Page 82 of Running Feral

Tobias grimaces, his gaze darting to the floor before he looks at the doctor again. Clearly, the connection between the police report I filed at this very hospital a week ago and his mysterious absences hasn’t been made. While I’m sure he’s glad not everyone knows his business, it’s probably also humiliating to seem like an absentee grandson.

“I’m sorry. It was an emergency,” he says, tripping over his words a little. “I’m here now. I’m back. I just don’t have a phone yet. I’ll get one, though.”

“Alright,” she says, that professional, plastic smile not moving an inch. “We should talk about your grandmother’s care after she’s discharged, though.” The doctor turns to me before saying, “And you are?”

“He can stay,” Anika interrupts. “Everyone can stay. I don’t care what you need to talk about. Just tell them whatever it is so we can deal with it and I can finally get out of this hospital bed.”

She smiles through the brusque interruption, but it’s clear who’s in charge of this room, and it’s not the doctor.

It doesn’t seem to matter. I’m sure she has other patients to get to and just wants to get on with her day. As soon as she opens her mouth, an incomprehensible torrent of information spills out. Tobias looks shell-shocked, and like he’s barely taking any of it in, so I try to pay attention. Anika looks unfazed, so I’m guessing this isn’t the first time she’s heard this.

Words like ‘necrotic wound’ and ‘almost amputated’ seem to put a chill in Tobias, as well as ‘chronic atrial fibrillation’. But I think what rocks him the most is when the doctor recommends in no uncertain terms that Anika doesn’t go home, but instead transfers to a skilled nursing facility for wound management and rehabilitation. The doctor implies that she could recover enough mobility and independence to eventually go back home, but there’s not a lot of optimism in her voice as she says it.

It’s a lot of information. There are pamphlets and some generic reassurances before the doctors whisks out of the room again. I can see Tobias winding right back up with guilt, but so can his grandmother. Before he gets the chance to talk to her about any of it, she tells him very kindly that she’s tired. She suggests we go home to talk about it, and come back to visit her again tomorrow.

And thank you, Anika. I need a minute to breathe. Because the amount of care she’s going to need is intense if Tobias refuses to let her go to a facility. I’ve been trying to figure out how to get him to take care of himself, and if he’s throwing all his energy into doing something that sounds unmanageable for any one person, let alone someone in his position who is supposed to be recovering from their own shit…

I don’t know. I’ll think of something.

We say our goodbyes, and the ride home is just as silent as the ride there was. At least Tobias does ask to stop at the trailer for some clothes, although he won’t let me come in. I’m not sure if it’s because he’s embarrassed by it, even though there’s nothing to be embarrassed by. I live above a bar, and even from the outside I can tell that it’s a nice, well-kept little home the two of them have.

His bike is still here. It looks just as rundown and crappy as I remember from watching him pull up to the bar on it a million times, and I quietly hope that I have longer before having to watch him ride around on that death trap again.

I add ‘find money for a safe car’ to my mental Tobias list, along with everything else. If he’s okay with it.

While I’m waiting for him, I order a new phone for him to be delivered and realize I’m an idiot for not doing it sooner. It’s not like we haven’t been distracted, though.

We barely exchange any words until we’re in the parking lot of the Feral Possum. He has an old duffel bag on his lap and an exhausted expression on his face. I turn toward him with no idea of what to say to make it better, but still filled with the desperate need to try.

“Tobias—”

“Can we just go inside first?” he asks, cutting me off. “I think I need a minute before I can deal with this.”

I pause, then push through anyway. “I was going to say I love you. I know you’re scared, because this is a lot, but don’t forget that, okay?” I take a deep breath in, because even though this isn’t technically the first time I’ve said it to him, it still feels like a landmark moment for us, and I don’t know how I’ll survive if he turns away from it. “I love you. We’re in this together. No matter how fucked up you feel sometimes. I’m fucked up too, remember? It’s still a team effort.”

Tobias looks at me, tears welling in his eyes for what isn’t even the second or third time today. God, no wonder he looks so exhausted. He doesn’t say anything, but he does lean across the center console to press his lips to mine.

It’s not a passionate kiss, but I can taste the desperation in it. I can feel how much he wants to say it back. He pushes his tongue in my mouth instead, and I answer in kind, because I know exactly what he means by it.

Like always, I can be patient. I’ll stay quiet and still, and when he’s ready, he’ll come to me.

We break apart, Tobias still silent but nodding at me. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, and I brush away the tears that are starting to leak out of his eyes.

With a few deep breaths, he seems to shake himself out of it, and we both get out of the car. We walk into the bar instead of using the outside stairs, because I want to check and see if Sav actually showed up for morning prep like he said he would.

He’s here. He’s here, and as soon as we walk in, he turns to look at us. Both of his fists are resting on the bar as he leans his weight into it, and the expression on his face is enough to make me stop in my tracks.

“What’s wrong? Is he here?” I ask, suddenly on red alert.

“Nothing’s wrong.” Sav gestures to both of us, ushering us inside. “It’s just…” he trails off, staring off to the side beforesnapping his attention back to us. “We should talk. I think it’s time that I tell you Eamon’s not coming back.”

I raise my eyebrows at him, hoping he means what I think he means, but not willing to jump the gun.

Sav looks at me like he doesn’t want to spell it out, but I keep staring at him.

“Okay, fine, you want to hear the words? He’s dead. Eamon’s dead. You’re fucking welcome.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

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