Branded as Trouble. Delores Fossen
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you, me and Tate to be close to each other.”
It wasn’t a good idea at all. “He knows that you and I don’t get along,” Roman reminded her.
Belle shrugged. “Maybe he thought it’d be good therapy or something.”
Well, it was or something, all right. It was stupid.
As soon as he could, Roman would request another room. Better yet, he’d get out of here the moment he could stand up. No way did he want to be trapped with the woman he’d left town to escape.
“You want me to see if the nurse will bring you some whipped cream now?” Belle asked. “That’s all you’ve been mumbling about since they brought you in from recovery.”
Hell’s bells. He hoped he hadn’t said too much. Of course, unlike Tate, his mom probably didn’t know what a Brazilian strip wax was.
“But I have to tell you,” she added. Any time she started a sentence with those six words, Roman knew that nagging would shortly follow. “I think it’s a bad idea to eat all that sugar right after surgery. Of course, you always were a rebel like that even when it wasn’t good for you. I don’t think you can argue with me about that.”
Oh, he could, but Roman chose not to.
“No whipped cream,” he assured her. He glanced down at her arm and realized she had an IV pole next to her. An IV needle in her arm, too. Roman had one, as well, but he wasn’t standing. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”
“Probably, but when you started talking, I thought we should have a little chat first before Tate gets here.”
Roman groaned. “I don’t want to hear anything from you about Valerie and me not getting married—”
“Agreed.”
It was a good thing Roman was lying down because he would have collapsed from shock. In the past thirteen years, his mother had never passed up an opportunity to harp on him. Maybe she was drugged up or something.
Heck, maybe he was drugged up.
“Tate needs peace and quiet right now,” she went on. “I’m supposed to have that, too. And I’m betting the doc won’t like it if you’re all agitated and wanting to eat whipped cream. Might cause you to pop a stitch. Anyway, I thought we could each come up with a safe topic to discuss like the weather or whipped cream. We could even have our own safe words.”
“Safe words?” Maybe his mom would have known about a Brazilian, after all. Mercy, he hoped not. He had enough unresolved issues with her without putting that in his head.
“Yes, you know like bumfuzzle or Dippity-do,” Belle explained. “Words that we wouldn’t normally say. We could say one of them if the conversation is taking a direction that might hit one of our hot buttons. Then we would immediately stop talking about whatever it is we were talking about. I mean a complete verbal shutdown on the subject.” She paused. “You don’t use Dippity-do in conversation, do you? Because if you do, we could go with another word.”
Roman was certain that even with the pain and fog, he managed a blank stare. “I don’t use Dippity-do. I don’t know what the hell it is.”
“Hair gel,” she said as if the answer were obvious. “And bumfuzzle is when you’re confused. My granddaddy used to say it. But I have to tell you, Roman, you’ve got more hot buttons than I do. Any little thing will tick you off. You’ve always been that way, and I think it’s gotten worse—”
“Dippity-do,” Roman snarled through clenched teeth. He didn’t expect it to work. But it did.
Belle hushed—a complete verbal shutdown on the subject—but she did add an indignant wobble of her head as if disapproving of the shushing.
“Well, this was your idea.” He stared at her, daring her to disagree with that, or with anything else he might add to it.
“Bumfuzzle,” she mumbled.
Good. They’d reached a truce. A weird one with words he didn’t especially want to say aloud, but the truce was in the nick of time.
Because Tate came into the room.
His boy looked better than he had when Roman had seen him earlier. Tate wasn’t throwing up at least. But he was in a wheelchair, and Sophie was pushing him. That caused Roman to try to jolt from the bed again to help her, but Sophie waved him off.
“Don’t even think about getting out of that bed,” Sophie scolded Roman. “You scared the living daylights out of all of us when you collapsed. How’s your head? You smacked it pretty hard when you hit the floor.”
Roman touched his fingers to his forehead. Yep, that was the source of the pain, and he remembered hitting it. Also remembered Mila trying to break his fall.
Sophie maneuvered the wheelchair close to the middle bed, and Tate got out of the chair and onto it.
“Are you okay with this sleeping arrangement?” she asked, glancing at all three of them.
Roman would have slept in a pit of rattlesnakes if he could be near his son. Since there was a sudden lump in his throat, he settled for nodding. Tate nodded, as well. Maybe because he figured Roman wouldn’t chew him out in front of Belle. He wouldn’t. But not because Belle was there. He needed to have a long, serious talk with Tate, but he had to keep his temper out of it.
Even if he was hurt and furious that Tate had done what he had.
“Are you okay?” Roman asked him.
Tate shrugged and grunted. It was more of a response than Roman normally got so he’d take it.
“The doctor said he’d be in soon to talk to you,” Sophie explained. “And a nurse will be by to take Tate to meet the therapist.”
Tate grunted again, a sound that could have meant anything. Roman hoped it was a sound of approval because Tate certainly needed to see someone.
“Garrett and Nicky will be here in a couple of minutes,” Sophie went on. She dropped down into the wheelchair and rubbed her belly. “Clay’s on his way, too. They won’t stay long, though, because visiting hours end at nine.”
Roman tried to check the time, but he wasn’t wearing his watch. He didn’t have his phone, either. But since it was dark outside, it had to be past eight.
“Is Clay gonna arrest me?” Tate asked.
Sophie glanced at Roman and Belle again, maybe to see if either of them had put that idea in Tate’s head. Roman certainly hadn’t. Belle shook her head, as well, and got back in her bed.
“No, of course not,” Roman assured him, and Clay had better not try, either. He wasn’t sure if attempted suicide was illegal or not, but it didn’t matter. “Any idea how long we’ll all be here?” he added to Sophie.
“If she doesn’t have another episode and agrees to bed rest at home, Mom will be released tomorrow. Tate will stay until you’re discharged. That’ll be two or three days, depending on how you behave,” Sophie quickly added when Roman opened his mouth to complain that he didn’t want to spend that much time in a hospital. “If you try to rush this, you could mess up your stitches.”
That bit off whatever complaint he was about to make. Plus, there was a silver lining to this that he was just now seeing. Once Belle was discharged, Tate and he would be in here alone. Where they could maybe talk.
There was a soft knock on the door, and since it was already open, Roman saw Mila. Her expression was as tentative as the look in her eyes. As it usually was whenever she was around him. She was already nibbling on her bottom lip.
“Come in,” Sophie insisted. She went to Mila and pulled her into her arms for a hug. They’d been best friends for as long as Roman could remember, and it was clear their friendship was still strong.
Roman wished he could feel the same way about Mila. After