Free Wild Child by M. Leighton Page B

to see Rust- er, I mean, I’m here to see Jeff Catron.”
    “Hold please.”
    The line goes dead, leaving me standing in front of the door, staring at the box like an idiot.  I look all around to make sure no one is watching me.  I’m still alone, thank God. 
    Finally, she comes back on.  “Room three oh four.  Come on back.”
    A click is followed by a loud buzzing sound just before the two doors swing open in opposite directions, allowing me to pass into the sick people inner sanctum.
    The center of the large, bland room is dominated by an enormous nurse’s station.  Arranged in a semi-circle around it is a ring of patient rooms, all with glass windows and doors that allow the nurses to see inside unless the curtain is drawn.  I look to my left and see room three-twelve.  I figure Rusty is all the way at the other end, so I start walking along the rounded edge of the nurse’s station until I get to his room. 
    The curtain is drawn and I hear no sounds coming from behind it.  Hesitantly, I knock on the metal frame that surrounds the open glass door. 
    “Come in,” I hear Rusty say.  My heart skips a beat and I wipe my damp palms on the butt of my jeans before I pull back the nondescript beige curtain.
    When I peek inside, I see Rusty lying in bed, his arm attached to all sorts of wires or ropes or something.  His cheeks already show the signs of dark stubble, as though the strain of the last hours has taken its toll in a very physical way. The frown he’s wearing only adds to that impression.
    “Hey,” I say weakly.
    He narrows his eyes on me before he speaks.  “Hey,” he responds in kind, not making me feel any better about things.
    “Can I…can I come in?”
    “I just said ‘come in,’ didn’t I?”  I’m sure the small curve of his lips is an attempt to soften his snappy reply, but it doesn’t sting my heart any less.
    Pulling up my big girl panties, I return his tight smile and step through the curtain, heading for the only chair in the room.  I perch on the edge, clinging to my purse like a lifeline.
    “So, how are you feeling?”
    “How do I look like I’m feeling?” he asks with a short bark-of-a-laugh.
    “I’m sure you’ve been better.”
    “Yeah, I’ve been better.”
    “What happened?  I mean, obviously you were in a wreck, but…”
    Rusty takes a deep breath and shrugs.  “I’m still fuzzy on some of the details, but from what I remember, I hit some gravel on the interstate and slid into the median. Must’ve caught it just right and flipped the goat a few times.”
    Although he casually refers to his GTO as a “goat,” which he does often, and his tone is matter of fact, I don’t get the impression that he’s so blasé about the accident.  “That sounds bad.”
    He shrugs again.  “Could’ve been worse.”
    “Yeah, like if you’d been killed.  But my God, look at you.  How many injuries did you have?”
    “Torn rotator cuff, dislocated shoulder, multiple breaks in my arm, three cracked ribs and a variety of cuts, scrapes and bruises.”
    I cringe at the ache around my heart.  It hurts me to think about Rusty being hurt.  And, as I look at him, lying in the bed all bandaged and tied up, it hurts me even more to know there’s nothing I can do to help him.
    “How- how long until you’re able to…how long will you be in here?”
    I see his frown before he looks out the window behind my head, and I realize it wasn’t the right question to ask.  Something about it bothered him.  But honestly, I don’t know what to say. He’s acting like he could care less that I’m here and it’s making me want to go all the more.
    “Probably quite a while.  Too long for you to be hanging around here,” he says, not even bothering to look at me as he speaks.
    His words are like so many daggers to my heart.  My worst fear has been confirmed.  Rusty really doesn’t want me around.  I guess I was good enough for some fun, but not good enough to