Page 26 of Memphis

“Thanks.” Weston managed to give her a weary smile. "Sorry, I’ve been such an ass the last few days.”

“Don’t sweat it.” Her expression softened as she told him, "I know it can be frustrating, but you did great today. You just gotta keep at it, and it won’t be long before you start to see the progress."

“I hope you’re right.”

“I am.” She looked over and checked his monitors one last time before saying, "I'll be back in the morning for some pool time.”

“Sounds like loads of fun,” Wes grumbled.

“Oh, it will be. You’ll see,” she chuckled, patting him one last time before heading for the door. "Call if you need anything."

Weston nodded, then leaned back and closed his eyes with a sigh. He was just as flushed and sweaty as he was when she first rolled him in, so I quietly stood and slipped into the bathroom. I grabbed a hand towel from the rack and ran it under the faucet, soaking it in cold water. I quickly rang it out, then made my way over to Weston’s side.

I placed the towel on his forehead, and his eyes immediately opened. There was a hint of gratitude in his gaze, but it quicklyfaded into irritation. I thought he was going to tell me to screw off, but thankfully, he held in his anger and let me continue to move the cool towel over his forehead. After a few minutes, I whispered, “I’m sorry. I know...”

“Don’t start with that shit, Antonia. I don’t need your fucking pity.”

“I don’t pity you, Weston. I was just...”

“Going to say some bullshit to try and make me feel better. Well, don’t waste your breath. There’s nothing you can say that will make any of this better.”

“How would you know? You won’t let me finish a damn sentence!”

His stone-cold expression remained, but he didn’t respond.

He just sat there and sighed, giving me an opportunity to add, “I was just going to say that I was sorry and that I know how hard it can be to be stuck in a hospital. That’s all.”

“What the hell do you know about it?”

“When I was fourteen, I had my tonsils out, and...”

“Your tonsils?” he scoffed. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

“There you go again.” I turned the towel over and draped it over his throat. “Are you gonna let me tell my story or not?”

“Fine. Tell it.” I gave him a look, and he quickly added, “I won’t interrupt again. You have my word.”

“I had the surgery, and everything seemed to go well. I went home later that afternoon, and I was doing pretty well. I ate my popsicles and ate my ice cream, and the first day or so was hard but manageable. But on the third day, things took a turn. I started to feel bad and ran a low-grade fever.”

I had to give it to him.

Weston kept true to his word and didn’t interrupt me—not even once.

He just lay there staring at me with this concerned look.

“The doctors said it was expected, especially at my age. Apparently, it gets harder the older you are. Anyway, Mom gave me some Tylenol, and we thought all would be better by the following day. It wasn’t. My fever got up to 106, and I started to get really sick.”

“Was it an infection or what?”

“We weren’t sure. We went rushing back to the hospital, and they ran a bunch of tests. Eventually, they figured out that I had gotten a staph infection. And since we’d waited, it was bad. I spent three weeks, maybe four, in the hospital. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t talk. I could barely even move. I lost a ton of weight and was really weak. I had to do rehab just to be able to get around again.”

“Damn.”

“It’s nothing compared to what you’re going through, but I do kind of get it.” I motioned my head towards the monitors. “The constant noise. The nurses coming in and out. People poking and prodding you. Zero privacy. It all starts to get to you.”

“Don’t forget all the unwanted guests.”

His comment stung. So much so that I removed the towel from his neck and took a step back. I could feel the tears threatening to fall, so I quickly turned and started back to the bathroom. I hadn’t gotten far when Wes called out to me, “Hey, now. I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, I did, but I wasn’t talking about you.”

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