When I wake again, Mitch isn’t there. But her perfume hangs in the air.
In my peripheral vision, something stirs but when I try to follow the movement, my head won’t turn.
Fuck…
Sliding my eyes sidelong, I see the figure leaning against the door frame: tall, casual, Scandinavian silver-blond. “Hi, Larry. Thought I’d drop by to see how you’re doing?”
“Let’s see, my neck in a collar, one leg up in a cast and that infernal f*****g bleeping... How d’you think I’m doing?”
think “But I see they’ve not amputated your charm.”
Ambling into the room, he snags the chart from the bottom of my bed, then traces a line down the length of the paper as he reads, muttering to himself.
He clips the chart back to the bed footer. “All I can say, Larry, is you’re built from something tougher than mortal
