Leo
I don't know if I should be angry or happy right now.
Angry that my arm is broken. Or happy that now I know for sure I'll be staying home for at least six to eight weeks.
I should be angry. Because now I can't train my arm. My arm will be weak when I eventually get the cast off and in case I get called back, my arm won't be as strong as I want it to be.
I should be angry. Because beside a broken arm, my brow is busted slightly open and my other palm is scraped from the pavement.
I should be angry because this isn't an injury I need to add to my list of injuries. I've had all types of them.
I should be angry because I broke my arm from something stupid when I should have been more careful.
Izzy was testing Luca's old motorcycle, and I asked to take a ride. The bike is old and my brother wanted to sell some parts of it. Otherwise it would've stayed in our garage. He bought a new one a while back, but Izzy uses it mostly and he finally decided to get rid of the older one.
When Luca and Isabella were riding it in circles in our mansion's driveway, it was doing fine. Only when I rode it did the brakes suddenly freeze and I bumped into the gate door.
No matter how much I convince myself that I should be angry. I can't.
I'm happy.
Relieved.
Relieved that it wasn't Luca or his girlfriend who broke their arms.
Happy that now I'm a hundred percent certain I'll be staying home for about six weeks at least.
My appointment to get my stitches on my shoulder removed is tomorrow. But I had to come in a day earlier. But for my arm.
The doctor told me I had what they called an oblique fracture. My ulna bone fractured and also my middle finger.
How fucking ironic.
The cast has to stay for six weeks for now. After six weeks, they'll take another x-ray and see how it's healing.
"I'll let a colleague come in and remove the stitches on your shoulder. Good thing is you won't need them for your brow, but it needs cleaning."
I thank the doctor who did my cast before she leaves the room. I wonder if the same nurse as last time will come and treat me. This isn't a really big hospital, so chances may be in my favor.
After five minutes, there's a knock on the door and then it whips open.
I have to suppress a grin when I see the same pretty nurse as last time.
She puts her clipboard on the table next to me and puts on her gloves while speaking to me.
"I'll remove the stitches on your shoulder first. Then I'll take a look at your palm. Lastly, I'll clean your brow." She says in a velvety and professional voice.
"Sounds good."
She probably doesn't even remember me. But I have a feeling she does. I don't miss the way she didn't greet me and went straight to business.
"I don't have an appointment after this. So take your time." I look over my shoulder but don't see her. She must be standing fully behind my back.
"I have other patients waiting. So..." I can imagine her shrugging.
Shit. I feel like a jackass.
I clear my throat, "I'm sorry. I was a douchebag last time. That meeting was stressing me out." I hate making people sad, mad or anything other than happy. And I hate that I can't see her face right now to gauge her reaction. One thing I'm good at is I can read people really well. I want to see if she's frowning. Or maybe she's biting that full lower lip of hers.
"It's okay." The sound of scissors clattering on the metal bowl makes me look over my shoulder. Now I can see her face more as she's standing to my right side. "Give me your palm, please." I comply and give her my right hand. Thank goodness I'm right handed and my left arm is the one that got fractured.
There are some freckles on her upper cheeks and nose. It's cute.
I look down at what she's doing with my palm. She's applying some type of cleaning solution.
I hate silence. It's why I always have earplugs in and listen to music when I'm alone. When I'm around my family, there's not a single silent moment. And I love it like that. It's easier not to let my mind wander to images I want to forget.
But currently...
"What's your name?" I ask, trying to make small talk and breaking the quiet.
Her hands stop their movement, and she looks into my eyes. I can almost see my reflection in her eyes.
She looks back down at my palm and continues working. "Why'd you wanna know?"
"Last time you treated me, I didn't give you the chance to introduce yourself."
"So you're giving me that chance now?" One of her eyebrows raises but she doesn't look up from my palm.
"Yeah."
She bites her lower lip and I suppress the urge to groan. Those damn lips!
"I don't think it's necessary for you to know my name." She's mad.
I'd be mad at myself, too. I practically cut her off mid-sentence and told her to hurry the fuck up.
"You know my name. So it's only fair if you told me yours." I duck my face down a bit to see into her eyes. She lifts her face and our eyes connect. It feels like minutes before she finally answers me.
"Josie." Her voice is soft like silk. It got my mind wondering if she'll sound this soft in bed.
"Is that short for something?" She nods. She seems like the type of person who likes to talk. But I hate that she's giving me one worded answers. "Short for Josephine, right?" I guess.
"Yeah. But almost no one calls me by my full name." She finishes wrapping gauze over the scrapes on my palm and comes to stand fully in front of me. One of her hands rests on my right cheek and the other one tilts my chin to the side. She examines the cut on my brow.
It's not too deep, but it needs cleaning and a band-aid.
My legs are spread open, but she stands outside of them. She grabs some scissors with a cotton at the ends and begins dabbing at by brow.
