Page 126 of Hell Bent
“Just a little?” I tried to smile. It wasn’t easy. “You got that infusion before, though. You said you have a place to get it, so what’s the problem? Need Thomas and Ben to take you for it, so you don’t have to drive? You’ve got it. I wish I could take you myself.”
“That’s not it.” She was frowning now. With pain, with fatigue, with frustration, with all three. “If it’s not within clinic hours, I have to get that at the ER, so it’s at night, after work. I’ll have to wait, and treatment takes another hour once Ihavewaited. I should go right now, to tell you the truth, but I just …” Tears filled her eyes. “I can’t, OK? I can’t. I’m too tired. I need to go, and I can’t.”
“So you go in clinic hours. First thing tomorrow.”
“I’d have to call out. After I was just told today that I’ve taken too much time off.”
I said, “What is this, servitude?” Forgetting all about being cautious, suddenly furious.
She laughed tiredly. “Welcome to the corporate world. Oh, wait. You play for the NFL. What do you get time off for again?”
“All right.” I dialed it back with an effort. “You’ve got me there. But you know, they make it pretty damn easy to swallow that tradeoff. I can buy every bit of convenience there is. What about this job is so great that you can’t turn your back?”
“I hear what you’re saying,” she said. “I do. But I’d have to admit that I can’t do it.”
“Ah,” I said. “Yeah.” And kept my hand right there on her hair, in case it helped. “Something to think about, eh?”
“Yes,” she said. “Something to think about.”
“Meanwhile,” I said, “here’s what we’re doing. We’re both going to eat something, because we need it, and then I’m taking you to that ER, wherever it is, the one that’ll have your records. Because if we don’t do that, I don’t think you’re making it to work tomorrow. I know you’re tough, but working injured is a recipe for trouble, and with your period, too? No.”
“I don’t want to,” she said. “The chairs … Plus, you have practice tomorrow. We could be there for hours. What’s that going to do for your … your form, or whatever?”
“I’m still going to be able to kick. Don’t worry about me. And I’ll wrap you in a blanket. I’ll hold you in my lap. I’ll do whatever I have to do to make you comfortable while you wait.”
“Sebastian.” She was trying to laugh, and a couple of those tears had made it out. “You’re ridiculous.”
“No. I’m the man in love with you, and if you need an infusion, I’m going to make sure you get it. You scoffed at my being-a-man definition before, but I’m trying again anyway. This is what men do. They protect. Try poking a hole in that one, because if I know anything, I know this. They protect, and that’s what I’m going to do.”
Yes, I’d said the L-word. And I wasn’t sorry.
50
CLEAN SLATE
Sebastian
The next evening, Ben said, “Most people don’t go for hikes at night. Just saying.”
I stuffed my hands into my jacket pockets. “Probably true. Got my head lamp, though, and Lexi’s happy about it.” It was after six, and we were walking the dog in Washington Park while Alix took some rest time at home, because she’d come back from work claiming she felt “so much better” and not looking it. We hadn’t waited more than a few minutes at the ER last night, either. They’d hustled her on in there and started that infusion, because bleeding disorders, it turned out, weren’t really all that minor.
I shelved that for another time, feeling some sympathy with her mom, and focused on Ben. “I didn’t tell you yesterday, but I’ve signed the paperwork. I’m officially your guardian.”
“Oh,” Ben said.
“It’s not forever,” I said. “Just until you’re eighteen.”
A longer pause, and then he said, “OK.” Muttered it, actually.
I stopped a second, and he bumped into my back. “Sorry,” I said, and kept going. “All right,” I decided, “I’m going to lay it on the line.”
“I got it, all right?” he burst out. “You didn’t even want kids, and I’m not your kid anyway. You’re doing it as a favor to my mom. But thanks for, like, pointing that out two days after she died, because I didn’t already feel bad or anything. Your timing’s great.”
I said, “Let’s go walk on the sidewalk so we can see each other.”
“What, so you can make me feel better? Good luck with that.”
“Sidewalk,” I said, and took the spur trail down there. Ben didn’t much want to walk beside me, I could tell, but I slowed down enough that he had no choice. “I screwed that up,” I told him. “I thought I’d been straight with you, but obviously not, because we haven’t even come close to having this conversation, and we need to.”
