Page 146 of Happy Hour

Jameson stepped forward as though he was actually going to take revenge on his little sister.

“Enough!” Stepping between them, I motioned for everyone to get out of the house. “We areallgoing to the hospital. Now get in the car, right now.”

At that point, I’m assuming I looked a little like the Exorcist or something similar because no one questioned me again and piled in my Charlie’s Expedition to begin our journey to Grays Harbor Community Hospital.

Jameson whined the entire way about how bad it hurt as the kids, including Emma, egged him on. I wanted to warm him this was probably thebestpart of it, just imagine how he’s going to feel sitting at Grays Harbor Community Hospital for hours waiting for them to pull their heads out of their ass long enough to help us, but I didn’t.

One bad situation at a time.

Around three in the morning, we finally arrived at the hospital and the Lucifer twins were out cold in the back seat, along with Emma, so we left them in the car.

Jameson was pleased.

He insisted I go inside with him, so I did. He insisted I stay right beside him because he was convinced he was going to be attacked somehow, so I did. He insisted I go back with him when the triage nurse was looking over him, so I did. But when he insisted that I go to the vending machines to get him skittles, I drew the line. Not that I wouldn’t get him skittles but he was being ahugebaby about this entire situation. It was just a fork. If it was a knife, I may be a little more sympathetic, maybe.

Jameson sat there complaining about Emma stabbing him, the kid next to him sneezing on him, and the avid NASCAR fan that grabbed every brochure from around the hospital and had him sign it.

“How long does it take to get seen?” Jameson grumbled as he adjusted himself in the chair next to me again. “This is just unacceptable. We have been here for three hours. My god, I’ve beenstabbed, how is that not an emergency?”

“Try four. It’s Grays Harbor Community Hospital, what did you expect?”

“I don’t know...” he laid his head on my shoulder. “It hurts.”

“You’re such a baby.” It might have been rude but I went ahead and said it anyways. “It’s a fork, not a knife.”

“Let me stab you with a fork and then we’ll see how much a babyyou are.” He retorted glaring and then his expression softened as that familiar smirk appeared. “You know...I’ve always wanted to do it on an exam table.” He told me waggling his eyebrows at me. “Wanna be my naughty nurse?”

“No.” I stated firmly even though this image was already present. “We arenotdoing it in here. How does your mood change so fast? I think you may be bi-polar or something.”

He grinned wider as an attempt to soften me.

I was not softening. “No,” I shook my head at him trying not to reveal my own smirk.

The avid NASCAR fan returned with yet another brochure for him and Jameson snapped. “Dude, come on.Seriously? You can’t see that I’m injured and signing autographs is slightly difficult?” He motioned with his head towards the fork still sticking out of his shoulder.

The man shrugged handing Jameson the brochure.

He reminded me of a taller version of Jack Black only he was not funny. If anything, he was annoying. I mean really, did he honestly think this was an appropriate time to be asking for an autograph?

“Jameson Riley?” a nurse called out, a folder tucked under her arm.

The man walked away when Jameson pushed the brochure back at him and said, “Go away.”

All things considering, I couldn’t blame him for denying the autograph.

“See, we can’t do it, they’re calling your name.” I smiled and kissed his cheek.

Helping him up, we walked behind the counter to the nurse who smiled at Jameson. “Hello, I’m Debbie Sloan, your nurse.” She reached out and touched his forearm. “So what are you here for?” Debbie asked once we got inside the room adjusting her stethoscope around her neck and clicking her pen.

“You’re fucking kidding, right?” Jameson asked not amused.

Debbie giggled clicking obsessively. “Yes, sweetie—I’m kidding.” She opened his chart. “So let’s see, you’re Jameson Riley...wait,” comprehension quickly followed. “as in the race car driver?”

Jameson, who had been staring at the exam table, imagining god knows what, met mine eyes for a moment and then went back to Debbie. I could tell just by that quick glance, he was a little apprehensive about answering.

Shifting in the chair, he answered with a nervous chuckle. “Um...yeah, I’m him.”

“Oh, wow. How exciting! My daughter would kill me if she knew we were treating Jameson Riley.” Debbie reached for her notepad. “Can you sign this for her?”

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