Page 46 of The Kiss Principle

“Fer—”

“If you don’t want to go to the hospital, that’s fine. Actually, it’s not, but I’m quickly running out of fucks. But I don’t want you dragging your lanky ass all over the house, fucking up your leg in the meantime.”

He wiped his eyes. I wasn’t sure a single word had made it through his panic.

“Just wait a minute,” I said, squeezing his hand. “Okay?”

He nodded and wiped his face again. He clutched my hand.

I found Kennedi James in my contacts and placed the call. It rang a few times, and then a woman’s husky voice said, “You’d better not be trying to make an appointment.”

“God, I wish. I’m sorry to bother you, but I need some advice. Do you have a minute?”

“I’ve got hundreds of them. I’m stuck at the clubhouse playing nice while Duncan schmoozes on the golf course. I swear to God, if this bitch tells me one more time about how hard it is to find the right nude for her skin tone, I will not be liable for my actions.”

“Uh huh. Sorry, listen, I’m in a weird spot and I’m kind of in a rush. My friend had an ACL reconstruction—how long ago?”

I could see it in Zé’s big brown eyes when he thought about lying to me, but then he sagged against the tub and whispered, “Five and a half months.”

I repeated it into the phone.

“How’s his recovery going?” Kennedi asked. “How much is he using his cane?”

The question didn’t seem to make any sense. And then I saw the look on Zé’s face, the way he closed his eyes like that might make him invisible, and I knew.

“He’s not using a cane,” I said. I thought about all the days we’d gone on walks. All the times I’d come home and found him and Igz nesting in the living room, with everything they might possibly need gathered in one spot. So he wouldn’t have to get to his feet. I thought about how I’d dragged him up and down Laguna Beach today. I felt like I was listening to myself from a long way off when I said, “At all.”

“Well, that’s stupid. I mean, he should be weaning himself off it, but it’s not like he needs to go cold turkey. Okay, what’s going on?”

“He fell, and we’re worried he damaged the reconstruction.”

“Take him to the ER.”

“Right, I know. We’re working on that. But is there anything we can do to check, you know, right now?”

Her silence lasted a beat longer before she said, “Does he have any pain in his knee?”

I asked Zé.

After a few tentative movements, shifting around, he shook his head.

“All right,” Kennedi said. “What about his range of motion?”

Zé raised his leg, flexed his knee, extended it, and repeated the whole process a few more times. Finally, he said, “I think it’s okay.”

“What about looseness? Does he feel any instability?”

It took both of us to get Zé to his feet (and, yes, you pervert, he managed to keep the towel around his waist). He took an experimental step. Then another. I’ve never seen somebody facing a death sentence, but watching hope rise in his face, I thought I might have an idea what a man being pardoned might look like. He smiled at me, and it was like the sun coming up. And then the tears came again, and he leaned against the sink and covered his eyes.

“Those would be my main areas of concern,” Kennedi said, “but you should still get him checked out.” She hesitated. “Why don’t you bring him by the office on Monday?”

“That would be amazing.”

“I’m charging you an exorbitant rate.”

That made me laugh.

“And I want lunch, Fer. At Di Bello’s.”

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