Of course, Felix could be completely fucking wrong, and Fiji could be just the break they needed—but the point was that they hadn’t really had a break since they’d gotten back together. There’d always been something around the corner, another album or another tour, and Felix just didn’t know if they’d learned to be together yet.
“Alright,” the nurse said, coming back in. “I’ve got the paperwork. Do you think Mr. McCloud can sign or should you?”
“Aren’t I supposed to be his legal representative to sign for him?” Felix wondered.
She shrugged. “You’re here, aren’t you?”
He was. Felix reached for the pen and scribbled his signature hastily at the bottom of the paperwork she held.
“And you have the post-op instructions already,” she said. “Make sure you follow those. We’ve sent a few prescriptions to his instructed pharmacy—it’s the CVS on Atlantic.”
“I know it,” Felix said.
“Good. They should be ready if you swing by and grab them. And, of course, if you have any problems, please let us know.”
Felix nodded.
An orderly with a wheelchair showed up in the doorway. “Brandon here will get you two situated,” she said. “Good luck.”
He’d probably need it. That much was becoming clear.
———
Max woke up really slowly, eyes practically glued shut with something sticky and nasty, his brain fuzzy but finally growing clearer after he managed to open one eye and then the other.
He was in his bedroom at home, the last remnants of daylight filtering in through the big floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the Pacific. When he’d bought the house a few years back, he hadn’t cared one way or other that it only had one main floor, but when he’d been prepping for the surgery, he realized just how lucky that was. He wouldn’t be forced to sleep on the couch, at least. But the real question was—how had he gotten back home? He didn’t remember calling the car service he’d retained to get him back from the hospital, but then he couldn’t remember much of anything at all.
Glancing to the side, he saw his phone sitting on the bedside table, with a neon pink sticky note stuck to it. Went to get groceries, be back soon, it said in a distinctive handwriting that Max recognized all too well.
“Of course,” Max muttered to himself, because Felix wasn’t here to yell at. Why had he stayed, when he was supposed to be in Fiji with his brother and Caleb? There was a freaking reason Max hadn’t asked him in the first place, and it wasn’t entirely because of the awkwardness that had settled between them lately. It was because Felix already took care of the band all the fucking time, and he should be able to have a break without being forced to care for Max.
Max lay back in bed, leaving his phone and its note untouched. He couldn’t feel much of anything, just a general numbness spreading through him, which he guessed he should be grateful for right now. There was definitely going to come a point soon when he’d desperately wish for a complete lack of pain. Speaking of pain . . . before he could stop himself, he wondered if Felix had gotten his prescriptions too. As for the groceries, he’d intended to grab some before he went under the knife, but then he’d run out of time, and he’d decided to just have some delivered post-surgery. But obviously that wouldn’t be happening, because Felix was out right now, no doubt making sure he picked up all of Max’s favorites.
He felt a swamping wave of guilt wash through him. This wasn’t what he’d really wanted, but he had to admit that he was relieved—and frankly happier—about the way the situation had unfolded than he wanted to acknowledge. Felix was one of his favorite people on earth, but nobody knew better than Max just how hard he worked. Way harder than anybody actually in the band. Though they all made sure he got well-compensated for his assistance, unlike so many other personal assistants in the entertainment business, there was a part of Max that truly believed they couldn’t pay him enough. He protected them; built them a wall that kept the world out when all it wanted to do was pry, and keep prying. He made sure they never lacked anything they needed to do their jobs, and on top of that, he was currently using his break to nurse Max back to health.
Max swallowed hard, staring at the ceiling. He wished he still felt as numb as he had before.
The front door opened and then closed again, and Max heard Felix muttering under his breath as he crossed through the living room and walked into the kitchen. He braced himself, tensing, for when Felix would pop his head in to check on him.
Should he say thank you and leave it at that? Try to get him to go to Fiji? It wasn’t too late. The problem was now that Max had adjusted to the idea that Felix would be around, he selfishly wanted Felix to be around. He probably always had; he’d just been trying to fall on the side of the better angels.
“Hey,” Felix said, and suddenly he was there, not just his head, but his whole body. He was about Leo’s height, which meant that he was definitely on the shorter side, though instead of Leo’s rather stocky, compact build, he was thin as a reed and graceful. Pretty, some voice inside of him supplied. And with the dusk light shining on his dark reddish brown hair, styled perfectly because this was Felix and he’d not leave the house any other way, Max discovered there wasn’t any other word that fit him quite as well.
“How’re you feeling?” he asked, walking into the room, the look in his blue eyes making it clear just how concerned he was. “You’ve been out of it since we got home from the hospital. They really doped you up good.”
“I feel doped up good,” Max admitted. “I’m . . .I guess I’m okay. I can’t really feel much right now.”
“Probably a blessing,” Felix said wryly, and suddenly, he wasn’t just in the room, he was right in Max’s space, pressing the palm of his hand to Max’s forehead. Felix pursed his lips. “You feel a little warm. You hot at all?”
Was he hot? Max didn’t think so. He shook his head.
“Well, that’s something,” Felix said. “I’m going to go through the post-op instructions again after I get some food made. You up to eating anything?”
Prompted at the thought of food, Max’s stomach growled and Felix burst into laughter—light and airy and perfect. Real. That’s what Felix always was—and Max definitely couldn’t regret that he was here.
“You weren’t supposed to be here, you know,” Max said before Felix could turn away and go back to the kitchen. “I pretty distinctly remember not telling anyone, including you, about the surgery so you wouldn’t do this.”
Felix crossed his arms over his chest and glared. Impossibly, even his glare was dainty, yet intimidating. A skill that Max was convinced he practiced in front of the mirror because it was so goddamned flawless. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t even say that.”
Inwardly groaning, Max tried to regroup. “What I’m trying to say is that I didn’t tell you because even though you being here is great, you’re supposed to be having a break. And waiting on me hand and foot isn’t exactly a break.”
“Maybe it’s not,” Felix admitted, “but I sure as fuck wasn’t going to let you stay here by yourself. Aren’t we friends?” That last question was more like a demand.