Page 107 of Bobby Green
Reg wrapped his free arm around his own stomach. “I might have to… I’m sorry….” Pain, put off from the panic maybe, roiled up under his ribs, and just that quickly, he was down on his knees, throwing up on the icy stubble of the meadow.
BOBBY GOThim back to the house and made him take a warm shower. He put on boxer shorts and lay down on the bed while Bobby and his mom took stock of his bruises and put ice packs on them.
“There was no blood?” his mom asked Bobby for the fiftieth time.
“Not when he got sick, Mom. I think he just got gutshot.”
“I’ll be okay,” Reg mumbled. He grimaced up at Bobby. “Can I not be in my underwear around your mom?”
“Deal with it,” Isabelle Roberts said bluntly. “You’ve got bruises all over your body, sweetheart. Let me make sure they get iced, okay?” With that, she turned toward the kitchen, presumably to get another ice pack.
“Sorry I’m not a good fighter,” Reg mumbled, feeling stupid. “You were a real good fighter out there. I was surprised.”
Bobby had taken his own shower, and he crouched down by the bed and smoothed Reg’s hair from his eyes with bandaged knuckles. “You didn’t live through grade school if you didn’t learn to beat the hell out of people,” he said with a shrug. “Didn’t hurt that I bulked up, but I know how to throw a punch.”
Reg half laughed. “V always protected me,” he said softly, remembering. “Until I started at Johnnies, I was just always so small.”
Bobby grunted. “It’s easy for me to forget,” he admitted after a moment.
“Forget what?”
“How much she gave you,” Bobby said, leaning over to kiss Reg’s temple.
Which reminded him. “You really told your mom?” Reg asked, heart full of wonder.
“Yeah.”
“She was okay with it?”
Bobby shrugged. “Didn’t kick us out. Still seems to like you okay. We’ll call it good.”
Reg smiled and closed his eyes. It was only three in the afternoon, but they’d given him some pain relievers, and he felt like a little nap. “That’s amazing,” he mumbled. “Make sure she knows I love you too.”
He heard Bobby’s breath catch, but his eyes were closed. He could only feel the kiss on his temple and the rasp of the bandage as Bobby dragged his knuckles gently across Reg’s cheek.
HE WOKEup about two hours later and made his way creakily to the bathroom, being careful to hit the water. No blood—he checked.
Bobby’s mom showed up in the doorway as he was making his way back to bed.
“You okay?” she asked, and he grimaced.
“I need my sweats.” He was still in his boxers, and it wasn’t right. Besides, it was cold up here.
“That’s fine. You can get them out of the bag, you can wear them.”
Reg made his way to his duffel bag and started sorting through his clothes. He had to balance against the wall to get one leg in his sweats, and she made a sound of impatience and came around the bed to help him. Embarrassed, he gave them to her to hold while he put one foot, then the other, into the fleece. Then she pulled out a clean T-shirt and a sweatshirt for him to wear.
“Where’s Bobby?” he asked, feeling a little lost.
“Fell asleep in front of the TV,” she said with a half smile. “Afternoon nap, I guess, just like he was a kid.”
Reg frowned. “I don’t remember if I ever took them or not.”
“Your mom could tell you,” Isabelle said, holding the sweatshirt by the hem. Reg put his hands in, and she pulled it over his head. He was so grateful too, because his chest, his back, his core—everything ached.
“No, she couldn’t. She took off a while ago.”
“That’s too bad.” Isabelle tugged the sweatshirt down and straightened the shoulders. “My parents died when Bobby was young. I felt so alone. It’s hard, you know? Taking care of someone else with no help?”
