Rule Number 6: Leave No Bro Behind

955K 19.6K 8.3K

 (Pic of Eliza -as Diana Argon not JH like it says in the cast. Can't figure out how to change the cast list back. Sorry..  .-------------------------------------->>>>)

 I spent the rest of the afternoon in that musty, quiet hospital room. I joked with my dad for as long as he could stay awake, discussing the Red Sox's crappy line-up and how soccer was going for me, but it eventually wore him out. He lasted for a solid half an hour though, which for him, was a really long time.

 I sat uneasily on the wide, window ledge and watched him sleep. My eyes were glued to his chest, and every time it contracted, I leaned in a little closer, just to make sure it expanded again. I was so tense that I was probably at risk for a heart-attack. At least I was in a hospital.

 "Mr. Maguire?" the young, slender secretary cautiously stepped in the room. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave now. My shift is almost over, and it would be a liability for you to stay."

 A liability? I wanted to laugh, but I couldn't seem to make light of the situation. Instead, I stood up, gave my dad a soft shoulder-punch, and nodded towards the lady. "Thanks . . ." I said, for the second time that day, my gaze flitted down to her chest where her name tag was acutely pinned to her shirt, "Jamison."

 We walked into the narrow hallway. I could feel her studying me, and I casually shoved my hands into the deep pockets of my jeans. She was giving me the same look that the last three female secretaries had each given me: like I was the puppy on the side of the road that they wanted to take home with them. Typical women. Seeing all of those tubes stuck in my dad's arm had made me feel powerless. It nearly killed me to know that there wasn't anything I could do to help him, but I didn't need anyone's pity. I could handle it myself.

 Jamison looked like she was about twenty-five. She had shoulder-length, caramel-colored hair, and she was about the same size as Taylor Swift. On a scale of 1 to Megan Fox, she was a solid PYT (stands for Pretty Young Thing). She didn't rank high enough for me to actively try and get her number, but if she gave me hers, I would definitely call.

 She followed me into the lobby and out into the parking lot. Just before I ventured off in the direction of my car, I stood up a little straighter and turned towards her. "I'm sure you get this all the time," I said, "but I just wanted you to know that I think you're the friendliest person on the hospital staff. My dad said the same thing to me earlier. You're doing a great job."

 Jamison's eyes lit up as she smiled at me. "Thanks."

 I nodded. "Sure," I said and began to walk away.

 Three . . .

 Two . . .

 One . . .

 "Wait, Mr. Maguire?"

 I raised my eyebrow, appearing to be surprised that the secretary was still behind me. "Here-" she handed me a small post-it note with her number scrawled across it. "If you ever want to talk about, well, anything, really," she blushed, “call me."

 I folded up the piece of paper and returned the smile. "I'll be sure to do that. Thank you, Jamison." When she had gone away, I stopped smiling and let out a long, exasperated sigh. Usually, talking to girls can keep me from thinking about other things, like my hospital visits, but that had just been too easy. I unlocked my car and slid into the driver's seat. The party would help. Of that, I was absolutely certain. I dialed Austin's number. "Hey, man," I said when he picked up. “I can still give you a ride, but we need to make a stop on the way." I hung up before he said anything. I was in 'don't mess with me, bro' mode.

 Thirty minutes later, I had changed into a red t-shirt with a white t-shirt underneath, and my favorite baseball cap was sitting comfortably on my head. Austin sat shotgun in my mustang and our pump-up playlist was blasting hard. The two of us and Carter had put that CD together when we were fifteen, and it's never failed to get us psyched up. Ever since we first made it, we had played it on the way to every party, date, or beach we had ever gone to. It had become a sort of tradition.

The Bro CodeRead this story for FREE!