Page 5 of Flyboy's Nightingale
“That’s his road name. Man, what’s your given name?” Duck chuckles, slapping my left foot.
Pain shoots up my foot and leg. I groan, shooting a threatening glare at him.
“Fuck! My bad brother,” he apologizes, holding his hands up in a universal sign of someone expressing their regret, and side-stepping backward to add some much-needed space between my throbbing appendage and himself.
“Felix Holloway,” I answer, past the bullshit. “Can I have that water now?”
“Perfect. What is the last date and time you can recall?” she queries.
I think back to the last thing I can remember. My mind calls up the image of Razor and Edge saying their vows and pledging their lives as one, uniting in marriage. In my mind, I remember Riley in her hip-hugging dress, every perfect inch of her body capturing my attention—from the snug way the material hugged her curves as she shifted in the shimmery fabric, to the way it had me licking my lips, wanting to taste, savor, and memorize every centimeter of her supple skin. Then more memories arise, ones that bring about a sense of dick-rising satisfaction—us living in the moment… together. I internally smirk as I recall all of the times we would brush against each other at the hospital, the late nights commiserating after a shitty rotation in the ER. Evenings where we'd get a drink at the local bar down the block from the hospital, realizing how much I wanted Riley there with me, for more than just times of celebration or after a mentally and emotionally draining shift. I jumped on my bike, ready to get to her, and then, my memory goes black, the pieces from there are fractured in my mind.
I tell the nurse everything important, except, and outside of my dire need for Riley. I don’t think she would want to know about me imagining or wanting to bend Riley over my bike as I slide into her warmth, pounding into her over and over until we both come to completion. Yes, not the time nor place for those animalistic thoughts. I need some fucking solid, as well as some brutally honest answers, before I can get to that graphic imagery and investigate those sinful feelings further.
“Well, everything’s looking good. I’ve put a call into the doctors to let them know you’re awake and alert, they should be down soon to speak with you, go over your prognosis, and letyou know what to expect. If you need anything between then and now, just hit the call button, and let me know.”
“Right this second, I need some more fucking water.” My anger and frustration with everything is getting the best of me, and I let my irritation fly at her.
“You can have some water. Small, slow sips, and not too much at once,” she says, leaving the room.
Everything is quiet as everyone watches me gradually sip on the water. After a minute, I grow tired of the ominous quiet and the ogle-like staring.
“Tell me what happened,” I demand, my tone stern.
“Like you said, you left the club to go see Riley at work, and the next thing we know, we get a call from her that you were currently being rolled into emergency surgery. The cops told us that a teen was texting and driving, running you off the road,” Duck informs me.
“Stupid fucking kids and their damn phones. How long has it been since the day that happened?” I probe, zeroing my eyes on him, making it obvious that I’m needing that answered before learning anything else.
“It’s been four, long, painstaking months since that night.” Lil’ Red sobs as Duck pulls her into his body.
“Fucking hell! Four fucking months?” I bellow, my gut clenching, because to me, the wedding—yeah, it happened yesterday.
I can’t believe this shit. That means months of physical therapy are ahead of me, and who knows what other surgeries I’ll need to have as a follow-up. I could even have to restart my residency program here at this very hospital. I was so fucking close to achieving my dream of becoming a doctor. Now, I have no goddamn idea when, or if, I’ll ever be able to fucking walk again.
“Prez says they’re on their way,” the new guy adds.
“Hell, yeah. This is going to be great. Once the doctor says you can go home, we’ll have one hell of a welcome home party.” Duck excitedly bounces on his toes, anything that’s cause to throw a party has my brothers roaring and ready to go.
As I go to speak, my throat clamps up, and I end up gurgling some water. Feeling as if I can carry on, I express, “Fuck that’s annoying. I think it’s going to be a long time before I’m up for a fucking party, brother.”
I need to know where Riley is, but at the same time, I’m too afraid to ask. Discovering she hasn’t been here, or that she didn’t care that I was bedridden and comatose, would break a piece of me.
“Brother, what has you thinking so hard?” Duck asks.
“Riley?” Her name is all I say.
“What about her?” Lil’ Red turns, squinting, looking at me as if she’s examining me.
I just glare at her. The grin spreads across her face, and I watch as it spreads wider, broadening as time progresses.
“I let her know when I went to get the nurse that you were awake. She’s been here every day since you were admitted.” The smugness on Lil’ Red’s face as she relays the information, and her brazen demeanor, shows how far she has come since we rescued her.
I lie back, digesting that, and let the warmness of knowing she cares for me, help me relax enough so my eyes drift shut. I fight sleep as rigorously as I can, but the pull of the abyss lulls me back underneath the blanket of darkness.
I peacefully dream, my inner fantasies materializing through the comfort of dreamland.
Riley in that form fitting dress.
On the back of my bike, her body pressed into mine.
