Page 79 of Penalty Kiss
I rake a hand through my hair, frustrated. "How on earth… never mind. It was an accident. I was cooking, got distracted—"
"Exactly." Luke leans forward, and I can practically see the gears turning in his surgeon brain. "Distraction, memory lapses, difficulty with routine tasks. These are all indicators that your PCS isn't improving the way we hoped."
I really thought I was getting better. The fog comes and goes, sure, but they’re less frequent. In fact, I am great on most days. And I've been handling things. Taking care of Tara. Being useful. But the fact that I nearly burned down her kitchen yesterday... maybe that's a truer barometer of my PCS than my optimism.
"No dizziness this week," I report dutifully. "Sleep's been decent. Screen time's probably higher than you'd like, but I've been working."
"Working?" Luke's eyebrows shoot up. "Cameron, you're supposed to be resting, not—"
"Helping my girlfriend settle into town isn't exactly hard labor," I cut him off, but even as I say it, I can hear how defensive I sound.
Dad and Luke exchange one of those looks that says they've already had this conversation without me.
"Anyway, I really thought I was getting better," I mutter, more to myself than to them.
"But the reality check of needing to replace a stove suggests otherwise," Dad says, not unkindly but with the kind of brutal honesty that runs in our family. "We're concerned, son."
The word 'son' hits different when it comes from Dad. Not Cameron—which means I'm in trouble—but son, which means he's worried. Really worried.
"So yes, we're coming," Luke announces, like it's already decided.
My stomach plummets. "You don't need to—"
"You'll be fine when we determine you're fine," Dad interrupts with military precision. "Luke's already spoken to your neurologist in Denver. We want to see the environment, assess your daily routine, make sure you're getting proper care."
Luke nods. "We land at DIA at seven-thirty tomorrow morning. We'll drive straight to Cedar Falls."
The line goes dead.
I stare at my phone, dread settling in my stomach. The full force of the Wilder clan is descending on Cedar Falls, and they're coming with stethoscopes and judgment.
"Bad news?"
Tara's voice cuts through my spiral. She's perched on the kitchen counter, legs swinging, wearing one of my t-shirts that falls to mid-thigh and makes me forget how to think coherently. She was making coffee when my phone rang, but now she's watching me with that careful expression she gets when she's reading the room.
"My father and brother are flying in tomorrow," I tell her, scrubbing a hand over my face. "They think my PCS is worsening instead of getting better."
She slides off the counter, smoothing down the shirt. "Are you?"
I look at her—really look at her. The woman who's turned my world upside down in the best possible way. The womanwho makes me want to be better, stronger, whole. The woman I'd fight dragons for, brain injury or no brain injury.
"I don’t know," I say finally. "With the fire… maybe."
She laughs—and the sound is like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.
"Well," she says, moving closer with that fluid grace that always makes my breath stumble. "This should be interesting."
I catch her hand, pulling her between my knees. "Interesting is one word for it. Catastrophic might be another."
Her free hand comes up to cup my face, thumb brushing over the stubble I forgot to shave this morning. "Hey. They love you. They're just... thorough."
"Thorough." I snort. "They're going to want to know everything. Where I've been staying, who I've been with, why I'm not under close medical supervision like a good little patient."
"And?"
"And explaining to a trauma surgeon and a military doctor why their concussed son is shacking up with a woman who has the mob after her is going to require all the charm I can muster."
Her expression shifts, a flicker of something I can't quite read. "You don't have to explain me to them."
