We’re back at The Clinic. Again.
“I will never escape this place. This is eternal perdition, isn’t it? An endless round of visits.”
The nurse wrapping up my wrist gives me a stern look.
“You must be feeling better,” Morgan says. “You’re sort of joking, though your sense of humor isn’t great.”
“Dark humor is the best humor, remember?” I say.
I’m staring at Wallace, who is unconscious in the hospital bed next to me. They tried to take me to another room for treatment and I screamed and scratched with my broken fingernails until they backed away.
His beautiful face is cut up, more bruises and gashes down his left side from where he hit thechandelier.
“If I come in, will you try to bite me again?” Dr. Greenwood hovers in the door, his expression making it clear that he is So Done With This.
“I am so sorry, really.” He’s got a scratch down one cheek and I have a horrible feeling I put it there.
“You were like a rabid wolverine,” he says irritably. “I’ve had mob bosses with a chest full of stab wounds who behaved better than you.”
“I apologize sincerely,” I groan. “I’m a horrible person and don’t deserve your care, but Wallace does.”
“We do agree on that.” He checks Wallace’s bandages and examines the readings from the machines surrounding the bed.
“My biggest concern was his spine,” he says. “The angle that he hit the… chandelier, correct?”
“Yes, it was a two-story monster of a thing.”
“The way Michael described Wallace’s position when he landed, there was a real risk of serious spinal injury. I ordered an MRI - that was when you were being detained by your cousins, there.” He nods at Kai and Logan, who are lounging in the chairs in the seating area. They cheerfully wave at us. “I wanted to see if the fall damaged his Lumbar SCI. That’s the area of the spinal cord in his lower back.”
Sorcha and Alec hurry into the room. Alastair’s suite is right across the hall, so they must have spotted Dr. Greenwood.
“Did we miss anything?” Sorcha asks.
“Here, come sit by Wallace, okay?” I get up and Alec guides her to the chair. She sits down heavily, exhaustion imprinted on her face.
“I was just telling Scarlett that I ordered a very thorough MRI and a CT scan for Wallace. He’s got a couple of broken ribs on the left side, but I’m a bit surprised it wasn’t worse. His lung is intact, no damage from the impact. Now, his back; I was very concerned about spinal cord injury, but looking through his results…”
He shows us his iPad and a series of incomprehensible readings. “It’s clear. No broken bones, or deep tissue damage. Wallace is in remarkably good shape. I believe his muscle mass helped diffuse the damage from the fall.”
“He’s okay, then. Right?” I ask. “He’s going to be fine?”
Sorcha bursts into tears and grabs my hand.
“He got lucky this time,” Dr. Greenwood says with a bleak sort of acceptance. “Knowing your family as I do, it seems certain that I will be treating him again. There is no guarantee the MacTavish luck will continue.”
Cormac appears in the door. “Alastair is demanding to know the prognosis or he says he will crawl out of his bed and throttle Dr. Greenwood.”
“This is what I mean,” the poor man says. “Why are your injuries always met with threats of violence againstme?”
“He has a point,” Morgan offers helpfully.
“I’ll go tell him the good news,” Sorcha says, wiping her tears off her face. “He’ll lose his mind if he sees I’ve been crying.”
I want to offer to go with her. But I’m selfish. I sit back down next to my husband, staring at his poor, bruised face.
“Imagine the timing,” Morgan says. “The call you got from Greenwood was a fake, but here Alastair did regain consciousness… how long ago?”
“About three hours,” Alec says, rubbing his eyes. “The cranky bastard. There’s a reason I didn’t update him about the kidnapping and the rescue until we heard from you. He would have charged out of bed, dragging his monitors after him.”
