Page 8 of Hail Marry
He doesn’t offer his own guess, and I glance at him.
“What’s your name, by the way?” I ask. “I’ve been calling you Crusher in my head, but I assume you have a real name.”
“It’s Luca. You’re Victoria, right?” He indicates the band around my wrist, which has my name and birthdate.
I almost correct him—no one really calls me my full name—but it’s a minor detail, and it doesn’t seem like there’s much point. Circumstance has thrown us together for a couple hours, so he can call me Victoria as a courtesy for saving my life, I guess.
“Yep,” I say.
He pulls his phone out of his pocket and turns on the screen.
“You don’t have to stay, you know,” I say.
His eyes sweep to mine. He puts the phone down, but the brooding brow has returned in full force. “It’s fine. It’s better than the alternative.”
“Sitting in a hospital with a girl you nearly crushed to death isbetter?”
“I’ve got a lot on my mind,” he says. “Being here is helping, though.” He grabs the Styrofoam cup on the table next to the bed. “Here.”
I take it warily, but then I see what it is: ice chips. “The only good thing about hospitals. Thank you!” I tip some into my mouth and start chewing.
“You’re feeling okay?”
I nod, mouth full of ice. “I mean, considering I almost died today, I feel pretty good. In fact, I think I’ll just leave. My bucket list suddenly feels very important.” I don’t actually have a bucket list, though. Lists aren’t really my thing. I’m more of a leap-then-look person.
But not recently. Recently, I’ve been totally and completely lame. When was the last time I did anything that scared me?
Besides accidentally stepping in front of a semi.
How did I let it come to this? In college, I was the person everyone knew they could count on for a good time. I’ve always been spontaneous and fun—or as my family calls it, impulsive.
But then Ryan happened.
“You should wait for the MRI results,” Luca says.
“That’s going to take another hour at least. I can just call in for the results later. I really am fine. I didn’t hit my head that hard.”
“You really shouldn’t leave.”
I raise a brow. “You’re being bossy again.”
“If you leave before being discharged, your insurance doesn’t have to cover the visit.”
I shake the cup to loosen more ice. “My insurance is garbage. I’ll be paying this off for the next three years anyway. Thank you, catastrophic plan.”
He stands, and I have to tip my head back to keep eye contact. The man is a near-giant.
“Are you hungry?” he asks. “The cafeteria has burritos, poke bowls, panini…”
“And tapioca, apparently. I’m fine, though.” My stomach growls loud enough to scare off a pack of hyenas.
His thick brow cocks. “I’ll just get one of everything, then.” He heads for the door.
“Fine,” I blurt out. “Beef burrito. Everything on it.” If he insists on getting me food, he might as well get what I like.
“Everything?” he asks skeptically.
“Everything.”
