Pausing, I glared at Connor. “Fucking how?”
“You’re a goddamned surgeon. You get injured in there, your hand gets broken or twists the wrong way and your whole fucking career is over. You may have a cracked rib as it is from that damn hit you took.”
“And what concern is that of yours or anyone else's?” I was fuming as I slammed the locker shut, ignoring the sharp pain that ran through my side, as if confirming Connor’s diagnosis.
“We’re not a bunch of fucking animals down here.”
“Maybe that’s what the hell I need. A fighting league where there’s actual fights and not a bunch of fucking pussies worrying about day jobs!” I didn’t waste my time putting on the jeans I carried in my bag as I shoved past Connor and headed out the door of the changing room, into the main fighting area. There was already another fight underway, but I didn’t give a flying fuck. I was too pissed off to just stand around and watch.
I got in my car and slammed the door shut. It was well after midnight but I couldn’t go home. I was too keyed up for that. After a fight, I usually felt calmed down and ready to shower and sleep for the night but that wasn’t the case. Connor had pissed me off with his fucking inquiries into my private life. If I wanted to fight every fucker from here to the East Coast that was my business. I could manage my own damned career.
Turning the car on, I began driving with no particular destination in mind. Somehow after taking turns and streets I barely knew, I found myself sitting outside of Grace’s small home. All of the lights were off, and as I turned the lights and the ignition of my car off, I wondered if she was still perched at the side of her couch, trying to console her sister.
I didn’t let myself get too deeply into that wondering because it would lead to me remembering what it was that pushed me out of the house and into the ring in the first place. Instead, I took in the view of Grace’s home, all the while stroking my tender ribs at my side.
****
“They’re not broken but there is some bruising to the muscle and cartilage,” Graham Avery grimly stated, frowning as I carefully slipped my scrub top over my head.
I sighed in relief. Bruises I could work through the pain, but a broken or cracked rib would take more time to heal.
“Want to tell me how it happened?”
I paused, looking across the room at Graham. He and I first met during residency and we both ended up at the surgical unit at Memorial, although he was an orthopedic surgeon.
“No.”
He shook his head with a half smile on his damn face. “What happened? Got a little too restless in bed last night?”
“What the fuck did you just say?” I growled, standing so quickly that pain from my bruised ribs shot through me. But my anger was greater than the pain, and I ignored it as I moved across the examination room.
“Hey, chill out,” he demanded with his hands in the air. “I was just joking.”
“Do I look like I’m in a joking mood?”
“Do you ever?”
“Then why the hell would you think now would be an appropriate time to make such an asinine comment?”
I was pissed but held my composure. I’d known Graham for a number of years, and while he wasn’t a friend, I knew he often made off-hand comments and jokes. Most people just laughed it off. I, for the most part, ignored it. Though his comments were unnecessary and rather juvenile, he was a very skilled surgeon, having assisted me a number of times in the OR.
But this last joke had dug deeper than even Graham realized, sparking my impatience.
“You’ll probably want to reschedule any surgeries you have for the next week, at least,” he continued, filling the silence as I continued to glare at him.
Blinking, I tore my gaze from him, remembering that I was at work and he was a colleague.
I shook my head. “A week is too damn long to be out of the OR. Not happening.”
“Jacob, just because your ribs aren’t broken doesn’t mean this injury isn’t a serious one. You’ll be in a lot of pain over the next few days. Bruising to the muscle and cartilage around your ribs can greatly restrict you—”
“I went to medical school just like you. I don’t need to specialize in ortho to know the difference between a bruise and a fucking fracture.” My voice was heavy with sarcasm.
Graham shook his head. “At least take the next few days off; the pain may subside by then. I can write you a script for the pain after that.”
“No meds.” I shook my head. I could live with the pain. I became a master at hiding pain very early on in life. It was a skill that’s served me well.
“I’ll reschedule today and tomorrow’s surgery, and I have the next two days off. Four days should be enough.”
