshit. Far as I’m concerned, that only applies to me getting close to other patients. I wanna bond with my husband.

He’s positively edible in his dark blue flat-front slacks and light blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Especially with his mop of hair and sexy forearms. I always thought your heart going pit-a-pat was an exaggeration, but apparently not.

“We won’t keep you,” Noah says.

I realize I’m on my feet. The three lawyers get up, too, and all shake my hand, then hug me as well. “You got this,” August says. “We’re rooting for you.”

“Oh!” Noah says. “Sam mentioned that your mom’s been having issues with her medical insurance. We want to look into that. Do you mind if we talk with her?”

I swallow hard. “No, I don’t mind. Thank you.” Once again, Kurt’s doing his magic.

They leave Kurt and me alone in the room. Kurt stands there awkwardly for a moment, and I bound over and pull him into a hug. “You came back,” I whisper against the top of his head.

“Always,” he says, squeezing me around my middle. He already smells like home.

He looks up at me, and I kiss him as naturally as if we’re an old married couple. He seems surprised but kisses me back. “I missed you,” I say.

I don’t deserve you.

Damn. I’d hoped those mean thoughts might’ve gone away with the anxiety drugs. Seems not.

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