“Mr. Taylor?” The crack of the doctor’s voice yanks me out of our bubble and back down to reality. We both launch out of our chairs like we’ve been electrocuted. Might have almost been funny, if the situation wasn’t so serious.
If it weren't a sharp reminder that it’s not just the two of us—that there’s still so much more to this day than me and her.
“Yeah. We’re here.” I lead Syd across the room to the middle-aged man framed in the doorway on the other side. “Got an update?”
“He’s ready to go home. Just needs some help getting changed.” The doctor waves us down the hall after him. “He’s allowing me to release medical information to you.”
“Oh.” I hold the door open for Syd as we slip back into the room. Avery sits on the medical exam table where I left him, still bruised and swollen and dejected.
“He’s got two cracked ribs,” the doctor says, and I hold back a wince. “A lot of bruising. Stitches in his cheek and side. Thankfully, no concussion. Nothing time won’t heal.”
“Broken ribs aren’t fun,” I agree. “Painkillers?”
“No,” Avery says, his voice ragged. “Ibuprofen is fine.”
I lift my eyebrows but decline to comment. “I have a lot of that at home. And Tylenol. Wanna get dressed?”
The doctor leaves. Syd steps back outside. And Avery and I wrestle him back into his clothes.
“No Vicodin vacation, kid?” I ask, easing his arm back through his shirt. “I’m kinda impressed.”
“I’ve seen people hooked on that shit,” he replies, not meeting my gaze. “I’ll stick to the soft stuff.”
“Don’t think I’d classify booze assoft, but yeah. I get it.” I pause in front of him, wait for him to turn his gaze towards me. “We’re going to my place, and you’re gonna stay there as long as you need. Until Mary gets back or you want to leave or . . . whatever. I’ll tell your dad whatever you need me to.”
He tilts his head up towards me, light brows furrowed in confusion. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are you doing this? I thought you hated me and Syd.”
I tilt my head back towards the ceiling with a groan. “For the record, I don’thateyou and Syd. I just don’t love it because she’s my daughter and you’re a teenage guy, and having once been a teenage guy, I know all the shit that means.”
“Because you had Syd when you were young.”
“Among other things.” I cross my arms. “But I think you’re a better kid than I was, and I trust you way more than I would have trusted me.” A smile tugs at my mouth. “Also, with two cracked ribs, you ain’t doing shit for a while.”
He groans.
“Yeah. Let’s go.” I prop open the door, and Syd slides in. “Ready to go home?”
“Wait.” Avery hops awkwardly off the medical table, wincing. “I don't want to go home.”
“My place,” I correct. “I’m not taking your back to your house yet—”
“No, I mean, I want to go somewhere else.” Avery’s gaze slides to Sydney, framed in the fluorescent glow of the hallway lights. “I want to go to the rink. Syd has a lot of work to do. She’ll need help.”
“What?” Sydney’s wide-eyed arched-brow stare likely reflects my own disbelief. “But you’re, I mean, you gotta be in so much pain. You must just want to sleep—”
“Well, yeah.” Avery hobbles towards the door. “But more than that, I don’t want you to miss this opportunity because I’m a fuck-up.”
“Avery, you’re not—”
“Let’s go,” I say, meeting Avery’s serious gaze. He means it. “I’m driving, which means it’s my call. And I say, let’s go to the rink.”
“No way,” says Syd, but Avery’s already hobbling down the hall.
“Yes way,” he says.
