Page 19 of Levi Bailey has Butterflies

I lift one shoulder.

“Is that the only thing you could think of that you’ve never done before?”

I smirk. I’m not sure why I gave that example. “No.”

“Whew. I was afraid I’d hired a regular Ethan Hunt as my cycling instructor.” She flutters her eyes closed again, her cheek pressing into my chest.

“You know who Ethan Hunt is?”

“Sure. Although, he probably does know how to wrestle an alligator.”

I can’t help it. I smother a laugh. “My point was—why now?”

Eyes closed, she lifts her chin—round and smooth. Meredith sighs. “Number four.”

Number four? It’s the only answer she gives, and it makes absolutely no sense.

9

Meredith

“Oh, yes. That’s going to need stitches.” Dr. Hanson shines a light in my eyes and asks me all the same questions the nurse has already asked. “I’m guessing you have a slight concussion as well.”

Levi stands behind the doctor watching and occasionally pacing. He’ll take two steps, then stop to look at me. Then two more and he looks at the doctor. “A concussion?” he says.

“Yep.” Dr. Hanson doesn’t even have a glance for Levi. “For the next forty-eight hours, you’ll need extra rest. No video games, television, or reading.”

“Then I’ll be back to normal?”

“It could take a week or two to feel normal, but you will.” She sits in her rolling chair and marks something in a chart. “I’m going to have the nurse numb you up and we’ll put a few stitches in.”

I nod, but my heart starts to race. Stitches? I have never in my life had stitches or even a scrape this size on my arm. When you do pretty muchnothing—it’s very difficult to get hurt. I can only imagine what Dad would say.

Eyes closed, I take a breath. “I am not afraid of stitches,” I say to myself. “I am not afraid of doctors.”

“Are you sure?”

Levi.

I’d forgotten about him for a second.

“Meredith, I’m sorry.” He sits next to me, looking the least ill-tempered I’ve ever seen since meeting the man. “This is my fault.”

I blink and forget for a second that I am absolutely afraid of doctors. That the thought of someone stitching up my head could give me hives. I study Levi Bailey. “This isn’t your fault. I have no balance.”

“Yes. But I should have given you a helmet and held onto the bike. That’s how I taught Alice. I just—I assumed because you’re an adult, you’d be better at this.” He slaps a hand over his eyes. “I meant that nicer than it came out.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, his hands fist, then press into the patient cot we sit on.

His apology has my senses back.I’m NOT afraid of stitches.Not unless I choose to be. Uncle Bob would tell me that stitches are more proof that I’m living. And I want to live.

I really do.

The nurse comes in, needle on a tray, and I swallow down any fear that would like to escape. “Let’s do this,” I say, then clap my hands. “Ouch.” I cringe. One clap and my scraped-up arm is stinging and my head pounding.

Twenty minutes later, I pay the entirety of my bill right then and there—all while Levi insists he helps. I won’t let him. I may not have insurance to help me out, but I’ve got the funds. Aunt Cindy and Uncle Bob made sure of that.

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