CHAPTER FOUR
TRAVIS
Waking up hours later, hunger and soreness both fight for my attention. My phone says it’s three in the afternoon. My body says I need out of this bed. I need to eat, but more importantly I need Viola.
I hate asking for help, but I’m in no position to allow my pride to rule. But first, I’ll try. After managing to roll myself out of bed, I stand with the help of a few choice words. I showered at the hospital before I was discharged and it was the most humiliating thing I’ve experienced in my life. Nancy and I had formed a decent relationship at night, but once her shift ended, Helen took over; let’s just say she was much less patient with me. She was a nurse sent straight from the pits of hell.
Once I’m out of my room, I walk down the hall to where I hear the TV and Viola’s sweet laughter. Yes, this is home. I instantly smile when I hear her.
I pause for a second and take a deep breath, watching her, curled up in the corner of the couch with a blanket tossed over her legs. She’s focused on some chick flick, and I’m focused on her. I clear my throat after a moment, and she turns and looks at me, concern on her face.
“You feeling okay?” She moves over slightly, giving me room that I wish she didn’t feel she needs to give me. I want her as close as possible.
I sit on the couch next to her, and she watches me.
“Never felt better.”
She smiles.
“You mind if I watch this with you?” I nod toward the TV.
She flashes me a look. “You want to watch Bridget Jones’ Diary with me?”
I swallow my words of disdain and plaster on a cocky grin. “Yeah, of course. BJ’s my homegirl.”
She bursts out laughing, her head falling back as a sweet roar releases from her throat. “Oh, my God,” she says between tears. “I should be recording this.”
“Recording what?” I furrow my brows.
“You.” She wipes under her eyes. “You’re as high as the Empire State Building.”
I snort. “Get your mind out of the gutter, princess. BJ is Bridget Jones, not—”
“Okay!” she interrupts before I can continue, a faint blush covering her cheeks.
I roll my eyes at her expense, getting another chuckle out of her.
I try to focus, but I can’t. “Are you going to catch me up on whatever the hell is happening?”
“I thought BJ was your homegirl?” she throws back, the corner of her lips turning up as she continues watching the movie. This is the Viola I adore—simple, funny, cute. God. I wish I weren’t in pain. I wish Thursday night would’ve never happened and I could pull her into my lap.
“She is; I mean, she reminds me of a cornier, klutzier you.”
“Rude!” She playfully smacks me on the arm before realization hits that I’m already bruised. “Shit! I’m sorry!” She closes her eyes for a moment. “I didn’t mean to hit you.”
“Just a natural twitch?” I smirk, not wanting her to feel too bad.
She cocks her head.
“Lighten up, princess.”
“Are you hungry?” she asks sincerely, changing the subject.
“Yes.”
“What are you hungry for?”
My eyes widen as my lips tilt up in a cocky pout. “Well…”
“Food,” she clarifies. “I meant, what kind of food are you hungry for?”
“Why do you assume I was going to say something else?”
She rolls her eyes, shifting her body toward me. “Because I know you. You have a dirty mind.”
“And you’re going to deny a broken man his dying wish?” I arch a brow.
“You aren’t dying, but you are definitely being overly dramatic.” My eyes follow her as she stands up and walks toward the kitchen. “My mother always told me a man is the biggest baby when hurt or sick. Guess she was right.”
I laugh, knowing her mother well enough to know she would say something like that.
“Are you calling me baby?” I shout, hoping to get a reaction out of her.
“A baby, yes.” She peeks her head around the wall with a lifted eyebrow.
“Fine, I’ll make my own food.” I shift off the couch, trying to prop myself up.
She walks back in and points her finger at me. “Sit back down. Drew will have my head if he thinks I’m not helping.”
“Still afraid of your big brother, huh?” I ask in amusement.
She crosses her arms. “No. But I don’t want to hear about it from either of you.”
“Whatever you say, princess.” I sit back on the couch as she walks toward the kitchen.
“Don’t make me poison your sandwich, King,” she shouts loud enough to be heard, but I can hear the smile in her tone.
“I’ve assumed you’ve been doing that all along, V.”
She saunters in with two sandwiches and a bag of chips, and I’m grateful for something other than Jell-O and juice.