“Right in here.”
The woman coaches me on where to stand, then positions me on the table for the various views she needs of my face and hand. The entire time, my heart pounds. A cold sweat coating my forehead and slithering down my back.
There’s no chance of counting the number of times I’ve been in an X-ray or MRI machine. It’s part of the bull riding life, but after that accident at twenty, I haven’t been able to tolerate them.
That one ride almost took everything from me. I’d been exhausted. Run down after a bout with the flu and torquing my shoulder on the ranch, but I rode anyway. In my nightmares, I still hear Tate screaming when my hand caught in the rope. My body dangled oddly to the side while that bastard of a bull swung me around and then stomped on me. Only for my hand to come free just before he threw his rear legs up, crushing me between his hooves and the gate.
I’d been conscious the whole time. Terrified, I wouldn’t walk out of that arena. And I didn’t. I couldn’t move afterward, carried out on a backboard, and then rushed here.
Several surgeries later, they’d patched me up. The doctors told me I was lucky to be alive and that I should walk away. But I didn’t. Bull riding was who I was. Who I am. So I rehabbed and worked my way back up the circuit. Traveled to a few events, trying to gain professional attention, but it never felt the same.
In the end, I came back to Boulder Ranch, and it’s the only place I’ve ridden since.
“All done. Follow me.”
The same woman leads me back to the exam room I’d been in. This time, I plop into the chair, too jittery to get back on the table.
My heel taps, palms rubbing together as I wait for River to come review the results with me. The room is no different from any other. A computer monitor is in the corner. Images of the skeletal system on the wall. Cabinets filled with supplies and models of joints lining the windowsill.
A soft knock sounds at the door before River enters.
I immediately sit up, our eyes locking as if freezing us in time. The anxiety I felt over seeing her again melts away. Those green eyes still burn the way they have since she told me to take her for a ride.
“Hey.”
“You okay?” she whispers, shutting the door behind her, the tablet she’d been working on discarded on the counter before squatting in front of me. Her hands cup my knees, head tilting to the side, waiting for my answer.
“I hate hospitals.”
“Not surprising. I know about your prior… incident.”
“You—What?”
“Yeah, some of my partners here saw you were coming in and used you as our weekly case study. Gray. Geez. That was bad.”
Weariness coats her eyes, a glassy sheen washing over them. Is she upset about my accident?
“It was a long time ago. I’m okay.” My fingers grip her chin, placing a soft kiss at the corner of her mouth.
“I know. But…” She shakes her head, standing back to her full height before patting the table. “Up here, please.”
I do as she says, letting her palpate my hand and then my face again. “Bruising and swelling have come down a lot. You were icing like I told you to.” Not a question, but an observation. Normally, I don’t take care of myself the way I should after an injury, but something in me wanted River to know I took what she said seriously, even if I don’t always listen.
Another knock sounds at the door just as she pulls up the X-rays on the monitor.
“Hi, River. I wanted to check in on you and our patient here.”
“Dr. Buckner, I’ve got it handled. Thank you.”
“A second set of eyes never hurt. Some of us have been doing this longer than you young folks, River.”
There’s no mistaking the way her body quivers with anger. It’s there in the tensing of her jaw and how forcefully she clicks the mouse pulling up my hand X-rays first.
“So, Gray, you have a few—”
“River, do you mind stepping to the side so I have a clearer view?”
Who the hell does this guy think he is? “She gave you the respect of calling you doctor. I think you can do the same. On top of that,Dr. Thompsonis my doctor. I didn’t consent to you being in here, so you can leave.”
