The Bad Jokes #1: The Redhead

Chapter 22: About That Name

Healing from a gunshot wound not only hurts, it makes you tired. So, so tired. I woke up, fell back to sleep, woke up, fell back to sleep. When I woke up in the late afternoon from my twentieth nap of the day, I turned my head to the left to see who was babysitting me. Someone from my family had been with me every single second, never willing to leave me alone.

Justice had been in the chair when I fell asleep, and, depending on how long I'd been asleep, she might still be there or someone on the next shift may have replaced her.

She'd been replaced.

Xane was now sitting in the chair. Apparently, he'd joined the rotation.

His intense eyes were on mine, and I got the feeling they'd been on me every second since he came into the room.

"Hey, witch," he said, his voice pitched low, as he got up and came to the side of my hospital bed.

"Hey," I said back, my voice a croak as it always was after my naps. "Can I have some water?"

"You can have whatever you want."

And just that suddenly, we weren't talking about some water. 

He snagged my water cup and held the straw to my lips. My bed was already tilted up because I found that position most comfortable with my wound. After taking a few sips, I let go of the straw and he put my glass back on the rolling table beside my bed.

He ran his hand over my hair. "I'm sorry, Rory."

My eyes met his and I could see the torment in his and knew he was blaming himself for my being shot. The very thing he'd been afraid of, the exact thing he'd tried to avoid...had happened.

"Not your fault." I tried to emphasize my words so he would understand that it really wasn't his fault, but my voice was still better suited to a frog.

"We both know that's not true."

"Not me," I whispered back since trying to speak in my regular voice wasn't working so well. "Are you leaving now?"

His hand continued stroking my head. "No. Not unless you want me to and even then, I'd argue the point." He softened that with one of his smiles that I loved.

"I want my hair in a braid. Justice forgot."

If he was surprised by the complete change of topic, he didn't show it.

"You're going to have to give me a minute," he said, pulling his phone from his pocket, his fingers typing whatever in.

After watching a video three or four times, Xane nodded, satisfied. "OK, I think I have the basics down."

He set down his phone and then took my hair in his hands, running it through his fingers until he had it divided evenly into three sections. And then this hard man braided my hair. 

"Not exactly like the braid in the video," he apologized, "but OK for my first attempt. I'll get better, Rory."

And, again, we weren't talking about braids. I blinked to push back the sudden tears at the sweetness of his gesture. What is it about a man's massive hands performing a gentle task you don't normally think of them doing?

"There's a ponytail holder on my tray that you can wrap around the end so all your good work doesn't unravel," I told him, pointing the the brown elastic circle.

He picked it up and I walked him through wrapping it around the ends. 

"You were here at the hospital for days, my mom said."

"I was."

"And she said you never came in to see me and the second I woke up, you left the hospital."

"All true."