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Six? Eight? Don’t know. Enough so I felt nice for a little bit. Tarquin scratched his moustache and shrugged, the slight shift firing a blistering bolt of nerve-splitting pain down his arm. Fucking hell! He clenched his teeth. “Bollocks!” As he writhed in agony, the grapes slipped through the bed’s railing. “I dunno!” he screeched, his chest rising and falling, chasing shallow breaths. “Stop hassling me!” Trembling, he curled into a ball and rocked, each shift accompanied by a mournful whimper.

Lucy stooped. “What a fucking train wreck,” she mumbled under her breath, snatching the bag of fruit from the floor.

SCWISSSH! The privacy curtain’s hooks whisked along their metal track courtesy of a middle-aged woman wearing baby blue scrubs and a stethoscope around her neck. Her brown eyes flew over her clipboard, ricocheting between Harry and Tarquin before tumbling to Lucy returning from her grape rescue. “Hi, I’m Doctor Fernley. I’m overseeing Mr. Balfour’s care tonight. Are you family?”

“We’re friends. I’m Harry, Tarquin’s ‘in case of emergency’ person.” He smiled. “Hope it’s okay, us being here. The nurse said we—”

“Oh, it’s fine! He’ll relax with you here.” She pressed her lips together. “Poor lad, he’s been through the wars. He’s thrown up twice and keeps asking for Layla—”

“No, nooooo,” Tarquin interrupted with an accusing finger, staring at the doctor’s graying ponytail. “It’s Leia. Like Star Wars…but hotter.”

The doctor’s dubious nod pivoted back to Harry. “Ohh, I see.” She fought back a chuckle.

“No, Leia’s real, but they’re not an item anymore.” Harry set her straight. “He’s having trouble moving on, hence tonight’s disaster.”

“Ah, well, lucky for Mr. Balfour, the Force is with him tonight.” Her bad Star Wars joke drew a discreet sneer from Lucy. “He’s had pain medication and intravenous fluids. They should take the edge off soon.” She softly smiled at her dazed patient. “How are you feeling?”

“Not great…sore.” He sniveled.

“I’m not surprised, my dear. Resetting a dislocated elbow hurts.”

Lucy and Harry exchanged squeamish looks. “I thought he broke it,” said Lucy, covering her mouth with her hand, grossed out. “So that’s why he screamed the place down.”

“Yeah, it happens, even with light sedation.” Dr. Fernley flipped the papers on her clipboard. “But I have good news, Mr. Balfour. The x-rays and scans show nothing is broken.”

“Bollocks,” he mumbled. It IS broken. Tarquin closed his eyes, the doctor’s wordy instructions swirling and fading, sucked into his own tornado of thoughts. My heart… it’s broken so bad and no one cares. It hurts more than my arm… more than anything. But will they fix that? NOPE! I begged—help me! Please! Tell me what to do! I’ll do it all. I don’t mind what it is. I just want Leia back— A shaking sensation stirred him out of his drug-fueled Leia spiral. Er…

“Tarquin!”

“Wha—?!” His eyes flickered open.

“Balfour, you’re the worst!” Harry shook his head. “Did you hear anything the doctor said?”

“Erm…”

“She’s putting your arm in a backslab, yeah? It’s like a cast but doesn’t go all the way around.”

A cast? His stomach rolled. “I-I can’t have a cast!” His panicked eyes bounced from Harry to Lucy.

“Chill, Tarq. It’s only for a week or so,” said Lucy. “And it’s open on one side—in case your arm swells.”

Nooo. Can’t. He gulped, struggling to push himself up. “I’m going climbing…building a croft on Orkney…” Exhausted, he shakily gave up, flopping back down on the stiff pillows.

“When’s he headed up there?” asked Lucy.

“Next month. His niece is being baptized.”

Several blinks dropped Tarquin into a deep, closed-eye nod, his chin on a collision course with his chest.

“Pfft!” Lucy bit her cheek. “Wait till he realizes he’s out of commission for a few weeks. He’s gonna love that!”

“We’ll go over the doctor’s instructions when he’s sober,” said Harry. “At least tomorrow’s Sunday—I can stay with him, make sure he behaves.” He patted his best friend’s knee. “Tarq? Wake up, mate.”

His chin flew upward, but his eyes remained shut. “Leia?! She here?”

Harry’s shoe subtly slid into Lucy’s boot. She twisted her lips in silent protest. “No, Tarq. Leia lives in New York, remember?”

“I TEXTED her, though.” Battling through his fog, he blinked heavily.