like.”
That was an offer that most sons could answer with a resounding yes, but he hesitated. “She doesn’t always have a good reaction when it comes to me. I don’t want to upset her.”
Again, like his son.
Roman was seeing a pattern here.
The doctor made a sound of agreement because he almost certainly knew all about Belle’s and his parting of the ways. A feud that’d come to a head when Roman and Valerie had refused to get married just because she was pregnant. His mother had considered that an embarrassment and a “slimeball” thing to do.
Her exact words.
It hadn’t helped, either, when Valerie had run out and left Roman to raise Tate alone. Ditto for not helping—the fact his mother and he were both mule-headed. But, by God, Roman had gotten plenty tired of having her judge him.
The doctor made some more notes. The way this was going, he might be scheduling a psych eval for Roman, too.
“Hold off on seeing Belle, then,” Dr. Sanchez said a moment later. “She might ask about Tate, and it’s not a good idea to tell her about him just yet. Let’s wait a few more hours until I’m certain she’s stabilized.”
Good idea. A few more hours might give Roman a chance to find level ground. The tornado was starting to spin in his head again.
The doctor looked at him. “I’ll need you to fill out some insurance paperwork.” He pointed to the reception desk at the front of the waiting room. “Just see the woman who’s seated there and she’ll get you started.”
Dr. Sanchez walked away, leaving Roman alone with Mila. He was too exhausted to figure out the right thing to say to her, but it was obvious she was worried.
“Bad day?” she asked. She didn’t crack a smile. In fact, Roman wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Mila smile. But this seemed to be some attempt at humor.
He didn’t smile, either, but yeah, it’d been a bad day. His son’s life was a mess, and Roman wasn’t even sure how to fix it. Now, his mother was having heart problems. A problem with a weird name, at that. And even though it was minor in the grand scheme of things, his side was hurting—bad.
“Maybe this means you’ve gotten all the awful stuff out of the way,” Mila added. “That’s what my mom always says, anyway.” She made a face. “Except she says you have to flush the toilet to get rid of the poop and have clean water. My mom says a lot of weird things,” she added in a mumble.
She looked at him, her expression changing, and Mila reached out for him. Not as some kind of comforting gesture, either, but with both arms. And she lurched toward him. At first, Roman didn’t know why she’d done that.
Until somebody turned off the lights in his head.
And he dropped to the floor like a sack of rocks.
“I DON’T WANT whipped cream in my boxer shorts,” Roman mumbled. He wasn’t sure why, but it was hard to speak.
“All right,” someone agreed. “Seems like a reasonable request to me.”
It took Roman several moments to process the comment. It wasn’t easy because, in addition to it being hard to speak, it was also hard to think. His head was whirling like an F5 tornado. But, despite the whirl, he thought he might recognize the voice. Not Tiffany Ann, standing in his living room.
But rather his mother.
Hell. Even in a dream he didn’t want to talk to his mother about whipped cream sex, so Roman forced himself to wake up. Maybe there was glue or something on his eyes because he had to struggle to get them open.
Bad idea.
The light stabbed in his eyeballs and therefore his head. In addition to the whirling thoughts and dreams, he was also in pain.
“Would you like whipped cream somewhere else?” she asked. “Maybe like in some hot chocolate or on a piece of pie?”
Definitely his mother.
Roman got his eyes open again, expecting the remnants of the dream to vanish. It didn’t. His mother was right there, standing next to his bed. Except it wasn’t even his bed. Not his room, either.
“Where am I?” he asked.
“The hospital. We both are.”
That’s when he noticed his mom was indeed wearing a hospital gown. And he remembered. She’d been admitted for the heart problem with the funny name. His son was here, as well, and that caused Roman to jackknife to a sitting position so he could check on Tate.
Another bad idea.
Because the pain wasn’t just in his head. It was also in his side where the bronco had kicked him. His mom caught on to his shoulders and eased him back down on the mattress. Roman was already going in that direction, anyway, because he didn’t have a choice. He had to get control of the pain before he could walk.
“Your appendix ruptured a couple of hours ago,” Belle explained. “You had surgery.”
Yes, he remembered falling. Remembered the concern he’d seen on Mila’s face. But he didn’t have a single memory of the surgery. Later, he would want to know more about that, but for now there was something a lot more pressing.
“Where’s Tate?” he asked. “I want to see him.”
“He’s with the doctor right now, but he’ll be done in a few minutes.” Belle motioned toward the two other beds that were to Roman’s left. “Doc Sanchez fixed up this room for all of us. Isn’t it nice? It used to be two rooms, but it had one of those squishy dividers that he pulled back. This way we can be together but still have two bathrooms.”
Maybe it was the fog in his head or the pain, but Roman didn’t get it. “All of us? Here? Together?”
Belle nodded, smiled. “He thought it would be a good idea for 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
