Page 76 of #Awestruck

“What time is it?” I asked, both wanting the answer and to change the subject. Like I didn’t have my phone in my hands and couldn’t check for myself.

Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice. “It’s seven o’clock at night. You’ve been here for twenty-four hours.” Then he leaned over and kissed me softly, and it was nearly as good as my morphine drip. “I was really worried about you,” he said. And there was a look in his eyes I hadn’t seen before. More than just affection or concern.

Something more like ... love.

My heart fluttered in my chest.

A nurse came into the room. “Ashton, I’m glad you’re awake. I’d like to go over your postsurgical care with you.”

She had papers and a couple of medicines that she said they’d filled at the pharmacy next door. Evan took the papers and began to read through them while she talked to me.

The nurse told me to eat very soft foods, that I would probably prefer to have ice cream and Jell-O. I needed to stay hydrated and to take my pain medications as described every two to three hours. “Trust me,” she said. “You don’t want to be chasing your pain and trying to fix it. You want to stay on top of it. Which means you’ll probably need to set an alarm on your phone.”

“I’ll take care of that,” Evan said with a nod. She showed him the prescription bottles and told me when I could have the next doses, and he wrote it down on his phone.

“And take it easy when you get home,” she said. “Stay in bed, and let this guy pamper you. It’s hard to predict how you’ll recover—teenagers take about a week, but the older you get, the harder it is. Sometimes as long as three or four weeks. Days four and five are generally the worst. You’ll need to contact your work and tell them you need a week off, minimum. Hydration will help with the pain, so make sure you keep drinking. The doctor’s number is on the bottom. Please call us if you have any questions or problems.”

She went over to a large cabinet and pulled out a drawstring plastic bag that she placed at the foot of my bed. I recognized my clothing inside and looked down to see myself in a hospital gown. When had that happened?

Then she took my IV out and finished by placing an adhesive bandage on me. “Sorry about cutting you off from the good stuff,” she joked. “I’m going to go grab you a wheelchair and get the last couple of pieces of your discharge paperwork, and you’ll be good to go.”

I wondered how long it would be before the IV pain drugs wore off. My mouth felt dry, and I reached over to take a drink of water. It really, really hurt to swallow.

Which Evan noticed. “This sheet says we can try some ice chips. Maybe that will help. I’ll get you some when we get home.”

I noticed his casual use of the word. He was taking me back to my apartment. Where he didn’t live. It was like he was saying that wherever we were together was our home.

And I didn’t feel panicked or worried or freaked out. It just felt ... right.

I leaned forward into a sitting position, and Evan put his hand on my back, helping me up. I swung my legs over the side of the bed as I grabbed my clothes. “I should get changed.”

“Sure.” But he just stood there, until it dawned on him. “Right! I’ll be just outside. Call for me if you need me.”

It was a bit slow-going to get the gown off and my clothes back on. I was able to slide my feet into my shoes, but the backs stayed bent down against my heels. I decided I didn’t care. I walked over and opened the door, and Evan hurried back inside, putting his arm around my waist to help me sit back down.

The nurse returned with a wheelchair, and Evan helped me into it. Then he ran out ahead of us to grab his car. When he picked me up and put me into the SUV, I tried to tell him I wasn’t an invalid but decided I was too tired to care. I texted Brenda again, telling her that I would need at least a week off work.

I kept expecting my phone to beep with her response, which I expected to be something along the lines of “then don’t bother coming back.”

But instead, she stayed silent. I would call her cousin in HR first thing in the morning and let him know what was happening, maybe forward some of my medical documentation over.

We arrived at my condo, and despite Evan’s protests, I did make him let me walk inside. The nurse had told me to walk around to avoid getting blood clots, and I figured now was as good a time as any to start. He got me into my bedroom and helped me take off my shoes when I sat on the bed. He left so that I could change into some pajamas and returned a few minutes later.

“You can take one of your Percocets now. Which will probably make you sleepy. I’m going to get the foods on this list for you to eat,” he told me after I was settled. I nodded and held out my hand for the pill. I put it in my mouth and then took a big drink of water from the glass he’d left on my nightstand, figuring I might as well try to get some fluids into me if I was going to be swallowing anyway.

Still hurt. But the pain medication definitely made me drowsy.

I woke up to the sound of Evan in my kitchen, and I got up to use the bathroom and to see what he was up to. Almost every countertop was covered in a grocery bag.

“Why are you out of bed?” he asked.

“Why did you buy the entire inventory of the store?” I croaked.

He ran a hand against the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I just wanted to make sure you were covered. That you had everything you needed.”

“Apparently all I need is water and medication. I’m like a houseplant with more complicated pain sensors.”

“Do you want something to eat?”

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