Page 93 of Code Word
I smiled for Alma. “That ointment is great though, thank you.”
She made a face. “But for the smell.”
“Yeah, it smells like—” I stopped short of saying unwashed assholes. “Not great.”
“I told him he should see a doctor,” Luke said, as if ganging up on me would work.
She nodded. “I agree. The hospital is not far.”
Hospital?
“Hospital?”
Luke looked at me with amused pity, if that were a thing. “We should. If you leave it, it could get worse, and then you’ll need surgery again.”
I pouted. And whined.
Alma patted my not-stupid knee. “Be brave.”
Luke laughed, and so I was very brave the entire time he rubbed more unwashed-asshole ointment on my knee and wrapped it with the bandage.
I didn’t whine at all. I probably should have because ten minutes later, I was on the back of the moped with my leg straight, bandaged knee and all, hanging onto Luke as he drove us toward town.
I did love it here. The sunshine felt different. There were no walls closing in around us, no asshole paparazzi or fans pushing us or shoving cameras in our faces.
Everything here was on our time.
Including the waiting room at the hospital.
“Should I be concerned that you’re smiling?” Luke asked.
I chuckled, leaning my head against the wall behind our chairs. “I’m still serious about staying here,” I said. “I love the whole vibe. It just feels different; more relaxed. Everything’s on our time.”
His eyes met mine, kinda sad. “We can’t stay here forever.”
“Maybe not. But we can check out some real estate options. No huge-ass mansion. Just something small by the beach, away from people. We can ride the moped to the market every couple of days and no one gives a shit who we are.”
He smiled. “You really are serious about that, aren’t you?”
“Hell yes. It doesn’t have to be here, exactly,” I offered. “Somewhere like it. Just you and me and wherever the vibe is like this. And we can spend a few months here, go back to LA when we have to, and when the bullshit gets too much, we come back here and pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist. It’s only a few hours by plane. It’s not like I’msuggesting we buy somewhere in Nepal where we have to trek three days on a yak to get to the nearest airport.”
Luke smiled. “On a yak?”
“Or Koh Samui or Bora Bora. For real, I would if you wanted to, but at least Mexico is close. Or Hawaii if you wanted to stay in the States. Hell, I’d live in a yurt in Mongolia if you wanted to.”
Luke chuckled. “Well, I can’t say yaks or yurts were on my bingo card for today.”
I sighed. “Neither was a trip to the hospital.”
Just then, a middle-aged man in a white coat came into the waiting room, clipboard in hand. “Blake Acosta.”
I stood up and Luke quickly propped himself under my arm, and ignoring the few looks we got, we hobbled behind the doctor into the cubicle.
I explained the surgery I’d had and how running on the sand in the dark hadn’t been my best idea to date, and despite the terrible-smelling ointment, he did his doctor thing. Then he did his MRI thing to rule out tears or ruptures, stuck me with a horse needle right into the joint, and told me I needed to rest it.
Oh, and to keep using the ointment as the horrid smell might keep away the nosey nurses from trying to catch a glimpse of me. Apparently word had spread since he hollered my name out in the waiting room.
“You are someone famous?” he asked.
