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“He’s referring to the nurses’ desk, Kelse–”

I huffed, unimpressed by the young one and her performance, “Girl, yes. The nurses’ desk. Go on, get. Right on down there between the entrance and the exit. Has the little security office off to the side in what might as well be a broom closet.”

“Is he still suffering from the concussion?” Kelsey asked, her voice full of concern.

“No,” Ginger quickly determined, “He thinks he’s on the seventh floor.”

“The seventh floo– oh.” Kelsey cleared her throat awkwardly.

“You’re correct. We cannot hold you. You have the right of all patients to refuse care against medical advice. However, I wouldn’t be worth my license if I did not give you the facts to make your own informed decision.”

“I’m as informed as I need to be, Sugar. Why is she still standing there?” I cocked my head at Kelsey.

“Mr. Henshaw,” Ginger attempted again, her patience that of an angel, “You’re not on the psych floor, you’re on the third floor, admitted for observation due to a nasty concussion.”

“Mhmm. That sounds about right. Most of these places are Band-Aid stands, I get that… but come on,” I narrowed my gaze, disappointment dripping in my tone, “Everybody knows if you get a bump on the head, think you might’ve got yourself a concussion; the last thing you want to do is go to sleep. It ain’t recommended, and ya’ll got me up in here sleepin’ like the dead. Hell, I can take better care of myself at home. Go on now, I’m getting myself changed, and I’m leaving. Paper or no paper.”

I grasped the railing and glanced down the side of the bed, causing the thing to creak under the awkwardness of my angled weight.

“Mr. Henshaw,” Ginger exclaimed, her patience clearly having run out. “Sit back, I will take it down for you and get your IV removed. Kelsey, get his paperwork, please.”

Ginger did everything she promised, then she hovered over me closer than my mother ever had. I kept biting back a laugh at the notion. “You know, I’m no rookie at seeing myself to the washroom, honey, and I’m perfectly capable of putting my own britches on. So…”

The woman gave an exasperated sigh, holding my pants out while I clutched the bathroom railing. She continued standing sentinel over me but at least humored me by giving me her back.

I dressed in record time. She tried to block the bathroom exit, but I politely pressed past her.

“Mr. Henshaw,” she exclaimed as Kelsey entered the room.

I wasn’t sticking around to hear the usual horseshit about waiting for rounds. I was out.

“Sign here,” Ginger blurted out, stopping me in my tracks.

No way did they get that order that fast. I shook my head, every ounce of paranoia bubbling to the surface.

Ginger held out a pen, and I scribbled where she pointed.

“We good?” I pressed, much more gruffly than I intended.

“Yes, Sir.” Ginger reluctantly nodded.

“Good. Appreciate you girls.” I nodded politely to them both and aimlessly started wandering the hallway until I found the elevator.

The doors swung open, and I stepped back seeing Mark and my brother inside. Mark appeared to have been mid-conversation, but by the time the doors fully opened, he’d gone silent.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Montana asked.

I squinted before firing the question right back at him, “The fuck are you doing here, asshole?”

I stepped into the elevator just as he tried to step out.

“Cole,” he quietly pleaded.

“Get me the fuck out of here,” I grumbled at Mark.

“You got it,” He reached out and hit the button, giving Montana little time to choose between hopping on or getting left behind.

Montana frowned, but remained silent for the most part.