Page 26 of Enzo
Fucking control freak.“Of course. I’ll text you.”
If Doc says anything as I walk out of the room, I don’t hear it, focused entirely on the man who holds my heart.
“This is uncomfortably familiar,” I croak as Doc and Soren transfer me from the stretcher to my hospital bed. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’ve gotten used to the narrow bed and I’m glad to be back in my room after the last twenty-four hours I’ve had.
“You’re fine,” Doc says lightly. “You should be due for some more pain meds soon, so let me know when you want them.”
I shake my head. “I’d rather not.”
He huffs and rolls his eyes. “We all know you’re a big strong bodyguard, but you just had surgery again. It’s okay to take the pain relief for a few days, especially since I know Jayden’s planning on working you hard as soon as I give him the okay.”
I grimace, knowing that Jayden’s version of “hard” is other people’s definition of “insanity,” but that’s what happens when you let a sadist become a physical therapist. He’s good at his job, and never actually pushes us further than we’re able to go, but he’s definitely thorough when he’s working with someone. Heclaims it’s because he wants to see all his patients succeed, but whether that’s true or not, we all hate him a little because of it.
“You need anything?” Doc asks once they’re done fussing with me.
“I’m fine. Tired. I don’t know how, though, since I’m the one who’s done a whole lot of nothing.”
“Hey, your body’s working hard to repair itself. That’s not nothing. You’re going to be tired as you recover, not only from this surgery, but you were still recovering from the first one. Listen to what your body’s telling you. Fighting it will only expend what little energy you have, and you could end up pushing yourself too hard too fast and set your healing time back. I don’t think I have to tell you the hellfire that’ll rain down from both Jaydenandthe Boss if that happens.”
“You’re such an asshole,” I mutter.
Doc grins. “Yep. I’ll leave you to rest. Don’t hesitate to call for me if you need anything.”
Doc and Soren finally leave the room and I let out a long exhale, some of my tension easing now they’re not around to see me weak. I know the lecture Doc would give if he could hear my thoughts, but no matter how many times they remind me or I try to change my thoughts myself, I can’t help but think and feel this way.
The transfer from the hospital, the new pain, and the medication, all finally catch up to me, and I give in to the darkness tugging at me, welcoming the reprieve from having to deal with everything.
When I wake,my mind is clearer, except the pain medication has worn off, and I groan as my incisions seem to throb.
Closing my eyes tightly, I try to breathe through it, not wanting to be drugged again, and that’s surely what’s going to happen should Doc see how much it fucking hurts.
“You’re okay,” someone says. “I’m pushing through some meds now.”
Nausea rolls through me and I open my eyes, swallowing in an effort not to throw up. Blinking my eyes against the lights, I focus on where Kail stands over me, his blue eyes my beacon to stay grounded.
“Just breathe, baby. The pain will go away soon.”
I follow his quiet words, slowly and carefully copying his exaggerated breaths until I can think clearly. The pain is still there, the meds he pushed through my IV working their way through my system, though not too quickly. But focusing on other parts of myself makes it easier to push everything else to the back of my mind.
Kail helps me sit up in bed, and shoves a pillow underneath the small of my back, relieving some pressure there, and I have an easier time relaxing.
“Papa is here, if you’re up for some company.”
I want to say no, but I end up nodding, knowing I need this. I need to show a willingness to move forward, even if I don’t know how to.
Kail smiles, presses a kiss to my forehead, then leaves to go get his father, giving me a minute to collect myself.
Adrian Marino is a big man. Broad shouldered and taller than any of his sons, he takes up presence in a room. He’s grown his hair down past his ears now, but when he was a bodyguard, he kept up the “professional” description of the job to a T, always clean cut and dressed immaculately. Now his dark brown hair is shaggy, and it should look awkward on the older man, but the gray peppering it just gives him character.
He still dresses well. Today he’s wearing slacks and a polo shirt that’s loose enough not to choke him but still hint at the fading definition in his chest and abdomen.
Honestly, if I look half as good as him when I’m his age, I’ll consider it a win.
“How you doing, son?” he asks as he takes a seat near my bed.
I shrug. “I’ll be honest, Papa. I’ve been better.”
“I bet.” He shakes his head. “I hate seeing you like this. Knowing one of mine is hurt and I can’t do anything about it? It hurts me to my very core.”
