Page 64 of A Reluctant Boy Toy
Sebastian still seemed terribly diminished by his ordeal. On top of that, he’d fallen into a deep funk after surgery, partly due to pain and partly due to the realization that even after the bandages and cast came off, he was going to spend months in physical therapy.
Molly and Morrigan watched him, equally anxious.
I knew intimately how Sebastian felt—a traumatic physical injury dawns on you over time. Grief washes over you and then it recedes like the tide. The initial shock to your body and mind, the surgeries, the pain, the realization that recovery won’t be simple or rapid, and worry over how the event will transform your life in the future come and go. It isn’t as though you resolve each one and then you’re done. I still experienced some or all of those emotions again and again and again.
Sebastian’s sadness would evolve into bravado for a time. Bright bouts of sweetness, then cutting humor, bitter anger, frustration, and uncommunicative blue moods came and went like the hours in the day.
Molly seemed to expect this, but it was hard on her. She wanted the best for him, and when he was at his lowest, she felt like she’d failed him somehow. Morrigan worked overtime, wrapping all of us in love and dog hair.
At the airport, the hired car pulled up to a private jet.
Because of course Alastair would put us on aprivate jet.
Sebastian stepped from the car and eyed the stairs to the plane like they were Everest. Then two sturdy young men came to take our luggage and stow it aboard. I was grateful because mine would have been hell to check. I had a folding wire dog crate, a duffle bag of Morrigan’s bowls, harnesses, and a wide variety of leads and toys, a backpack with my electronics and dopp kit, and a duffle bag with my clothes. Instead of having to enumerate and check and pay for each thing, I took Morrigan’s bowls and a small container of her food from the bags. They loaded the rest.
The two men even carried an unhappy Sebastian up the private jet’s airstairs in a wheelchair. He muttered the whole way that he hadn’t broken his legs and could very well walk by himself, but he was awfully grateful to sit once we got inside.
It hurt to look at him. Lines of pain etched shadows under his eyes. His beard stubble, though soft and pale, had grown into a patchy scruff. He was on NSAIDs and acetaminophen with narcotic analgesics allowed sparingly. I guessed that for him, time stretched far too long between pain pills.
It had become my habit to offer him tidbits of food over the course of the day. He could eat uncomplicated foods like grapes, string cheese, crackers, and so on with his right hand but still needed help with actual meals. Maybe he really was in pain and exhausted enough that using even his less injured arm for anything right now hurt. Or—I’d begun to suspect—he liked being fed. Specifically, he liked having me feed him.
After a talk with Alastair, Taggart said he made some minor modifications at my place for Sebastian’s comfort. I didn’t know what he’d done. Ariel had probably masterminded whatever it was.
I did know they’d turned my office into a bedroom for the time being, leaving the guest room and the master for Molly and Sebastian, respectively. I didn’t mind the smaller quarters. I could live comfortably in my RV.
I still worried that my cabin would be too spartan for someone like Sebastian, but I was sure if he complained, his father would move him to a more luxurious place.
All I wanted was for Sebastian to be comfortable and happy and cut off from a world that was using him as clickbait.
After takeoff, Sebastian moved to the aft of the plane, which was essentially a luxury bedroom for tired executives and mile-high sexcapades.
Molly and I had a hard time making him comfortable, even though he’d taken the narcotic pain medication in preparation for the flight.
Supporting his upper body and cushioning his arms seemed to be the key, but there was no good way to do that, and jostling him around trying new positions was doing more damage than good.
“Wait,” I said. “Help him sit up.”
Molly held him upright while I slid behind his back and bracketed him with my legs, providing a way for him to recline against my chest while she shifted pillows under his elbows to support his arms.
“Lean against me. That’s it.” I felt his body felt relax. It was much like the position he’d favored in his hospital bed. He gave a sigh of relief.
“Aren’t you uncomfortable?” he asked. “Your legs are going to go dead.”
“You’re a slip of a thing. I’ll be fine.”
“Just so you know”—he gave a huge yawn—”I don’t normally treat people like furniture.”
“I’m trained to ‘improvise, adapt, and overcome,’ although honestly, making a TV star comfortable on a private jet was not in my remit.”
He turned his head toward me. “Sorry.”
“I’m just glad to be of service.” Speaking of which, Morrigan looked longingly at the two of us from the floor. “I think Morrigan’s asking for permission to board the USSMile High, Captain.”
Sebastian snorted and made a couple kissy noises. Morrigan jumped on the bed and curled up by our feet.
“There. Everyone happy?” I asked.
“Mmhmm.” Now that he was comfortable, Sebastian fell asleep quickly. I’d hoped to get him to eat some fruit or a hard-boiled egg since he’d lost so much weight he couldn’t afford to lose, but he was already drifting.
