Page 7 of Legally Ours

Chapter 2

Beep. Beep. Beep.

A heart-rate monitor will drill into your brain when you're asleep, did you know that? Especially after you've sustained multiple head injuries.

Beep. Beep.

Ow. Everything hurt. And I mean everything.

Beep.

"Fuck."

The word came out like a dagger, sharp and scratchy in my dried-out throat. Ow.

"Hey there, chickie."

Slowly, I blinked my eyes open. Everything was blurry, and for a while, all I could see was something that strongly resembled a fuzzy black stick of cotton candy. Eventually my eyes focused, and there was Jane, my best friend, her short hair a shock of black against the white hospital walls.

She smiled and touched her cat-eyed glasses. "What's going on, slugger?"

I didn't say anything, just grunted. "Slugger?"

"Oh, we heard all about how you decked that guy. Brandon is very proud. I didn't know you had such a mean right hook."

I grunted again at the memory. My hand ached, along with just about every other part of my body. "I don't."

A chair leg screeched across the floor. Jane sat down next to me and picked up my bruised hand. I let her, but fumbled around the side of the bed with my other hand.

"You want to sit up?" Jane asked. "Hold on. They have a remote that, I swear to God, is made for someone with fingers the size of my hands."

She handed me the admittedly oversized controller that was attached to the bed with a cord. I pushed the incline so I was sitting up again.

I looked around. The room was empty except for the two of us, although a bustle of nurses paced the hallway.

"He went home to change," Jane said at my unspoken question. "He'll be back in a few."

"B-Brandon?" The words caught in my throat, strange and sticky, as if they hadn't been used in a very long time.

Jane gave me a small smile and patted me lightly on the arm. "That man hasn't left this room in three days, or so the nurses tell me. I made him go take a shower so he wouldn't force you back into a coma from his stink."

"C-coma?"

My eyes popped open, and I struggled to sit up completely, only to realize that there were several IV needles and wires attached to my body.

"Whoa, whoa, girl." Jane placed a hand on my chest and pressed me gently back into the mattress. "Don't make me talk to you like I'm some kind of horse whisperer. You're fine. Let's not tear the place apart just because someone said the C-word."

I chuckled, but it came out like a wheeze. The actions made my jaw hurt. I reached up gingerly to touch the sensitive skin where I'd been hit over and over again.

"Yeah," Jane said, her eyes following my fingers. "You sort of had a double-whammy there. Mafioso Shithead really fucked up your face. Cracked cheekbone plus a nasty gash. You'd make a good zombie."

"Why?" I croaked. Any more than one word hurt.

Jane folded her hands together over her knees.

"Well," she said frankly. "You got the shit beat out of you, kid. Luckily, nothing was surgery-worthy, but the doc said you sustained some brain swelling from a head injury, which was bad enough that you essentially ended up in a mini-coma to heal. Plus, you have a couple of cracked ribs, a nasty sprained ankle, and a whole mess of cuts and contusions on your face. Basically, it's like you fell down a flight stairs." She looked up sharply. "Dude. Did that fucker throw you down a flight of stairs?"

I cringed, which only made my jaw hurt more. Touching it gingerly, I wondered if I had a few loose teeth in there.

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