Type 1

Chapter 22

Type 1

I took the boys to the nearest hospital to have them checked and treated right away, evading Dylan because his hand was cut. Dylan was obstinate and refused to go to the hospital, but I insisted and told him that he needed to. Jay had no say because he had blacked out again.

I'm not sure how hard the person hit him with the baseball to knock him out so badly. Or perhaps he's just frail.

Jay was taken into his own personal room by the nurses for examination. They cleaned his head and wrapped it in a bandage. They also said there was no serious damage and that he would wake up fine.

"Excuse me, could you please treat his hand?" I questioned to one of the nurses. She looks at me, then at Dylan, waiting for a response.

When I turned around, I saw him hiding his injured hand, refusing to be treated. I rolled my eyes and stood beside him, then gripped his arm and extended his hand to the nurse.

The nurse approaches and checks his hand before nodding. "Follow me," she said as she walked away, guiding us to do the same.

Dylan returns the miserable stare before returning his gaze to the nurse. "Fine, but you should also check hers," he says, pointing his index finger at me.

I rolled my eyes and smiled as I pushed him forward to follow the nurse. We did so and entered another room. She told him to sit on the bed while she gathered her stuff. I stood near the door, leaning against the wall, staring at the nurse as she prepared her items. I hear a psst and shift my gaze to Dylan, who is smirking. He pats the spot next to him, inviting me to sit with him.

"Come, sit next to me," he said, staring me down.

I keep grinning and crossing my arms, sighing heavily. "I'm fine right here," I replied, noticing his smile fade quickly.

He gives me a fake disgusted look and throws his hand at me, pretending to spit in my face because he doesn't like my response.

I giggled quietly and watched as the nurse sat down in front of him and examined his hand. "How did you sustain this wound?" When the nurse asked him, he looked down before turning to face me.

"My girlfriend here really wanted a streak for dinner, so I told her I'd cook her that so-called streak she desperately wanted," Dylan explained, making up a fictitious scenario.

He goes on. "I'm not sure how it happened, but I was cutting something and my hand began to bleed-"

"No, you just grabbed the wrong end, but it's okay, you live and learn," I cut him off. I faked a smile as he looked over at me.

The nurse swallows and clears her throat. "I'll clean up around it and stitch it." Dylan's face dropped when the nurse said that, and his skin turned a slight pale.

"Stitch?" He questioned, sensing his fear in his voice.

"It's fine, I'll reward you with something after, and you can tell me more about your cooking," she explained.

I squint my eyes and crease my brows; is she flirting with him?

Dylan gives an awkward smile. "What about my cooking?" He asked her, and she nodded.

"Yeah, I guess you're a chef or something because your hand is so big and manly and you mentioned cooking," the nurse said, lightly chuckling.

Dylan chuckled awkwardly and looked at me strangely. I started tapping my foot on the ground, infuriated.

Do your job as a nurse and stop flirting as if you're in a bar or something.

I walked over to him on the bed, frowning at her as she massaged his hand. Dylan turns his head and looks at me. He was taken aback when I approached him and sat down next to him. I sat there watching as the nurse cleaned his wound and began stitching up his cut.