“Were you starting to fade?”
He shakes his head. “No. But I left you the way I did and I felt bad. And then the valet guy at the hotel told me you took off toward Van Ness. The closer I got, the more I felt you. And felt them. Got there right on time.”
I lift my head a little. I’m still in the hotel room. “Am I going to be okay?”
“I took you to the hospital.”
I stare at him for a moment, the words sinking in. “You did what?!”
“It was fine. I got a doctor to see you. X-rays, the whole bit. You’re fine. No one will ever know that we were there.”
“Well, fuck. How long have I been out?”
He gives me a wan smile. “Almost twenty-four hours. You might have some pain in your rib. The doctor said it looked like a broken rib that was healing, so I think it’s probably healed by now. Either way, I got you Vicodin.”
“Oh really?” Now I’m intrigued. “Drugs please.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “If I’m your nurse, I’m in charge of dispensing this shit.”
“I said please.” I hold out my hand.
He breaks into a grin. “Glad to have you back, darlin’.”
He reaches over to the bedside table and grabs a prescription bottle, handing it to me before grabbing a glass of water.
I pop a pill, swallow it down with the water, and smile at him gratefully.
Then I look down at my clothes.
I’m wearing a black tank top. No bra. I lift up the covers. My booty shorts.
I glance at him. “When did I get changed?”
Just a hint of a sly smile. “After I brought you back from the hospital.”
“Was I conscious? I don’t remember any of it.”
“You know how you took care of me when I was drunk in Gold Beach? I reckon it was like that.”
“So you saw me naked,” I say pointedly.
He’s trying not to grin. “Wouldn’t be the first time. Nothing to worry about.”
“I’m not worrying,” I grumble, stealing a glance at him. “Would just have liked to remember it, that’s all.”
He stares at me for a moment, his slight smile holding steady. Then he shrugs. “Consider ourselves even.”
He gets off the bed, heads toward the washroom.
“How is this considered even!” I yell after him, though my throat feels raw. “All I got to take off was your shoes!”
I hear him laugh and the bathroom door closes.
I’m suddenly hit with a wave of nausea and exhaustion. I lean back against the pillows and take stock of the room. It looks the same as I remember, but it bugs me that not only I’ve lost some time, but so much happened right before that. I mean, he saved me at the last minute, again, and I had a peek into his psyche and there’s a shitload to unpack here between us. I have a feeling that even though we’re both glad I’m alive and well in this bed, that some stuff is going to come around to kick us in the ass.
He’s taking care of me right now, but I have the feeling I’m going to be the one looking after him. Even just remembering what I saw deep inside him is enough to make me feel hopeless, so I push it out of my head.
Close my eyes.
And let the pill take over.
It took three days to bring me back to normal. That was three days in San Francisco where I actually didn’t see any of San Francisco. I was stuck in the hotel room, Max taking care of me. Which was sweet, even though I sensed part of him was keeping his distance from me. It’s hard to explain, but I feel like since I saw the dark parts of him, he’s putting up a front. Walls. Hiding more than he ever has.
And I get it. I would do the same if someone took a peek inside my head, rifled around in the very basis of my soul, and walked away not happy with what they saw.
I’m still coming to terms with that, too. I don’t want to dwell on it because the feelings become too overwhelming and I don’t know if I’m strong enough to handle what he feels. I mean, my mother died. Horribly. That has scarred me for life in ways I will never ever recover from. I was in a dark place. A very dark place. And then with Jay leaving me, it was like I was booted back into that same spot. I know what the darkness feels like, what it’s like to drift toward the void, to lose all hope, all vision, to feel that there’s no point to even go on.
I have been there.
And, even so, what I felt was just a fraction of what’s been residing in Max. What he’s living with…how is he even alive?
Wait.
I know the answer to that.
So now the two of us are eyeing each other like the other one is about to say something that’s going to pull the rug out and neither of us want to take that first fall.
Neither of us want the other to fall, either.
In other words, things just kind of got fucked up.
But I think I know how to get rid of the tension.
When we throw our luggage into the Super B and gun it out of San Francisco, Max is thinking we’re going to LA for a couple of days.
But I have a better idea. A more fun idea.
“Hey, so, you’ve heard of Coachella right?” I ask.
He gives me a wry look as he brings the car onto the I-5. Big Sur was originally in our plans, but after the windy twisty fogginess of highway 1 and the three days in SF, we decided to go the quicker but boring route south.
“Yes. I’ve heard of Coachella. I wasn’t born under a rock. I’ve been to Coachella. Have you?”
“No. And you probably went before it was cool, which isn’t fair.”
“Life’s not fair.”
“Right.
