Page 7 of Digging Deeper

Ew, why the hell am I thinking about his eyes and his muscles? For fuck sake’s, he’s straight, and that is not a road I need to travel down. And the kicker, he looks exactly like Holden, like my best friend that I consider a brother, and I’m over here… checking him out? Blech.

Before I can freak myself out anymore, I push the thoughts away and turn back to Hendrix to work through his exercises. And after he’s all finished up, I get him back into his bed and head toward the door.

But I stop and glance over my shoulder at him. “Hey, Drix?”

“Yeah?”

“You did really great today. I know you don’t feel like it, but youaremaking progress.”

He eyes me for a second before slightly nodding. “Thanks, Gavin.”

I grin at him as I shut the door behind me.

* * *

It’s beenthree days since Hendrix told me I can get a dog, and I’m so freaking excited. Yesterday, I went to the shelter Holds volunteers at and have narrowed it down to two dogs. I took pictures of them both, and I can’t stop looking at them. I feel so guilty that I can’t take them both home, but getting even one was unlikely, so two would probably push Hendrix too far. I don’t want to give him a reason to change his mind. And I’m thinking if I show him the pictures and have him help pick one, he won’t be able to.

Today, I knock on Hendrix’s door with a true smile. He’s still being an ass to the staff, but he seems to have some kind of truce with me.

Or at least that’s what I think before I walk into his room.

“What in the holy hell did you do in here?” I ask as my mouth hangs open in shock.

Hendrix glares daggers in my direction, but I hardly notice him past the horrible mess in his room.

Holden had brought him a plant the other day to try to brighten up the sterile-looking room, and we both thought that maybe having something else to care for could be good for him. Well, apparently we were wrong. Like really fucking wrong.

He had taken the plant out of its pot and threw its dirt on the ground, then… ripped the plant apart.

“What the heck did that plant ever do to you?” I ask, still taking in the scene. The chair we use for PT is on its side and a box of tissues are on the floor along with a cup of now-melted ice.

“Leave me alone.”

“No.”

“Please, Gavin… please just leave me alone.” His voice sounds so defeated and upset that I snap my gaze to him. As I take him in, I notice a bruise on his cheek, so I step closer to him.

“What happened, Hendrix?”

He turns away from me so I can no longer see the bruise. “Nothing. Please leave.”

Making my way through the mess, I step up beside his bed, and when he tries to turn away again, I gently grab his shoulder so he can’t. Then I take his chin between my fingers and tilt his face so I can get a good look at the bruise. It’s purple and black, swollen, and even bleeding a little. “What happened?” I keep my voice soft.

“It’s stupid. Don’t worry about it.”

“You can tell me. I won’t judge.” I know many patients get embarrassed and frustrated when they have trouble, and I want to reassure him.

His eyes dart around my face for a moment before he focuses them on a spot over my left shoulder. “I couldn’t reach my stupid sudoku book.”

I go to the cabinet to get out supplies, and when I begin cleaning the cut, he doesn’t elaborate, so I say, “That doesn’t tell me how you got this cut and bruise on your face.”

He sighs. “I put one hand on the damn table next to the bed and tried to reach for it, but apparently, there was some water on it, so my hand slipped and I banged my face on the bed rail.”

He still won’t look me in the eyes, so I continue cleaning the cut. “That sucks, man, but I don’t think throwing a temper tantrum helped the situation, do you?”

He rolls his eyes and crosses those thick arms over his broad chest.

“Looks like you have a lot of mess to clean up.”

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