True North

Chapter 45

Despite Henry's best efforts at expediting their activities at the ER, it was nearly two a.m. when Stormy eased the truck up to the curb outside the hospital. She climbed down from the driver's seat and hustled over to the glass double-doors, where a nurse was just wheeling Brian out onto the sidewalk. He struggled up from the wheelchair, insisting that he could walk the ten steps to the truck on his own, and the nurse took the empty chair back inside with her.

"I'm really sorry about that in there," Brian said sheepishly as he limped stiffly toward the truck, his forearm resting on her shoulder for support.

"If you apologize for that one more time, I'm gonna show you what pain really is," Stormy warned. "So you're phobic about needles. Lots of people are; it's not a big deal."

"I threw up," he reminded her grimly.

"Not on me," she countered with a grin. She pulled open the passenger door and motioned for him to climb inside.

As Stormy guided the truck out of the parking lot, Brian tore open the bag that Henry had sent him home with and pulled out the packet of pain pills. He popped one into his mouth and swallowed it dry.

"Be careful," Stormy cautioned. "You're probably still high on Valium, and Henry said that those ones there can be pretty potent."

"Let's hope so," he murmured, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Henry had diagnosed two mild rib fractures, but it didn't seem so 'mild' from Stormy's vantage point.

It was a relatively quiet ride, with Brian dozing in the passenger seat and Stormy doing her best to avoid every single pothole and bump in the road until they finally came to a stop in his driveway. She switched the engine off and climbed out, circling around to help Brian as he climbed out on the other side. He leaned heavily against the side of the truck, massaging the back of his neck and rolling his head from side to side.

"Sore?" Stormy asked sympathetically, and then cringed. "Sorry, I guess that was a stupid question, huh?"

"There are no stupid questions," he replied, and for some reason he seemed to think that was outrageously funny. He doubled over, clutching his injured ribs, which only made him laugh more.

"Uhh-hunh," Stormy drawled. "I think we'd better get you inside..."

She slid under his arm and supported half of his weight as they made their way to the porch, where he held onto the railing and hauled himself up over the steps. Angus rose from his usual spot and greeted them with a series of throaty chuffs, and Brian petted the air above the dog's head as he wrestled with the screen door. He started searching his pockets for the keys.

"I've got them, remember?" Stormy said, holding up said keys and jingling them in front of him.

He was close enough that Stormy could feel his warmth against her back as she turned the key in the lock with shaky hands. When the door finally swung open, Brian waved her in with a flourish, and then he followed with Angus bringing up the rear. Stormy slipped off her sandals and crossed barefoot to the kitchen, where she flipped on the light and deposited her things onto the oak table.

"I'm going to leave your meds right here," she said, picking up a pen and circling the dosage on the label. "The instructions are on the label, okay?"

No response.

"Brian?"

Stormy turned to face empty an empty room, and in the darkened entryway from which she had just come, she found only Angus, looking up at her with his imploring doggie eyes while his tail thumped rhythmically against the hardwood floor. She stooped down to scratch behind his ears, and he graciously licked the inside of her wrist before sauntering away and plopping himself down in the doorway of what was most likely the living room, gazing back at her with those wistful brown orbs. A faint amber light came on somewhere inside, glowing dimly in the shadowy depths.

"Is that where he is, Ang?" Stormy murmured, creeping gingerly forward. "Is that where your Daddy went?"

She had been in the house before, but never beyond the kitchen, so Stormy was cautious as she poked her head into the room, feeling every bit the trespasser. As her eyes adjusted to the lighting, she found that it was in fact the living room, larger than the one she was used to back at her father's house. This room was large enough that, through careful placement of the décor, it almost seemed to be two rooms in one, with a home office-like area near the doorway, and a cozier family-slash-television area to the far right. Large area rugs in coordinating colors seemed to define the two spaces, and the couch was set with its back facing the middle of the room, so that one could sit down and—literally—leave work behind. And Brian obviously intended to do just that, as he limped his way around to the front of the couch. Stormy sprang into the room.

"No, don't sit—" she started, cutting her words short as he flopped down, apparently under protest of his battered ribs. She sighed. "Down," she finished dejectedly, and padded across the floor.

Brian stretched his injured leg out across the couch and then rolled back, letting out a long rush of air as he practically melted into the cushions. He stretched his other leg out over the floor between the couch and the coffee table and interlaced his fingers behind his head. Stormy stood over him.

"You'd probably be more comfortable in bed," she suggested, and held out her hand. "Come on, I'll help you."

"Nah, I'm good right here," he drawled, looking up at her with a glassy-eyed smile. "Thanks anyhow."

"If you say so," Stormy said doubtfully, biting her lower lip as she glanced around the room. "Let's at least get you set up better."

In addition to the couch, the area held a glider rocker, a cushy upholstered chair, and a recliner, from which Stormy gathered up an assortment of pillows and a featherweight summer quilt.

"Here," she said, propping him up just far enough to slide one of the pillows behind his head. The others she positioned side-by-side on the couch and eased his leg over to rest on top of them. His breath caught and she saw him wince.

"Sorry," she cringed.

He shook his head, or at least she thought he did, and smiled sleepily. "S'okay," he murmured, struggling to keep his eyes open.

She lifted his other leg up onto the couch and untied his shoes, slipping them off and setting them on the floor before draping the quilt over him. He brushed his fingers briefly over her arm and gave her an appreciative smile.

"You think you'll be okay if I head home?" she asked.

"Mm, sure," he said, blinking heavily. "I'm just gonna crash for...couple hours."

"Oh, I think it's going to be more than a couple of hours," Stormy guessed. "Your meds are in the kitchen, but you can't have another one until after eight, okay? Brian? Did you hear me?"

His eyes sprang open. "Mm-hmm," he nodded. "One after eight, got it."

"I'll check in on you in the morning," she said as his eyes drifted closed again. "Oh! I don't have a car here, do I? Is it okay if I take your truck? Brian?"

"Hmm?" he murmured, not opening his eyes.

"Your truck," she repeated. "Can I borrow it?"

"Sure," he agreed through a yawn. His head lolled toward the back of the couch and he mumbled something about the... carbon paper? Or maybe, carburetor? She couldn't really be sure.

She stood looking down at him as his breathing grew slow and steady, his features boyishly charming as he relaxed into sleep. His dark hair, having been recently cut, carried almost no trace of its usual curl, but Stormy knew that it would gradually return over the next few days, and she was surprised to find herself looking forward to that. She reached out and gently brushed her fingers through the hair along his forehead, wavering as to whether or not she should leave him here alone. He sighed heavily and nestled further into the couch, seemingly feeling no pain, and it didn't appear as if he would be going anywhere for the next several hours, at least. Stormy switched off the lamp, listening to the soft whoosh of his breathing as she waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, and then crept silently toward the door.