Page 23 of Sweet T

“Is he cute?”

Tucker smiled. Though he couldn't see Pedro's expression, he could picture him, hearing the playful lilt of his tone. “Yeah. Like a muscular little pixie.”

“Are you going to tell me your new friend's name?”

“Evan,” he answered.

* * *

When Tucker returned to the room, old Doc Helton was there making the rounds.

“You probably feel a lot worse off than you are. You’ve suffered a minor concussion, and more cuts and bruises than you have tattoos... and that's saying a lot, young man. I hope you didn’t suffer all this wear and tear over some young lady.”

“Not exactly, sir.”

Evan shot Tucker a glance, clenching his teeth in mock terror. Tucker grinned. Helton’s bedside manner was old-school friendly, if somewhat archaic. He was long past retirement age, and not hip to modern terminology or protocols regarding gender. But he was courteous and clearly loved his job.

“Anyway, you'll likely have headaches for several days. I’ll write you a prescription for some painkillers. Break ‘em in half if they’re too strong for you, or you can take ibuprofen as needed, or a cold compress. And get plenty of rest. You’re young. All of this will pass soon. You’ll be better in no time.”

“What about a swimming pool?” Tucker asked.

“As long as he’s not swimming. No exertion for a few days. Relaxation underwater will not hurt one bit. I recommend it, especially in this heat. It's burning up out there and it's not even 10 o’clock yet. Cool water will feel good and help with any swelling too.”

“Thank you,” Evan said.

“Thank you. You’ve been my easiest patient so far. I’ll send your discharge paperwork in. You’ll be out of here before lunch.”

“Thanks, doc.”

“You’re welcome. Titus.”

“Um, I’m Tucker.”

Doc Helton lowered his glasses, eyeing Tucker closely. “Goddamn! Didn’t I just deliver you?”

“It’s been a little while.”

“Hmm. Well, tell Big Britches I said hi.” He shuffled toward the door and out of the room.

“Well, that’s good news,” Tucker said, smiling. “Your friend answered your text, too.”

He handed Evan the phone so that he could see for himself.

“Be sure to let him know you’re OK.”

“But what about the hospital bill?” Evan asked.

“Everything's taken care of. You're coming home with me.”

Five

What they thought would be an eleven o’clock discharge was closer to noon. While they were waiting, Tucker went downstairs to the hospital’s pharmacy to fill Evan’s prescription. By the time he got back, Evan was much more himself, a little restless and ready to get moving.

Juanita arrived with a wheelchair. She was holding it steady when Evan tossed back the sheets, swung his legs over the bed, and stood up, swaying.

“Whoa!” said Tucker, rushing to support him. “Easy. Less than twelve hours ago, you were semi-conscious and flat on your back.”

“I’m OK, now. You heard the doc. Minor concussion.”