Page 94 of Kitty Season
“Noah’s with Brady. We had a … difficult afternoon. Not long after I left, Brady let Noah know he was struggling to cope with the headaches and dizziness, so Noah drove him to the emergency room.”
“What? Is he?—”
“He’s okay.” She smiles, pressing a kiss to my lips. “They gave him some more medication and he’s at home sleeping now.”
Hushed voices, giggles and the distinct sounds of making out infiltrate our little bubble, then a sighed, “Cubby,” lets us know who at least one of the participants is.
Quinn leans backwards, and calls out. “Ah, hello. Emotional reunion happening here.” The giggles and moans are replaced by hurried footsteps and a flash of movement.
“Holy shit, Troye. I think I just saw…” Quinn pauses. “Actually, you don’t want to know.” She kisses me again, then snuggles into my chest. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know. I mean I should be. I got the trophy, an agent, and picked up by Boston but all I wanted was you and Skip.”
“And you have us, Troyeby. You have it all.”
Iwake on who knows what fucking day, with a headache as debilitating as a Taylor Swift burn track, and my mother’s sweet face hovering above me.
“Hello darling.”
“Jesus Christ!” Sheer terror sees me bolt upright, then immediately drop like a sack of shit when pain kicks in.
“Nope just me, he-he.” She laughs like she’s the first person to pull off that line and plonks beside me on the bed. “You shouldn’t jump like that, by the way Brady. It’s not good for your head.”
“No shit. Maybe you shouldn’t hover above me watching me sleep.” I’m kind of still asleep and wondering if this might actually be a vivid dream or nightmare. More likely to be a nightmare since a naked Troye or Quinn isn’t involved.
“Shit. Quinn!” Again, my body surges into an upright terror position and again gravity sets me on my ass with equal haste. “Is Quinn here? I was so horrible?—”
“Quinn and Troye have just gone to the shops to get some things for dinner. Quinn wanted to make you some quinoa. They’ll be back in a jiffy.”
I blink again. Quite a few times. “Dinner?” Last thing I remember, Noah was bringing me inside after taking me to theemergency room. I was so drugged up, he practically had to carry me inside and tuck me in. It hadn’t even been that late.
“You’ve been asleep almost twenty-four hours,” Mum says, answering the unasked question. “And it’s a good thing. Your body heals while you’re sleeping and that noggin of yours needs some healing.” I nod ‘cause, yeah, it does, then reach out and take Mum’s hands.
“You’re here,” I say like a twit. “Hello.”
“Hello, my son.” My eyes fall shut, and I sigh. I love how Mum says son. It’s one of the few words where I can still hear her accent. It feels like she’s hugging me each time I hear it. And though I’m sure I just asked her, I follow up with.
“Where’s Quinn and Troye again?”
“They went to get—” Mom pauses, leans back towards the open door, then smiles. “Sounds like they’re back now. Hang on a tick.” Grunting exorbitantly, she waddles her way outside, allowing all the time in the world for my stomach to twist in knots.
My memory of the last … however many hours it’s been since the game is patchy at best. One thing I can clearly remember though is the way I spoke to Quinn. My bumbling cruelty made Mr. Darcy’s proposal seem like poetic prose.“You proudly declared yourself a Bunny. What else am I supposed to think?”
“Brady?” A lock of Quinn’s hair is all I can see but I would notice that voice buried fifty feet under the sea.
“Hello.”Jesus. Is that all I can say now?
Quinn edges in, her left hand outstretched behind her tugs and then there’s Troye, holding on for grim death.Hello, Troye. I manage to keep to myself.
The second I see all of her, of them, I am colossally overwhelmed. “I’m so sorry, Quinny. I was so scared and my head—” Said head is cradled in her hands before I can finish andTroye’s are placed atop hers in an affectionate pile on. “I’m so sorry. I love you both so much.”
Each of them kiss me on the forehead, then gently sit on either side of me. Quinn the first to speak. “We love you too, Brades, and it’s okay. Brady, I can’t lie and say it didn’t hurt, but we know that wasn’t you. We spoke to Doctor Carmichael, that sports neurologist Dad arranged to see you, and he explained how concussions can affect mood, and temper.”
“And your memory,” Troye adds. “Noah took you to the hospital because you kept asking where Quinn was, and saying the same thing over and over. I think you freaked him out.”
“He would have been fine if I was talking about him.” I crack the tiniest of smiles and am rewarded with two beaming ones in return.
“See, Kitty.” Troye leans closer and kisses me so deep my head spins … in the best possible way. “He’s making jokes already. Our boy’s still there.”
