Page 32 of Remade

Mother of God, he spoke my language.

“All the pork,” I promised.

The happiness in his eyes brought me an immense amount of relief, and I hoped this meant I had a fighting chance.

“The real question is what I’ll do when you get sick of me,” I said.

He chuckled through his nose and lifted his eyebrows. “We’ll cross that bridge when we never get there.”

Funny. Before I could answer, the door opened again, and it wasn’t lunch. Which sucked. All this talk about food was making me hungry.

Instead, it was Nurse Tina.

Actually, this was better. I was glad Leighton was here. He was already staring at her, maybe a little dumbfounded.

“Hey, beautiful,” I said. “Did Doc by any chance give you my next dose of happy pills?”

She walked in and looked at my clipboard. “In your dreams, boy. Be nice, or I’ll take your temperature from the other end.”

I clenched—and that fucking hurt in my thigh.

Leighton spluttered a laugh.

“Do you kiss your grandchildren with that mouth?” I countered.

“Oh, just be quiet, Bo. I need the energy to deal with Coach after this.” She stuck the thermometer in my ear, and it beeped a few seconds later. “Is this what you’re whining about? It barely counts as a low fever.”

“You have the best bedside manner,” I said.

She huffed and headed for the door again. “I’ll be back to take your blood after you’ve eaten. Food’s on its way up.”

I shifted my gaze to Leighton.

He pinched his lips together for a beat. “Okay, she can give you a sponge bath whenever you want.”

I laughed.

And that hurt.

Leighton stepped up the game that very night when he ordered food for us and brought his laptop to my hospital room.

Even when I raised the bed, my arm was his new pillow, and I didn’t mind one bit.

The laptop was perched on his lap, and he legit fed me steakhouse food. Burnt ends, mac and cheese, mashed potatoes, brisket, and grilled chicken made the room smell fucking divine.

“You’re funny when you’re high,” he snickered.

“I’m not high,” I chuckled.

I was just on happy pills.

My second and last day. Hillcroft had the strictest regulations for stronger pain meds. If you needed more than two days of it, you belonged in the hospital, not here.

I was all right with that. Come tomorrow, I’d hop on board the ibuprofen train because, as Quinlan liked to say, “We do not create addicts at this agency.”

It was a sensitive topic for him. Hell, we’d all seen it. We all had friends who’d fallen into an addiction because something always hurt when you worked in and out of combat zones.

“I can’t believe you’ve never seenThe Blues Brothersbefore,” I said.

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