Page 84 of The Love Destroyers

Conversation with Seamus

My ribs are fine, Little Rich Girl. Get me out of here. I’m five minutes away from climbing out a window.

Not happening.

Being in a hospital is way more fun when your mother was the one who injured me. No one’s even offered me a charcuterie board yet.

Twenty minutes later

Thanks, but I didn’t actually want a charcuterie board.

Too bad. Eat it.

I’d rather eat you. ;-)

Not part of the deal.

Spring me, gorgeous. I’ll make it worth your while.

You WILL get looked at by a medical professional.

Two hours, two trips to the vending machine, and a mostly unproductive call to Nicole later, the red-haired nurse finally wheels Seamus out from the back. The guy gives me a cautious glance as he brings the chair to a stop in front of me.

“It’s just bruised,” Seamus says. “This is a lot of fuss over a bruise, if you ask me.

The red-haired nurse shakes his head, giving me a quick glance. “A bruised bone is different from bruised skin.”

“Oh, come on, Paul,” Seamus gripes. “I thought we were buddies.”

Looking at me, Paul continues, “Make sure he’s not too active. He should sit down instead of lying down, whenever possible, and if he lies down, he should prop himself up. Lots of fluids. Not very much exercise. He should take his pain medication as prescribed.”

I tug the discharge papers out of Seamus’s hands. “Thank you,” I say as Seamus gets up out of the chair. He looks bemused by my intervention, something that will probably change when he realizes how serious I am about following the recommendations to the letter.

Turning to Paul, Seamus grins. “Until next time, friend.”

The nurse looks like he takes it as a threat. Turning to me, he says, “Tell your mother we did our best with the resources we had available tonight.”

I laugh, he loses color, and I figure it’s as good a time as any to thank him and hustle Seamus off to the car. The automatic door is busted, according to the handwritten sign hanging on it, which hasn’t stopped dozens of people over the last couple of hours from standing in front of it, waving at it, and in one case kicking it. So I lead him to the manual one and hold it open for him.

He gives me a wry look, but I say, “It’s either you accept my help or you ride around in a wheel chair. Your call.”

He could point out that he is certainly big and strong enough to do whatever he likes without my approval, but he just shakes his head slightly and steps through the door.

I follow him out, stepping out into the cold night air, and lead him to the garage where I parked. The full moon is beating down on us, reminding me of what Sophie said.

I don’t believe in hocus-pocus, but there’s no denying this day feels different from most, although I don’t know yet whether it’s cursed or blessed.

It definitely feels significant.

“So, did you scare Sophie away?” he asks as he gives me a sidelong look.

I can see the imprint of pain on his face, especially in the tightness at the corners of his mouth, but he’s good at pretending not to feel it.

Not to feel anything.

I used to be good at that game too. It’s only lately that I’ve felt myself cracking at the seams, feelings and words slipping out.

“No,” I say as I lead him into the garage and up the ramp. “I like her. She had to go to take care of some problems at work. It sounds like Nicole was one hundred percent at fault, so I called her boss to make sure no one gives her a hard time.”

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