Page 37 of Reckless
My eyes blink open to take in the hospital room around me. Dim lights. A steady beeping. Dryness in my mouth.
“You must enjoy spending time at the hospital,” Rhett quips from beside me.
I squeeze my eyes shut once more to get my bearings and eventually grumble out, “I hope your stupid rodeo was a huge success, asshole. Where’s my dog? One of the girls was watching him.”
The sound of Rhett shifting in a vinyl hospital chair joins the chorus of beeps. “Don’t worry, Summer has him. He might as well be a child, considering she just sent me a photo of him in our bed with her. And it’s not my fault you dropped that inside shoulder like a rookie. Right down the well you go.”
My eyes open only so that I can shoot him a glare. “Hilarious. The best season of my life is trashed because I did you a solid and you’re sitting here telling me what I did wrong. Next time, you ride the fucking bull yourself. You’re the one everyone wants to see anyway.”
His lips flatten and his arms cross. “People were there to see you, Theo. Don’t kid yourself.”
I glance away, noting that whatever drugs they gave me after surgery are doing a great job because there’s no pain to speak of. “People are there to see me because I’m Gabriel Silva’s son and your protégé. Not because I have any accolades of my own.”
Rhett’s amber eyes narrow on me, his hands steepled beneath his chin. “That’s not true.”
“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, Eaton. Tell me what I’m known for in the WBRF?”
His lips twitch. “Chasing tail.”
I swallow my frustration and focus on the ceiling. I fucking hate that for me.
“Theo, you’re gonna bust a tooth grinding your molars like that. Everyone knows who you are because you’re piecing together one of the most impressive seasons anyone has seen. A better run than your dad or I ever went on. That’s for sure.”
“So much for that.”
“Don’t be a pessimist. It doesn’t suit you.”
“I’m allowed to have a moment, Rhett. I’ve seen you brood over shit. I remember how hard you sulked when you first got saddled with Summer as your babysitter. This is ten times worse. I don’t have toalwaysbe in a good mood.”
“You’ll be back this season. You’re far enough ahead that you can pull it off. We’ll make sure that you—”
A slightly raised voice cuts in from the hallway through the open door. “You didn’t check his head?”
A deeper one responds. “He was perfectly alert. Laughing. Joking. I’m heading in there now. He’s already awake.”
“Have you not seen the episode ofGrey’s Anatomywhere Derek Shepherd dies? It was one little CT scan to double-check the brain of a man who has had multiple head injuries—”
“Winter, relax.”
Rhett’s eyes widen at me. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Winter Hamilton likes you. She’s been a fucking terror out there, checking your charts and demanding updates.”
I’m about to respond to that, but a stout man with gray hair wanders into my room.
He stops near my bed, glasses dropped low on his nose, while he stares down at a clipboard. “Mr. Silva, I’m Dr. Forrester. Nice to see you’re awake. Surgery went well—”
Winter storms in behind him, doing her best crabby Tinkerbell impression, and I can’t help but smile. “How’s your head?”
“Winter,” the older doctor admonishes her.
It annoys me. He introduces himself asdoctorbutcalls Winter by her first name.
“Doctor Hamilton,” I correct, letting steel seep into my voice.
The man glances at me, head quirking to the side. “Yes? What about her?”
“You keep calling her Winter. But she works here, right? It’s Dr. Hamilton, isn’t it?”
An awkward hush permeates the space. Three sets of eyes lock on mine. Rhett’s amused. Dr. Forrester’s taken aback. And Winter’s confused.
