Page 62 of Up In Flames
Despite my couch-bum status, he actually seems to be enjoying himself. Not because I’m hurt, but because he’s a nurturer. He would’ve made a great dad. Stern and tough enough that you want to make him proud, but also gentle and attentive in the quiet moments.
As I’m making my way through the bowl of soup, I hear Knox’s voice from down the hallway in the direction of the bedrooms. I can only hear one side of the conversation, but it doesn’t take long to deduce that he’s talking about me. Especially when he says, “His symptoms seem to be worsening.”After a brief pause, I hear, “Thank you, Shannon.”
Knox comes into the living room a second later, and I slurp my soup, pretending like I wasn’t eavesdropping.
“I texted your sister to give her an update, and then I called one of my buddies. He’s married to a neurologist. They’re going to swing by in a few minutes because I want her to look you over.”
The raised brows of my shocked expression send a bolt of pain through my temple, and I almost dump soup all over the rug in Knox’s living room, but he catches the bowl before it falls from my hands.
“Here. Lie back down,” he commands, pulling me into his lap.
I still don’t know much about Knox’s dynamic within his friend group. I know one of them volunteered him to babysit me when the hospital tried to keep me overnight, so I guess they won’t be shocked that I’m still here, but there’s a nagging voice in the back of my head, reminding me what happens when closeted men have to admit to others that maybe their‘straight’path has a bit of a curve to it after all.
“Does anything hurt besides your head?” Knox asks, his voice dripping with concern. “Are you going to be sick?”
“No, and I don’t think so,” I groan. This isnothow I want to spend alone time with this gorgeous man. I let him trail his fingers across my face. The light touch reminds me of the bristles of one of my favorite blush brushes, and I briefly think about asking him to grab it from my toiletry bag, but I stop myself.
And I hate that I do it.
Ever since Patrick turned his back on me, it’s been hard not to wonder if maybe I was too much for him. Like maybe if I were somehow lessgay, lessinto traditionally feminine things, lessout, he might not have been so afraid of others finding out about us.
Like maybe my brand of gay istoo gay.
The thought sours my already bad mood and I pull away from Knox. “Can I lie down in the bedroom? It’s too bright out here,” I say, needing a little bit of space.
“Sure, but you’re sleeping in my room tonight,” he says. “Bed’s bigger.”
My stupid mind totally glosses over the fact that he plans to share a bed with me again and instead, perseverates on the fact that he wants the bigger bed so he can be farther away from me.
That doesn’t even make sense, Taylor! The man is taking care of you.But he’s the kind of man who helps turtles cross the road and carries old ladies’ groceries. Of course, he’s taking care of me.
I barely have time to slip under the covers before I hear a knock on the front door and a feminine voice. “Hi, Knox. I’m glad you called. Where is he?”
“In my room. Said it was too bright out here,” Knox’s disembodied voice answers.
“Light sensitivity isn’t uncommon and can last for weeks after a concussion,” the lady says reassuringly, her voice growing louder as they move toward my location.
Next, I hear an unfamiliar man’s voice. I think he’s trying to whisper, but he’s not very good at it. “You have three bedrooms in this house, Knoxy. Why’s he in yours?”
I’d hold my breath to wait for the answer, but that makes my head pound worse.
Finally, Knox’s voice hits my ears right before they turn into the room. “Because it’s the only one with a bathroom attached, and if he gets up, I don’t want him to have to go far.”
Okay, well, that was a lie.
“And where are you sleeping?” the other man asks with a knowing lilt to his voice.
“The guest room,” Knox replies, causing my heart to sink.
Stupid me for believing it would be different this time. And evenstupiderme for thinking one dry humping sesh made us athingdespite Knox’s fountain of bullshit he spewed earlier about not hiding me.
A beautiful woman turns the corner first. She has long dark hair that’s pulled back into a stylish ponytail, kind eyes, and a pretty smile.
“Hi, Taylor. I’m Shannon. Do you mind if I take you through some tests to see what’s going on?”
“No,” I reply, even though I just want to be left alone with my spiraling thoughts. It’s almost like a sick joke my injured mind is playing on me. Like now that Knox is giving in, my mind has enough space to throw all my own insecurities at me.
But Shannon is nice enough. She asks me things about where I am, what happened, and what I did yesterday. Then she checks my pupils, reflexes, balance, coordination, and neck range of motion.
