Page 7 of Left Behind

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Sean and Shirley stayed with Wiley until they were certain he was able to get up and down on his own, and left him to rest with a promise to be back tomorrow with food.

Finally, the house was quiet, and Wiley didn’t have to think or talk. The pain pill he took was kicking in when he stretched out on the bed to sleep. He woke up a couple of hours later when his phone rang.

Pain rolled through him as he reached for it, then waited for the pain to pass before he answered.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Wiley. It’s me, B.J. Is your extra key still under the frog statue on your back porch?”

“Yes, why?”

“Because I’m coming over, and I don’t want you to have to get up to let me in. I’ll be there in about five minutes, okay?”

“Okay,” Wiley said, and then laid the phone back down without noticing he had other messages.

Minutes later, he heard his brother coming in the back door, then moving through the house to his bedroom. The worry on B.J.’s face was evident as he walked in, then pulled up a chair beside the bed.

“Wipe that look off your face. I’m okay. At least I will be,” Wiley said.

B.J. leaned back in the chair, managed to smile, and then shook his head. “Huff and puff all you like. I’m staying the night with you.”

Wiley frowned. “What the hell for?”

“For the hell of it,” B.J. countered. “And I brought food.”

“Well, all right then,” Wiley said, but he was secretly glad not to be on his own. He didn’t like being helpless, but he was close to it. “What time is it?”

“After six,” B.J. said. “And I’ll be leaving early in the a.m., so I won’t mess up your beauty sleep, and be glad it’s me and not Mom. She was already fretting until I told her I was coming. She would have been up every hour, on the hour, feeling your forehead for a temperature.”

Wiley chuckled, and then groaned as he reached for his chest. “Shit. Don’t make me laugh. It hurts.”

“I know how to be an asshole. It’s the least I can do,” B.J. said.

Wiley stifled another laugh and groaned again. “Evidently,” he muttered, and eased himself upright, then swung his legs off the side of the bed.

“Where are you going? What do you need?” B.J. asked.

“I’m going to wash up and eat what you brought. I’m starved, and I’m not supposed to be taking the pain pills on an empty stomach.”

B.J. helped Wiley stand. “Are you okay to get around on your own?”

Wiley nodded.

“Then I’ll be in the kitchen,” B.J. said.

The food was good, but the brotherhood was better. B.J. was still the same little brother inside, who now towered over all of them in height. He didn’t pry. He also didn’t comment over the fact that Wiley had shot three men today, or that he was also the hero of the hour.

Instead, he served up a second bowl of gumbo to Wiley, along with another hot crusty slice of a buttered baguette for dipping.

Finally, Wiley put down his spoon and put a hand on his chest as he leaned back in the chair. The cracked rib was as painful as the contusion area from the impact of the bullet, but his belly was full, and the room had quit spinning.

“Thank you, little brother. That was so good. I guess I should have said a prayer of thanksgiving before I ate, but I have too many drugs in me to think straight right now.”

“Today, I am most thankful for the person who invented body armor,” B.J. said. “The rest goes without saying.”

Wiley grinned. “I have a question.”

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