She's really short. At least a lot shorter than me. I'm six foot three and if I have to take a guess, she's around five two. Which means her arms are also short, and she's stretching them all the way to reach my face.
I spread my legs wider and she, almost unconsciously, steps between them. The fingers of my right hand dig into my thigh to stop myself from wrapping my arm around her little waist. It's a good thing my left arm is already wrapped in a sling to my chest.
Why am I acting like a horny teenager?
"I love the name Josephine." Her eyes flick to mine and back to my brow in less than one second.
"I love it too. But I don't know, everyone calls me Josie or Jo." She shrugs, "I don't mind it though."
I like how she seems to forget what little beef she had with me and is giving me longer answers.
"Everyone calls me Leo instead of Leonardo. Only my drill sergeant called me by my full name." I chuckle at the memory. It's a painful one, but it was back when I was still excited that I enrolled in the army. A soft smile stretches on her plump lips.
She puts the scissors back in the rack next to her and she pushes a couple of hair strands out of my face before grabbing another cotton ball.
I have not cut my hair in two months. Which is long in the army. But we were on a mission and cutting our hair was the last thing on our minds. I'm actually excited that I can now grow it a bit while I'm home. My thick, dark brown hair is the most Italian thing about my appearance.
Josephine has two strands in a braid and they meet each other on the back of her head in a clip. She has wavy, silky hair.
"So, how did you fracture your arm?" She asks after a beat of silence.
"I was testing an old motorcycle of my brother's. The brakes didn't work, so I had to crash into something to stop the bike." Her eyes widen while she looks me in the eye.
"How fast were you going?"
"Not that fast, honestly."
"Couldn't you jump from it or something?"
I laugh softly, "No, otherwise it would've gone un-steered and ended up crashing into something even worse."
She cringes and her facial expression makes me smile wider. "So you breaking your arms was option A?"
"Yes."
"That doesn't make sense." She shakes her head.
"It did in my head." I say.
"Your head is crazy, then."
"Well, option A made me see you again, so it's definitely the better option." I watch as her cheeks turn into a darker tint while she continues cleaning the cut on my brow.
"Have you ever ridden one?" I ask.
"What?" Her brows furrow.
"A bike."
"No. And I never will. We get a broken bone from a bike crash too many times a week for me to even have the courage to get onto one." She shakes her head adamantly.
"Oh, come on. It's actually pretty exciting to ride a bike."
"So exciting that you broke your arm."
"Touché." That was good. "But I promise you, if you ride with me, I'll go slow the first time." I hope she doesn't read too much into the innuendo.
"Didn't you just say the bike crashed?" She raises a brow at me.
"I have another one. And the one that crashed was my brother's." I waggle the brow she's treating. She stops cleaning and meets my gaze. "So, what'd you say? You'll take a ride with me?"
"I don't think I trust you as a driver, to be honest. Seeing as you're sitting here with a broken arm."
"It was the bike's fault, not mine. The brakes stopped working." I defend.
"No, thank you. I'd rather ride safely in a car." She puts a bandaid on the cut, "All done." Her fingers sweep away some strands from my forehead and her eyes roam all over my face. When they linger on my lips, I grin. She clears her throat, drops her hands to her sides, and steps away from between my legs.
Grabbing my blue button down, I stick my right arm in the sleeve. I remove the Velcro on my neck and remove the sling. I struggle to put my left hand in the other sleeve and Josephine comes and helps me.
"You should put the left arm in first."
"What would I have done without you?" I tease.
She bites her lower lip to prevent a smile from peeking through. After she helps me stick my right hand in the shirt, she goes to the computer and starts typing away.
My middle and ring finger are bound together, since my middle finger is also broken. I can manage buttoning my shirt on my own, but I liked having Josephine standing between my legs.
"Can you help me with the buttons?" When she looks at me, I raise my broken arm to display the cast. She comes back to her previous position and starts at the top button.
I wish she was doing the opposite, unbuttoning my shirt instead of buttoning it and then going down to her knees and taking me in her mouth. She must think similar thoughts because I can see in the hollow of her throat her heartbeat increasing.
She reaches for the lowest button, and her fingers are dangerously close to my crotch. I think I see her eyes dip down to my groin area, but I'm not sure. I hope she can't tell that I'm semi hard. Or maybe I hope she does notice.
No, I don't!
"Finished." She goes back to typing on the computer. What she doesn't know is that I'll be finishing as soon as possible, probably in my car even.
"Thank you. You won't change your mind on the bike offer?" My tone is teasing and she thinks I'm bullshitting, but a part of me is serious.
"I'll pass."
"Your loss." I wink.
What the fuck.
I never wink.
Her cheeks flush even more. I give her a soft salute and walk out of the room, then hospital.
Later that day, as I'm laying in my bed, for the first time in probably six years, I fall asleep with a smile on my lips.