28

AFTER-EFFECTS

DOC

I’VE NEVER BEEN SO dogged about chasing down work or new accounts, but given my emotional state of emergency, it’s the best thing I can think to do outside of surfing. And since avoiding Nora-spots around town is optimal, I’ve also been staying away from Monkhouse’s place. He’s texted me a lot over the past week, wondering why I haven’t stopped by as usual. I even got a few texts from Sophie, checking on me. My stomach turns anytime someone asks how I am.

I get a call from one of the marginally successful small studios about a short stint doing some driving work, so I jump at the chance. Car jumps and chase scenes are some of my favorite to do, and also an insane adrenaline high. They require a lot of skill and focus, though, so I can’t really fault anyone but myself when I roll the car while I’m in it. Despite my getting injured on their watch, the studio practically humps my leg in thanks, as I’ve saved them a full-day shoot with their effects team. Turns out they were going to roll the car anyway—it’s just usually done with no live people inside.

After the medic patches up my scrapes and bruises, he casually mentions that I have a concussion like it’s the cherry on top.

“Shouldn’t you have led with that?”

“Sorry.” He laughs as though I should be amused, but I simply am not. “It’s not major, but I wouldn’t stay alone tonight. If you prefer, we can check you in at Cedars-Sinai for observation.”

The word alone reverberates through me, rattling the marrow in my bones. It stirs up resentment and an ache in my chest that has nothing to do with my injuries. It’s like he knew my nights have been shit. “I’d prefer to be at home.”

“I just thought your girlfriend or someone could keep an eye on you?” The reason nearly becomes a question, but turns the corner at the tail end to sound more like an apology. “You need someone to help keep you awake for the next twelve hours, or to wake you up every hour or two and check your vitals.”

I relent and sheepishly accept the situation. I’ve had concussions before—far more serious, even. I shove my attitude into the backseat and try to relax. “Right, mate. Sorry. It’s been a rough go for me lately. Thanks.”

After he leaves me to gather my shit and get dressed, I call Fox to see about resting up at casa de Monkhouse tonight. Where better to be than in the house of a registered nurse?

“Hey!” Sophie shouts as I arrive, limping slightly as I come through the door.

Did I mention I jammed my knee as well?

“Are you trying to hurt yourself?” She hustles over then stops in front of me, popping her hands on her hips. “Or is it a death wish you have?”

I smile wanly. “I just lost focus. I promise. These things do happen in my line of work.” I wince, holding my side.

Ah yes, I forgot. A bruised rib, too.

“You’re such an idiot,” she says, but I feel the love. Mostly because she steps forward and hugs me gently.

“Leave him alone.” Fox comes out of their bedroom just in the nick of time. A lecture may have been next. “He’s my patient.”

“That makes sense,” she says, lightly slapping my cheek. “A registered idiot is the best caretaker for this one.”

Fox immediately grips my face and tugs at my lower lids with his thumbs. “Not bad. Okay, so Henry will wake you up every hour on the hour. You should be good.”

“Fox.” Sophie playfully punches him in the shoulder.

“Of course I’m kidding. I’ll stay up,” he says. “I do this shit all the time.”

By four a.m., the checkups every hour have gotten tedious and sincerely annoying, which leaves me wide awake. Exhaustion has boomeranged into the inability to sleep, thanks in part to my mood degrading with each wake-up call. Fox ignores it, probably used to dealing with cranky patients, but it sticks in the back of my mind what a jerk I’m being. That doesn’t mean I can stop myself or manage to apologize yet.

The TV is on low, but I can’t pay attention. Nora is the only thing my mind will consider as a train of thought right now, and it’s all I can do not to text or call her. Earlier, Sophie let it spill that Nora’s still in New York at her dad’s. I hadn’t realized I was doing it, but apparently, I asked, repeating myself several times in a row when no one answered. Sophie had quickly caved.

Now, the bluish glow of whatever is on TV burns my eyes. I keep spacing out, losing track of what’s happening on screen.

“Hey.” Fox comes in from letting Flowerkraut outside. The goofy dog beelines over to me and begins to lick my knees. “Can’t sleep?”

“Nah. Best that I don’t anyway, right?” I don’t know that it’s true, but why not sound optimistic? Keeps up appearances. I run my hand over Flower’s head, and she ends up jumping up on the sofa and using me as a pillow. She usually doesn’t like me this much. Great, even the dog has pity on me.

Fox shrugs and sits down at the other end. “You’re nearly in the clear, but I’ll still wake you at five and six, just to be safe.”

I look away, uncomfortable. “Thanks, mate. I owe you one.”

“Pfft.” He waves the praise off. “You don’t owe me shit.”

The brief quiet makes me uneasy for some reason. “You’re not going to make me talk about Nora, are you?” I throw him a glance, and he looks confused. Dammit. I tried so hard not to bring her up again, I practically sabotaged myself.

“Do you want to talk about her?”

“No.” Honestly, I don’t.

“Then no.” He shrugs.

I don’t know why I’m surprised, but I am. “I made you talk about Sophie,” I remind him, giving him another fucking window, should he want it.

“You don’t need a lecture like I did. I was the asshole.”

“What do you mean was?”

“Fuck you,” he says and laughs. Then he ruins the relaxed conversation with his casual assessment. “You just need time to move on, man.”

My stomach twists. I can’t imagine it. The realization that I haven’t given up hope for Nora yet floors me a little. “Fuck you.”

“Dude. I just meant there’s no need to hash it out unless you really want to,” he says.

I shake my head and groan, stretching my muscles long as best I can. The aches in my body echo every facet of my complete mental exhaustion, not to mention the injuries. Yet I can no longer sleep a wink. My boy Fox, though, gets it.

“Kombat?” he asks.

I smirk, realizing it’s been ages since we had one of our gaming nights. “Taking advantage of the invalid, eh?”

“I’ll pretend I’m going to let you win until I have the opportunity for a fatality.” He waggles his eyebrows because he knows he can’t intimidate me.

“I won’t pretend shit, so get ready to lose, motherfucker.”