Carter Ortese is Trouble - completed (The Boys #1)

Chapter 44: Emma

While I'm confined to my bed in the hospital, my mom takes it upon herself to bring me my phone and schoolwork. I have no idea when I lost my phone, but she got it back somehow. She sits by my bed during visitor hours, mostly quiet, typing away on her phone.

One day, she says, "If you want to drop a science or engineering course, I understand."

I can tell by the expression on her face that it pains her to make the suggestion. "No, I'll finish them out this year, but I'm not going to try so hard."

She looks at me and puckers her lips together, as if she has to chew through my words. "Okay. That sounds good."

I've spent so much time worrying about acing every single class that I forgot what I liked learning: music and the historical context of each piece.

I text Carter a few times, and instead of figuring out another time for him to visit me in hospital, I ask if we can wait until I'm out. I miss him, and it's because I miss him that I know my feelings for him are genuine.

Our conversations in text are easy going. I think it's easier to talk to him now because I appreciate him for who he is, instead of viewing him as an opportunity for a new life. He's no longer a distraction, but a welcome accompaniment, a harmony to the synergy in my life.

Over the next few days, I catch up on reading assignments, I work on an essay for my history class, and I review the sheet music of the new piece we'll be learning in band. My fingers itch to start playing again, but I've been told to go slow, because too much pressure could ruin the work they did putting me back together.

I get a text from Mika with two simple phrases. "I met Ayaan, and I like him. We all had lunch with Carter, who is a really good guy."

My heart warms, and I ask her about Ayaan and how she's coping with everything. Then I flip over to my messages with Stacy, and I tell her, "I love you." She writes me back almost instantly with, "Obviously. And get better yesterday, I need you in my life even if you suck at girlhood."

I shake my head at that, but I appreciate her sarcastic humor.

The next morning, a nurse comes in with my beaming mother in tow and he announces, "Time for you to go home." The doctor changes my bandages for one last time, instructs me on how to do it myself, and signs off on my discharge paperwork, telling me to follow up with our regular practitioner in a week. The nurse rolls a wheelchair right next to my bed.

"Can't I walk?"

He shakes his head. "We want you to get home safely first. You need to take it slow. You're still healing."

I want to protest, but my legs shake as soon as I stand up. I'm grateful to sit right back down again. It's only been four days of bed rest, and I can feel the lack of muscle in my legs.

"Let's go over your diet for the next few weeks again."

I sigh. "Can't you just hand my mom a stack of papers and let it be done?" I look back at him as he wheels me down the hall. He has dark stubble across his chin, and his hair is an absolute mess, but his scrubs are fresh and clean, smelling a bit like lavender.

"I'll say it for you then." He runs down the laundry list of things I can and cannot eat for the next several days. If I'm lucky, I'll be back to normal foods in no time. If I'm not ... "Well, let's have your rehabilitation docs follow up with that."

My mom nods along like she's taking mental notes of everything.

When we get outside, my mom hustles to grab the car, leaving us standing in a bitter cold wind. I breathe into my hands and rub them on my legs, wishing I could bounce up and down to stay warm.