He was discharged just before noon the next day, both arms in slings. She went with him then, too, opening the door of the Cobra limo, buckling his seat belt, carrying his medications.
“Welcome home,” he said when they walked inside his condo. “I hope you like the place.”
It had three bedrooms, three bathrooms, wooden floors, an ultra-modern kitchen, a gas fireplace—and a great view of the city lights.
She glanced around, walked to the window. “I love it.”
It was only when she’d gotten him settled that he remembered Kristi only had the clothes on her back—and even those didn’t belong to her.
Because he couldn’t use his arms and had no phone, he had no choice but to ask Kristi to send an email to Isaksen, asking him and Samantha to come over and do him a favor. After that, he dictated another email to Tower, reminding him that neither he nor Kristi had passports, driver’s licenses, or cell phones.
By the time Kristi had given Malik a sponge bath and settled him on the sofa with ESPN on the screen and a glass of water with a straw, Isaksen and Samantha had arrived.
“Samantha!” Kristi and Samantha hugged, their happiness at being reunited putting a smile on Malik’s face.
Isaksen sat beside him. “You said you needed help, brother. What’s up?”
“Samantha, can you please take Kristi out to buy clothes? She doesn’t have any ID or credit cards or even a cell phone. All of that was lost or burned in the fire. Can you do that for her? We’ll pay you back.”
“Of course! How awful. Thor told me what happened—or most of it. I’m so glad you’re safe. Why don’t you work on a list of what you need, Kristi, and we’ll head out.”
But Kristi wasn’t happy, worry on her pretty face. “I don’t want to leave you.”
“He’ll be fine. We’ll watch some football. I’ll take care of him.” Isaksen paused. “But I won’t hold your dick when you pee, dude. You’ll have to sit.”
Kristi told Isaksen when Malik was due for his next dose of Percocet, and then she and Samantha left together.
“So, you and Kristi, huh?” Isaksen went to the fridge, got himself a beer.
“Yeah. I never quit thinking about her. I should have called.”
Isaksen took a drink of his brew and sat again. “Who would have thought Cobra’s crazy mission to Antarctica would have such an impact on our lives?”
“That is a strange thought.”
“Yeah, we both shot the parrot on that one.”
Malik knew he was on Percocet, but that made no sense at all. “Is that more Viking-speak? What the hell does that even mean?”
Isaksen spoke English so well, Malik sometimes forgot it wasn’t his primary language.
“You don’t say that in English?”
“Nah, man, not unless you literally shot a fucking parrot.”
The Viking looked surprised for a moment, then laughed. “In Danish, it’s an expression that means we had good luck.”
Good luck.
“Isn’t that the truth?”
* * *
Kristi heldMalik’s hand and slowly moved his bent arm thirty degrees to the outside, working on external rotation. “Don’t force it. This is passive motion. Let me do the work. Your arm is just going along for the ride.”
“Passive motion. Right.” He glowered, clearly unfamiliar with any kind of passivity and frustrated that his recovery hadn’t been instantaneous.
Kristi had taken on the job of helping with his physical therapy, the two of them heading to Cobra’s gym once a day and doing the rest of the work at their place. They didn’t really need the gym—not yet—but Kristi had thought it would lift his spirits to be in that familiar environment.