I’m thankful for something that covers the sterile stench of bleach and alcohol surrounding me, though I’m not sure what to do with the big feelings I’m having. It’s so good to be back in his presence again. It’s not that I can’t take care of myself, I’ve been doing it for years now, but there’s something so comforting about having this great, big, rugged man next to me. It’s like anything could happen and he’d be there to make everything okay again.
“Well,” he brushes his hand down over his salt and pepper beard, “you’re gorgeous.”
“And naïve,” I quip.
“And naïve.”He grins and hands me the box of cinnamon rolls with a cup of coffee. The strong vanilla and cinnamon scents center my mind. They don’t make food like this in California. Heck, I’m not sure they make food like this anywhere else. The sugar is sweeter, the portions are bigger, and the way every flavor fills my soul is perfection.
“Well,” I say, biting into the cream cheese covered roll, “believe it or not, the men in California don’t do it for me. Everyone I’ve met is a real tool, to be honest.”
He tilts his head to the side. “It’s understandable. You were used to real men.”
I laugh. “Real men? Who was the real man I was used to?”
“Ha. Ha. Cute. How’s the food?” He bites back a grin that makes my heart beat faster. Why does he have to be so gorgeous and perfect? Why does he have to have that deep voice, that scent of the woods on his skin, that slightly broken look on his face that makes me want to fix everything that’s wrong about his life?
I have issues. Issues that cinnamon rolls are not currently fixing.Lord, help me.
“It’s delicious. You want one?”
“Ate two on the way here. I’m good. They do x-rays yet?”
“Sure did. Just waiting on results. You don’t have to stick around. I’ll be okay.”
“You need a ride home after all of this. What are you gonna do with your dad’s truck?”
I drag in a deep breath and let it out slowly as I try to conjure the words I’ll say to my mother to let her know her prized possession is destroyed. “Not sure. My mom is pretty emotionally attached to it. I mean, it still smells like him. It’s a time capsule. She goes out to sit in the truck just to feel close to him. I don’t know what I’m gonna tell her.”
“I’ll have it hauled to one of my buddy’s shops. He’ll at least give us an idea of what can be done.”
“You have a buddy who does everything, don’t you?”
“I’ve lived here my entire life. If someone owns a shop up here, I know ‘em. I’m sure he’ll help us figure it out. If he can’t get it street legal, I’ll fix what I can on it so you can get something out of it.”
I love that about Brooks. If he doesn’t know how to fix something, he figures it out. Men like that don’t exist anymore, and they’re certainly not in California.
If I were categorizing L.A. men, which I’m not, I’d say they’re a specific breed. They’re the kind of men that like themselves most of all. That would never work for me, not even for a night.
“I don’t know. That thing was pretty smashed to hell.” I take a sip of the coffee as the doctor steps into the room. He’s a short, balding man who wears a pinstriped shirt with a pocket protector. I don’t recognize him, which lets me know how long I’ve been gone. There was a day when I knew every face in town.
“Good morning.” The older man smiles as he says, “Kelsi, I know your mom. How’s she recovering from that stroke? I keep meaning to drop by with some banana bread, but the days get busy here.”
“Oh! Yeah, she’s recovering nicely. Thank you. It was only a minor event, thankfully. I’m just here to make sure she takes it easy for a while.”
“That’s nice.” He glances down at his clipboard. “Well, you’re going to need to remain stress free for the next forty-eight hours. There’re no major issues, but we’re going to treat you as though you have a concussion.”
Flashes of every movie I’ve seen about concussions come crashing into my psyche.I wonder what would happen if I lost my memory? Would Brooks replay a video for me every day and take me on a series of first dates? I bet he would. In fact, I bet he’d like the challenge of trying to get me to remember. Still, though, I hope it doesn’t come to that.
“No, you should look again. I feel totally fine. I don’t even remember hitting my head.”
“Well,” the doctor sits on a rolling chair beside me, “you had a significant accident. The CT scan shows a bit of swelling on the brain. Most of the time, that swelling goes down, but sometimes, the swelling increases, and you can experience temporary losses in memory and motor function. You need tohave someone caring for you the next couple of days. You have to keep things low key. Nothing exciting. No heavy activity, no screens, no—”
“No screens?”
“The screens cause strain on your eyes, which could increase the swelling.”
“Okay,” I grin nervously, “but I have a script to finish for the new Johnny Nicholson movie. It’s kind of important.”
Brooks stands and pulls a paper towel down from the dispenser beside the bed. I’m thinking he wants it for himself until he reaches onto my face and wipes it clean. “Sorry, you had frosting drippin’ from your chin. It was distracting.”
