Page 32 of Cluelessly Yours

Shoot, I’d definitely flee the scene if I could.

“Am I a alligator, Mom?” Grant asks, his groggy eyes meeting mine with widened concern. “I don’t know how to be a alligator!”

“No, buddy, you’re not an alligator.” I grab Grant’s uncasted hand for comfort. “You’re still an adorable boy named Grant,” I reassure, but I also look across my son’s hospital bed to where Noah stands, unsure if I should be amused or worried.

“Good old anesthesia,” Gavin chimes in with a soft chuckle from where he stands with his back against the wall behind me. “It can definitely make you say crazy things. Right, Doc?”

Noah’s jaw flexes. “Right.”

Awkward silence stretches across the room, and I shift on my feet, wishing I could say something that would unzip the extremely strained air. Just some breathing room in the shirt collar, you know? I have no clue if anyone else is feeling it. But my body? It could implode.

“Need my shoes, Mom. Gotta go,” Grant mutters, but his eyes fall closed.

Besides my son’s rambling commentary, it’s mostly just been silence for the past ten minutes that we’ve all been standing in here together. I don’t like to leave bad reviews for things, but if pressed, I’d give the vibe a zero out of five on Yelp.

Noah moves around the bed to my side where he places a hand on my back and leans in to talk directly to me.

“This is all very normal. Over the next hour or so, you’ll probably hear more silly things before he fully comes out of anesthesia. It’s nothing to be concerned about. Just think of it as him dreaming out loud.” He leans in even farther, startling me with how intimately close he is. “As you and I know, our guy spends some time dreaming about alligators.”

Our guy?

Gavin moves in at my other side then, almost aggressively wrapping an arm around my shoulders, even though it means invading Noah’s space as well. “You doing okay, babe?”

My spine tingles with the effort to stand all the way straight under the two of them. I feel like I’m in the window seat of a plane, waiting for my turn to get off, hunched like that guy from Notre Dame.

Before I can respond or do some sort of spin move to shake off my man-cessories, my sister busts through the door like a football team running through their banner.

“Oh my God!” Brooke exclaims as she waddles inside with her service dog Benji following dutifully at her side. “I got here as soon as I could!”

Honestly, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her move this fast in my life, and I certainly haven’t since my niece or nephew started baking inside her belly.

Her eyes meet mine and then flash to the two men crowding me, and her movements come to an abrupt halt. Honestly, if the soles of her ballet flats would have been made of tire rubber, I swear they would’ve left track marks across the tile floor.

One pointed eyebrow is raised in my direction as she not-so-discreetly glances between Gavin and Noah. “Grant must be the new American Idol with the size of the crowd he’s acquired tonight,” she says, but thankfully, she switches her focus to the still half-asleep, partially sedated little boy in the room.

I can’t deny my baby looks so tiny in a bed that could fit a grown man. Ialmost burst into tears when I first stepped into the room at how small and fragile he looked lying there with his little arm fully casted.

“He’s still coming out of anesthesia, but he’s doing well,” Noah comments for my sister’s benefit, finally stepping away from me and moving to a spot at the foot of Grant’s bed.

Brooke nods as she reaches out to tenderly run her fingers through Grant’s hair. “And the surgery? It went okay?”

“His surgeon said he did great,” I update her, purposefully avoiding the giant testosterone-filled elephant in the room that I know she’s internally losing her shit over right now. “He’s confident his arm will heal completely without any complications or infection.”

“Thank goodness,” she comments and looks over at Noah, whose feet are planted wide while his hands grip the thick beige plastic of the bottom bed railing. “You were in the OR with him?”

“I stayed with him the entire time,” he says. “Everything went smoothly.”

A nurse peeks her head in from the hall, swinging all four of our heads in her direction. Her cheeks redden as she focuses on Noah. “Sorry to interrupt, Dr. Philips, but they need your assistance in Recovery Room Five.”

A moment later, and after a small apology to both Brooke and me, Noah steps out of Grant’s recovery room.

Brooke runs one hand through Grant’s ruffled hair again, but after giving him a soft kiss to his forehead, she steps away from his bed and directs all her attention on the other adults in the room—aka me and a man named Gavin whom I haven’t told her anything about.He’s unwrapped his arm from my shoulder now that Noah’s dick isn’t swinging near his anymore, but I’m sure the image is burned in my sister’s memory.

“Hi, I’m Sammy’s sister, Brooke,” she introduces herself. Thankfully, the “and who the hell are you”I know she wants to add is silent.

“I’m Gavin.” He offers a friendly smile. “It’s great to meet you. Though, I wish it were under much different circumstances.”

“Definitely.” Her words sound harmless, but her eyes are narrowed. “So, how do you two know each other?”

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