“What the hell are we watching?” J.T. complains from the couch he’s stretched out across in the entertainment room of the estate. “Seriously! What the hell is that thing?”
“It’s a stingray,” Brynley exclaims.
“What the hell is it doing?”
“Eating.”
“Eating what? Human babies!?!”
I roll my eyes at the comment, but Brynley retorts, “Fish, you moron!”
“That was not a fish!” My best friend has a gulp of his beer. “Can’t we watch something else? Like anything else?”
“House rules state, injured party picks the show, Puppet Boy shuts his pussy pleaser.” She adjusts her feet in my lap.
Instantly, I drop my attention to her wrapped foot.
The doctor said it was a minor sprain. He explained if she maintains the proper rest and elevation the swelling should disperse in a couple days and she should be back to walking normal by the end of the week. As far as her concussion, they released her early this morning into my care with instructions to continue to monitor her when she sleeps for a few more days. They don’t believe there is any serious damage, but sometimes with head injuries they can appear a bit later. Matt immediately, under my demand, gave her an additional exam when we arrived here. He came to the same conclusion and promised he would keep a close watch if I felt it necessary. Which I do. Brynley however does not. Needless to say it has been a difficult first day.
“And they don’t eat like toes and shit?” J.T. questions and my attention swings to him. “Like take little bites out of them?”
“Dick breath, what is the matter with you?” Brynley scolds. “It’s like you’ve learned nothing from our time together.”
He merely shrugs. “It’s like listening to Scottie ramble on about fixing the ship. It’s informative but not usually crucial to the plot.”
My fiancée grunts, “If I could get up right now and bitch slap you I would.”
They exchange a laugh, but I question, “Are you in pain, baby? Do you need more ibuprofen? Do I need to call Matt for something stronger?”
She offers me a mixed look of sympathy and annoyance. “I’m alright, Wes. Relax.”
“You sure?”
“Positive.”
“Is it time for another ice pack?”
Her patience appears to fade. “No.”
“Are you tired? Do you need another nap? J.T.’s handling all calls this weekend so any time you’re ready is absolutely fine.”
The twitched glare doesn’t go unnoticed. “I’m gonna need you take it down a notch or seven, mother hen.”
“Where is Lauren?” J.T. asks quickly. “Why isn’t she here fussing over you like your fiancé?”
“Because he banished her to the land of toilet bowl scrubbing, so he could hover all alone.”
I huff, “How many times have I told you Lauren does not scrub toilets?”
Bryn dramatically puts a hand to her forehead and mocks in southern drawl, “Oh forgive me, sir. I meant order the toilet bowl brushes.”
J.T. erupts in laughter, which receives an immediate bite, “Stop encouraging her!”
“Stop babying me!” She pops off. When our eyes lock again, Bryn snips, “It’s a sprain. It doesn’t have to be surgically removed then sewed back on! I’m fine!”
“Your head-”
“Is now pounding because of the screaming I have to do!”
“Stop screaming!”
“Stop making me scream!”
Another stalemate between us is established.
All. Fucking. Day. All fucking day has been a ceaseless cycle of me trying to help and her reprimanding me for trying. It’s like she doesn’t want me to give a shit. Which is too fucking bad because I do. And she’s about one more fight away from me locking her in the highest bedroom of this place until she’s willing to listen to reason.
The sound of a device vibrating manages to break the staring.
Our attention diverts to J.T. who grabs his phone from the coffee table. With a couple of swipes, he announces, “Evie wants to confirm everyone’s attire for the 4th of July festival. Says there are a couple of designers who have sent something from their summer collections for the two of us. She’s insisting we pick from that. She’s also insisting she’s shown anything Brynley is even considering to wear.”
“She’s probably worried I’m going to try to wear the American Flag in an inappropriate way,” Brynley snickers.
He tips his beer bottle at her. “Which you would.”
Before she has a chance for a rebuttal, I snap, “We’re not going.”
To no surprise, Brynley shouts, “What!”
“We are not going.”
Brynley almost whines, “Tell me you’re learning French and just accidentally added the word not to your sentence.”
“J.T., you are going,” I state without making eye contact with her. “You’ll represent the company for all of us. Inform Evie. Wear whatever it is she deems best.”
He begins to type when Brynley snaps, “Don’t you dare fucking text that!”
His movements cease.
My instructions come out in a crisp tone. “Type. It.”
“J.T.-”
“He does not work for you.” The growled words leave no room for discussion.
I expect our positions to become toe to toe once more yet she swings her legs out of my lap and stands.
Irritation surges in my voice. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“Wherever the fuck I want,” she retorts, grabbing the crutch she’s been using. “And you can’t fucking stop me because I don’t work for you.”
Having the words thrown back at me hurt as intended.
Instinctively, I prepare to make another attempt to stop her from storming away, but the sight of my best friend profusely shaking his head halts my actions.
After J.T. declares enough time has passed putting Brynley out of earshot, he angles his body my direction, and sighs, “Look, I know it’s not my place-”
“Then don’t finish your sentence.”
Despite the coldness in my deliverance, he continues, “But you can’t keep treating Brynley like this.”
“We are not having his discussion.”
“We are,” J.T. counters without concern for my tensed disposition. “Because she may be your fiancée, but she’s also my friend. Plus, you’re my best friend, so really having this conversation with me is beneficial to you both.”
I fold my hands together and lean forward in silence.
“Doesn’t take a genius to understand why you’re overly concerned, Wes. With everything that happened to Lauren last year and with losing your parents, your brain automatically pictures worst case scenario and preps for it. You’re gonna have to learn to reel that shit in because not every situation will reach those extremes.”
The lecture wedges itself poorly in my chest.
“Two doctors have told you she’ll be fine. She is telling you she’s fine. Take the hint. Give her some space and stop treating her like she’s an invalid. All that does is make her do things to spite you, which actually could make the situation worse. And you know, Aquawoman. She is not above hurting herself to hatefully prove a point.”
My body leans back against the couch demonstrating my speechless retreat.
Everything he’s saying is right. I know that. Logically I fucking know that. However, that’s the issue with Bryn. She has this way of obliterating ration for instinct. Deciding to burn down the forest to clear a path rather than risk getting lost. All I want is to protect and provide for the woman who gives me a reason to live. Pretty sure my father was the same about my mother. It’s probably where I secretly get it from….Is that so wrong? Is that terrible to wanna guard a piece of your soul? Better yet, why does trying to do that constantly go so awry for me?