Motorcycle Girl: Book Four

Chapter 7: Breaking Out

Odeletta

I blow out a breath, staring at the wall.

I am so bored. A month in a hospital bed can do that to you. I've made Nathan suck it up and leave the hospital to take care of the kids. He sleeps at his parents with the kids, gets them all in school, and then gets to the hospital around ten. He leaves around one to get the kids from school and comes back around four with all four of them. They stay for an hour or so and leave again, and then it repeats the next day. I don't need them often but my family members drop in to visit me every now and again.

I'm used to being alone though, but Nathan hasn't gone to the house yet and the kids haven't either. My Dad has been taking care of the horses.

I need to get out of this room though. It's late November and I'm going to spend Thanksgiving in the hospital.

I reach over and press the nurse button, glancing at the clock.

7:23AM.

I let out a groan and his the button again. My least favorite nurse pops her head into the room.

"Yes?"

"I'm bored." I respond. "Can I go somewhere?"

"You can't walk or use your arms."

"Come on, please? Just push me down to the cafeteria and leave me and I'll text my husband and tell him to come get me when he gets here."

She sighs, stepping into the room.

"I know you're lonely." She says. "What if we play a game?"

"I just want to people watch. Come on, please? Get me a wheelchair that has the leg that goes out and push me down here. Or give me a crutch."

"You have a working left arm and a working right leg." She says. "Plus I know your husband isn't coming in today. You told me last night."

"Please?"

She sighs, studying me.

"Let me ask Dr. Grey."

"Meredith will say no." I huff.

"I'll let you know what Dr. Grey says."

She walks out.

She probably won't ask.

I stare at my phone of the tray in front of me, thinking of somebody that I can free their time and force them to help me.

And a small grin spreads across my lips as I grab my phone and scroll through the contacts. When I find the right one, I dial. I talk with who I need to talk to, and then I dial another number.

Me: I've called you an Uber. He will message your phone when he is there.

I don't get a reply, but forty five minutes later, my son comes waltzing into my hospital room. He's wearing dark washed jeans and a black long sleeve polo, along with white Adidas. His messy blonde hair is styled to the side and he smells slightly of cologne. His black jansport backpack is slung over his right shoulder, his hand stuffed into his pocket, his left hand clutching his black iPhone.

I grin.

"Mama, I have school you know."

"I know Raylen, I pay for you to attend." I respond, shifting in the bed.

"Why did you call me? Does Daddy know?"

"Nope." I say. "I need you to do me a favor."

"And what's that?"