*CHAPTER 52*

*CHAPTER 52*
It was a solid ten minutes from the time Matt left until Malcolm came back. Ten minutes of quiet—well, mostly quiet, if you didn't count the thrumming of machines and the distant sounds of nurses chatting on their breaks. The first stretch of time I'd spent somewhat alone since the accident.

I assumed that this was Malcolm's not so subtle way of giving me space to collect myself. I wasn't alone long, but...being in the hospital room by myself, left a strange feeling time to take root. It took me a few drawn out moments of my foot tapping restlessly beneath the covers of my hospital bed and chewing roughly on the inside of my cheek to recognize what it was.

I was on edge.

Jittery.

I forced my legs to still, leaning back to take a few deep breaths. I hadn't been this uncomfortable being alone since I was a kid. I was being ridiculous. A few days of spending hours upon hours with another person and I was already allowing myself to get used to that feeling. The feeling of not being by completely by myself.

I shoved that realization out of my mind as quickly as it had come.

You enjoy being by yourself, I reminded myself sternly, it should be a relief to have a minute to yourself. Stop being a baby. You do best when you're alone.

I was getting close to believing it—at least that's what I told myself, anyway—when Malcolm sauntered back into the room. He had an armful of food from the vending machine, and was cracking open a bottle of soda as he took up his seat. He'd spent so much time in that chair, I'd bet some serious money that there was a permanent imprint of his legs in the upholstery.

Focused on his soda, he didn't bother looking up as he tossed a bag of mini muffins my way. They crashed into my chest and I barely caught them when were followed by another pelted bag. This one a bag of hot Cheetos. He took swig of soda before tipping the lip of the bottle in my direction, offering it to me.

I stared at it for a long moment, sighing, before taking the plastic bottle from him, and taking a long chug before handing it back.

As was his go-to, Malcolm already had the television back on, turned onto a local sports station. I watched the game with unseeing eyes as I shoved mini muffins in my mouth with gusto. A lot in my life might be wrong right now, but mini muffins were always right.

"I just got off the phone with Penny,"

"Did she find something?"

"She located someone in one of the local hospital records. Went in five days ago to be treated for a missing eye."

"They're still alive? She found out who it was?"

"Ricardo Pratt. Works at Nightshade."

Nightshade...I'd heard of that club somewhere before---

"That's the club that Caleb's doing his show at, isn't it?"

He nodded, "While I'm there for Caleb's thing tomorrow, I'll question him. Do a little digging."

"Can I come?"

"Caleb already got you on the list to get in."

"You did the right thing by the way."

My eyes flicked in Malcolm's direction, surprised by his sudden comment, "What do you mean?" I asked around a mouthful of muffin, crumbs landing on the front of my hospital gown.

"With Mike." Malcolm said, suddenly sounding like he were getting a tooth pulled, "You did the right thing."

I cringed internally at what his statement implied, "How much of that conversation did you overhear?"

"I didn't hear anything, the wall was up." He said like it should be obvious.

"Then what makes you think I 'did the right thing'."

"I knew what was going to happen the second that manipulative weasel showed up with those," he tipped his bottle in the direction of the roses, now taking up a lot of space in the corner of the room. Their little red flower faces stared at me accusingly, and I had to look away, "And then I saw the expression on Mark's face when he left. It doesn't take a genius to connect point a to point b."

"Hmph." I shoved a mouth full of spicy Cheetos into my mouth and said, "Matt's not a manipulative weasel."

Malcolm's look of disbelief was unrivaled as he said, "Anyone who tries to get you back in a relationship with them after your family member just died—while you're still in the hospital, no less—and you're at your lowest, is manipulative. I've manipulated enough people in my time to recognize the signs." His voice was laden with judgement, "He wasn't even bothering to be sneaky about it either. You want to know what's worse than a self-proclaimed manipulator? A person who tries and fails at attempting to hide that they're being manipulative."

"Says the 'self-proclaimed manipulator' himself." I muttered under my breath around another mouthful of spicy Cheetos.

He held up his bottle, pointing it in my direction, "Exactly. You get it."

I didn't get it.

I just shook my head, bewildered, and let the conversation lull into companionable silence. Maybe Malcolm was right. Maybe not. Either way, I was beginning to wonder about how we'd gotten here. To the point where we were sitting in a hospital room, grungy and sleep deprived eating bags of snacks from the vending machine. Probably better not to question it.

Life worked in weird ways.

And sometimes those ways weren't all bad.