The Song of David(68)

“That’s my drawl, Doc. That’s just how I sound, and I’m tired. I’ve been up for eighteen hours and an MRI isn’t quick, right?” I’d had an MRI in high school when a bull I attempted to stay on for eight seconds, a bull named Ginger, sent me careening into a fence a few seconds after my butt hit his back. Less than eight seconds to warrant a test that had taken forever. I had learned I was claustrophobic and that I didn’t especially want to ride bulls anymore.

Plus, I was feeling fine, and I wanted to see Amelie. She would be wondering where I was. Leo had run me to the hospital and Vince had gone back inside, while the new guy, Chuck, made sure Morgan went home. Everyone had been firmly instructed to keep their mouths shut. Millie didn’t need to be worrying about me getting my head bashed in. For all she knew, she’d had a heckler, and he’d been removed. I told my employees as much. I would tell her an abbreviated version of events and leave Morgan’s name out altogether. But her shift had ended hours ago, and I hadn’t been there to walk her home for the first time since we’d met. I’d texted her and told her I’d come when I could—she had an app on her phone that announced her messages and read them aloud when she tapped the screen. I purposely made my texts ridiculous because it was so funny to hear the canned voice relay my messages. She’d responded with song lyrics about waking her up, and I responded with a demand that she go to sleep.

“I’ll let you go home as soon as you’re done. This will give us another hour of observation too. Humor me, Tag. In your line of work, sparring day in and day out, you can’t mess around with a head injury.”

I grumbled and resisted, but the doctor was adamant, and I finally decided it would be easier to give in than to keep arguing.

In the end, the ER doc got pulled out on an emergency, a tech wheeled me in, and I spent a grueling forty-five minutes trying to stay calm inside a tube while pictures were taken of my brain. It was three a.m. before I walked out of the hospital, the tech promising that a radiologist would read the results, talk to the doctor who’d ordered the test, and someone would be calling me. I waved it all off. Other than the dull ache in my forehead and a desperate need for a shower, I felt absolutely fine. The nurse who handled my discharge asked if I had someone who could stay with me and wake me up every so often, just to be safe.

Leo had fallen asleep in the waiting room, and I didn’t want to put him out any more than I already had. Plus, Millie was the only one I was interested in spending the night with, even the few hours of the night remaining. Leo dropped me off at home and I took a bath, carefully washing the blood out of my hair, and made it to Millie’s at about four a.m.

Maybe I shouldn’t have been driving, but I felt fine and I didn’t want to stay away any longer. I knew where the spare key to Millie’s front door was stashed, the key Henry had shown me with all the seriousness of a man with a highly important secret. He kept it tucked inside a latticework curlicue, directly across from the door, and I felt for it in the darkness, finding it easily and mentally thanking Henry for entrusting me with the keys to the house.

I opened the door and put the key back in Henry’s spot before I slid into the dark foyer and tiptoed up the staircase.

I turned on the light in her room, a definite perk of loving a blind girl, and found her sprawled across her bed, her phone by her head, her arms wrapped around a pillow like she didn’t want to be alone. I flipped the light back off, pulled off my shoes, and padded to her side in the darkness. I laid down beside her, pulled the spare pillow from her arms and stuck it beneath my head, and rolled her into me, settling her on my chest to compensate for the theft of her pillow.

“Hey,” she said sleepily, but the pleasure in her voice warmed me.

“Hey. Go back to sleep. I didn’t want to wake you. I just wanted to see you.”

“I want to see you too,” she mumbled, and her hands immediately began exploring, making me feel immediately less sleepy. This was a first for us, sleeping side by side, and that was as far as it was going to go, though her sleepy sighs and roving hands had me considering options. I should have known she would discover my bandage immediately.

“What’s this?” she asked, her fingers cradling my head.

“That’s a few stitches I got when a drunk heckler decided to smack me in the forehead with his beer bottle.”

She sat up immediately.

“My drunk heckler?” she asked, incredulous.

I didn’t answer.