Page 45 of Famous Last Words
Tugging my phone from my pocket, I see a new text message from Dallas, but I ignore it and scroll to one of the delivery apps, because I don’t know about Fran, but I’m fucking starving. I make quick work of placing a few different orders, before clicking back to Dallas’s text message.
Dallas: Everything okay, my guy?
I rub my chin, considering my response.
Me: Hey, yeah. Sorry, Fran’s sick.
Dallas: Aw, you taking care of your girl?
I roll my eyes.
Me: Yeah, she is my girlfriend.
Dallas: Whipped!
Dallas: Jk.
Dallas: Give Franny a big hug from me.
Before I can respond, the microwave beeps loudly, echoing through the silence.
I walk back to the bed to find Fran lying on her back, sweatshirt pulled up, and her pants pulled down low enough to expose a very swollen belly. Eyes closed, face etched with pain, she clutches her stomach, and I hesitate before stepping closer and sitting tentatively on the edge of the bed.
“Here you go.” I hold out the steaming wheat bag.
“Thanks,” she mutters, taking it and placing it directly onto her stomach.
I almost tell her that it’s too hot, that she should put something between the bag and her skin, but I think twice and shut my stupid mouth because clearly this isn’t her first rodeo.
Keller releases a ragged sigh, and finally after a long moment of mejust sitting here staring at her, she opens her eyes and looks at me.
Her brows pull together. “What are you doing here?”
It’s the second time she’s asked me this. Confused, I glance at the pills on her nightstand. She’s really out of it.
“You… I… You let me in, and I helped you into bed. I just heated up your wheat bag.” I reach forward, picking up one of the orange bottles and scanning the label. “Just how fucked up are you?”
She rolls her eyes, snatching the bottle from me. “I meanwhyare you here?”
“You didn’t show up to the game. And you weren’t replying to my messages.” I shrug a shoulder. “I was worried—” I snap my mouth shut again, clearing my throat, hoping like hell she didn’t just hear that last part. But if her teasing grin is any indication, she heard me alright.
“Careful there, Mason.” She pokes me lightly in my arm. “Almost sounds like you give a shit about me.”
Great. Even sick and hopped on meds she’s a brat.
“How was the game?” she asks, closing her eyes again, smile still lingering despite that same crease of discomfort burrowing between her eyebrows.
“We won.”
“Five for five,” she says under her breath.
I can’t help the smile that curls my lips. “Someone’s been following the games.”
“Yeah, I have to. Vera’s boyfriend isobsessedwith hockey, so I figured I should probably at least pretend like I care.”
I have no idea who Vera or her boyfriend are, but I can’t help but chuckle.
“Get into any fights tonight?”
