“No, I mean for you. You’re never grumpy or out of sorts, so it’s freaking me out that you are now. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing other than they’re moving me to rehab. Maybe tomorrow.”
“Isn’t that a good thing? One step closer to getting out of here.”
“It is, but…”
Before I can reply, Gianna comes back into my room and wipes every other thought from my mind.
“Oh, you’re eating,” she says. “I can come back.”
“That’s okay.” I stuff the rest of my lunch into the bag it came in and set it aside for later. “What’s up?”
“Time for some exercise.”
They make me get up and walk around several times a day. Usually, I’ve done a lap or two by now. “I thought you’d forgotten.”
“Nope. I just got busy. But I’m here now. Shall we?”
“Sure.” I don’t want to because every time I get out of bed, I realize how weak and feeble I’ve become since I was shot.
As always, she helps me to sit and then stand, holding me just right to keep me from falling. I’m thankful to be wearing pajama pants and one of several button-down shirts Nico brought me from home, so I don’t have to deal with the hospital gowns. I slide my feet into slippers and take a minute to get my bearings and catch my breath.
Have I mentioned that this totally sucks?
“I’m going to hit the bathroom first.”
“I’ll go with you,” Nico says, which is a relief.
I hate when Gianna helps me in there. Nothing says sexy like a game of “let’s see if I can hit the bowl without looking.” Ugh, the indignities never end.
My brother holds the belt that Gianna has put around my waist, since they’re still treating me like a fall risk. “Do you need me to aim it for you?” Nico asks without an ounce of the usual ball busting I expect from him.
“I’ve got it.” I take a leak and mostly hit the bowl, or so I think. It’s hard to tell when you can’t look anywhere but straight ahead and side to side thanks to the erector set holding my neck immobilized.
I shuffle to the sink and wash my hands and gasp at my reflection. “I look like shit. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You look like you’ve been shot and are recovering right on schedule.”
“Tomorrow, I want you to bring me a new razor.” Since I look like death warmed over, I’ll probably never see Gianna again after I leave her ward.
“Can you shave in that thing?” Nico asks.
“I can try. And you can start being normal again.”
“What does that mean?”
“You’re being too nice to me. It’s freaking me out.”
“I’m never going to stop being nice to you after you took a bullet for me.”
“We need to get past that.”
“I’m not there yet,” Nico says as he guides me toward the bathroom door.
“Get there, will you? I’m craving some normal.”
“Talk to me about that when you’re back at home where you belong.”
“I will.” Before he can open the door, I stop him with my hand up. “Do me a favor? Let me go for the walk with Gianna by myself.”
“I knew it. I told Mom yesterday that you were crushing on her.”
“Whatever. Stay here.”
“Yes, sir.”
I can’t deal with this easygoing version of Nico, who’s never been this agreeable with anyone except his fiancée, Sofia, and her son, Mateo. He’d do anything for them, and now I guess he’d do anything for me, too. Although I always felt like he’d be there for me no matter what, even before I took a bullet that was meant for him.
Nico turns me over to Gianna and takes a seat to finish his lunch as I shuffle toward the hallway. She’ll make me do at least two laps around the floor, after which I’ll be completely exhausted.
“Your brother is very devoted to you.”
“Because he feels guilty about me getting shot.”
“Ah, that’s right.”
“It’s hard to believe that his fiancée’s ex would do such a thing. I’m just glad he didn’t succeed in killing either of us.”
“I’m glad for that, too.”
“So’s our mom.”
“I’ll bet. Her nerves must be shot.” She laughed. “Whoops. Poor choice of words.”
I control the urge to laugh because that’ll hurt. So I chuckle when I’d much prefer to laugh. As we shuffle along, I try to find the words to ask her if I’m really going to see her again when I leave her floor without sounding pathetic. Fine line there, as my entire situation is somewhat pathetic. See Exhibit A: needing help in the bathroom.
“We see so many gunshot wounds these days,” she says. “It may not seem like it right now, but you got so, so lucky.”
“I know. When I think about what might’ve happened…”
“Don’t do that.”
“I can’t do much else but think.”
“Think happy thoughts. You got lucky for a reason. What’re you going to do with your second chance?”
“Funny you should ask. I’d like my second chance to include you.”
“Milo,” she says with a laugh, “you’re too sweet.”
“I’m not being sweet. I’m serious. I like you. I like talking to you. I don’t want to stop talking to you just because I’m not here anymore.”
“My life is complicated.”
“Okay.”
“It’s just that it might be better—for you, that is—if you don’t see me anymore after you leave here.”
I stop walking and turn to face her, even though I can barely see her face until she looks up at me, madly vulnerable and wounded. I can see all that in her expressive brown eyes. “It wouldn’t be better for me if I didn’t get to talk to you anymore.”
“It’s not uncommon for people to develop an… infatuation… with their nurse while in the hospital.”
“That’s not what this is.”
“How can you be so certain?”
“Because I’ve never felt so upset by the thought of not seeing someone anymore.”
“You’re upset about that?”
“Very. I don’t want to go to rehab because you won’t be there.”
She gives me a nudge to get me moving again. “That’s silly. Rehab is one step closer to home.”
“It’s a big step away from you, and I don’t like that. It’s got me seriously bummed out to be leaving the hospital.”
“You’re the only patient I’ve ever had who wasn’t itching to get out of here.”
“It’s all your fault. Seeing you has become my favorite part of the day.”
“Milo…”
“Are you blushing? I can’t see from up here.”
“Yes! And I can’t blush at work. It’s not professional.”
“Then you’d better agree to see me after this, so I won’t have to keep embarrassing you.”
“You’re sure about this?”