“I said, get me the damn doctor,” Killian yelled at whomever would listen.
“Killian, stop it.” Lana’s sharp order was enough to stay his hand. The remains of all the flower vases within his reach lay shattered on the floor, expensive flowers crushed and water pooling beneath their feet. “What’s wrong?”
The look he gave her was wild, and he was panting. “I need the doctor. I need more pain meds.”
Ignoring his heaving chest and clenched fists, Lana sat on the edge of his bed and placed a hand on his forehead. “You’re burning up from fever. Where’s the nurse?”
“I threw her out.”
Leaning his head back on the pillow, Killian’s fists clenched into the bedding. Rick positioned himself close enough to interfere if he turned on her. This wasn’t the cousin she knew. This was a man in terrible pain, and Rick doubted he truly understood what he was doing right now.
“I’m here.” The doctor strode into the room. “Mr. Montgomery, I understand you’re in a significant amount of discomfort, but it’s dangerous to up your medications. Your kidneys have been severely damaged—”
“You think I don’t know? You think I don’t know that I did this to myself?” Killian bellowed. He swung his arm at what was left on the side tray, a plastic pitcher of water. Rick didn’t have time to stop him, so he grabbed Lana and twisted, taking the force of the flying object to his shoulder.
“Killian, stop it.”
This time, Lana sounded near tears.
When Killian didn’t stop, Lana stumbled out of the room, her near-constant composure finally shot. Leaning against the wall outside the door, Lana turned to Rick, clearly shaken. They could both hear Killian yelling at the doctor, the laid-back cousin replaced by someone neither of them could recognize.
“I don’t know what to do,” Lana said in a whisper. “I don’t know how to help him.”
“Let’s take a drive. Staying here staring at the floor isn’t going to help.”
Wordlessly, she handed him her car keys. Her hands were shaking far too badly to hope to drive safely right now.
* * *
When they hit the edge of the city, they kept driving. Empty corn and soybean fields stretched all around them, blanketed in snow.
“Here. Pull over here.”
At her request, Rick exited the highway, turning in to an all-night truck stop. It was late enough that a few truckers had parked for the night, everything dark but the undercarriage lights glowing on their rumbling semis. A restaurant took up the bulk of the truck stop, filled with more people than Rick would have expected this late in the evening.
“The Mudgeton truck stop is always busy, no matter how late at night,” Lana explained as they slid into in a booth in their finery.
“Mudgeton?”
“This place was the start of the Zoey-Lana ladymance. Like a bromance but far more productive and long-lasting.”
After waiting a few minutes, a cheerful—if tired—waiter came over and took their order. They ordered strawberry milkshakes because Lana promised they were the best on the planet. The kitchen was quick, and within a couple of minutes, their server placed a massive glass in front of Rick overloaded with whipped cream and fresh strawberries on top. For the first time that evening, Rick found himself looking at something he actually wanted to eat.
“You might have been underselling this milkshake.” Rick slurped a sip, not caring that the straw made a loud sucking noise. “This is ridiculously good.”
“Right? I told you! You should try the apple pie. It’s to die for.”
It was the most animated she’d been in hours. Milkshake forgotten, Rick took Lana’s hand. “Are you okay?”
She glanced down at the table, swallowing hard. “It’s difficult seeing him like that. He’s never raised his voice or mistreated someone in his life. That wasn’t Killian in there.”
“Pain can make us become people we aren’t. Make us do things we would never consider doing.”
Lana nodded, falling silent. Deciding not to push the issue, Rick looked around instead.
Even though they were in the lower forty-eight, it wasn’t all that different from home. The land was flat, true, but the heavy Carhartt jackets were the same. Cold hands wrapped around hot cups of coffee as truck drivers ate slices of pie. Waiters and waitresses on sore feet spoke tired greetings to their customers, and the smell of French fries permeated the air.
“So this is where you met Zoey?” Rick took in the restaurant, trying to imagine Lana and Zoey here without him.
“Yes. She always worked the night shift, usually those tables over there, and I stopped in one night on my way to see some friends.”
“Real friends or people who wanted something from you?”
Lana smiled wryly. “You picked up on that tonight, huh? You know, love, it’s possible you’re starting to understand me a little too well.”
Love. Did she mean it the way Rick meant it earlier that night? Or was it just an affectation of speech? He didn’t know her nearly well enough.
She pointed at the far corner of the restaurant. “That table is where I technically met Zoey,” Lana told him. “Right over there. She was serving a table of truck drivers, and they were teasing her about being short. I watched her tell six men to go screw themselves and then pour a glass of water on the closest one’s lap. She was so fearless. I wanted to be her when I grew up.”
“And now?”
“Now I’m still very inspired by her, but I wouldn’t want to have to be married to Graham. I’m content being me.”
Rick chuckled, scraping the sides of his milkshake glass to get the last drops. “So this is where it all began. The Thelma to your Louise?”
“Absolutely. I could have lived here,” she told him. “I tried to. Zoey rode a bicycle home after her shifts, and I offered to give her a ride. She introduced me to her grandmother, and I fell in absolute love. I don’t think I left Mudgeton for a month.”
“Does her grandmother still live here?”
“Grandma Madge? Yes, she’s here.” Lana hesitated, then she bit her lower lip. “Would you like to meet her?”
Rick would. It was nearly eleven at night, but according to Lana, Madge was a night owl. She also informed him that she would be in big trouble if Madge found out Lana had been in town and hadn’t said hello. Calling up Madge was easy. Procuring her the last piece of apple pie from the greedy hands of the other diners was harder, but Lana managed it.
They drove down the street to a small single-family home, decorated with an eclectic collection of windchimes and ceramic gnomes in Harley clothes.