“My name is Huntley,” I say into the phone when I bring it up because I’m guessing Mark doesn’t know my name either.
“I know,” he answers quietly.
“You do?”
“I make a point of learning who my patients are. I take it you just realized Oxley wasn’t going to ask you.”
I huff. “Yeah.”
Mark chuckles. “How do you feel?”
“I’m going to be getting restless soon, I think. I’ve never lain down this long before.” And fuck, I likely already lost my job, which means I’ll lose my apartment when I can’t make rent. I groan. “Which might be the least of my worries.”
Oxley’s gaze moves to my face, his hands stilling as he studies me.
“Let’s focus on your leg for a minute. We’ll come back to the rest of your worries. How’s your pain?” Mark says.
There’s a dull throb, but that might have been from standing in the shower for too long. Or maybe the way I was bent and have been kind of ignoring while Oxley and I… talked. Yeah, talked.
“It aches. Like, in my bones. Please tell me it won’t always do that.”
“I’d love to tell you that, but I assume you’d like the truth.”
My heart catches in my throat as my stomach churns. “Yes.”
“There’s a chance that it’ll linger for a while—weeks, months, maybe even years after you’ve fully healed. Some injuries never truly leave, and this one was very traumatic for your body. You could ache for eight years and then one day, the ache goes away, and you never feel it again. There’s also an excellent chance that the ache you feel will dissipate as you heal. It depends on your body and how you heal.”
I sigh. I suppose that’s not the worst.
Oxley reaches for the phone, and I hand it back. He touches the screen before he speaks, not bringing it to his ear. “Do you want a video?” he asks.
“Please,” Mark responds, and I realize he’s put the phone on speaker.
Oxley pulls it up, and I quickly cover my cock. “Wait!” He startles and looks at me with alarm. I wave at my dick and then his. The way he looks between the two of us, it’s clear to see that he very obviously forgot that we were naked.
“Hold on,” Oxley says to Mark, and sets the phone on my stomach. He climbs over me and disappears while I just shake my head.
“What happened?” Mark asks.
“Nothing,” I say, my cheeks heating as if he can see me.
Oxley returns with slacks on and a shirt that’s not quite buttoned to the top. “Don’t you have lounge clothes?” I ask.
He holds up a pair of shorts. “Yes.” Together, we wiggle my supine ass into them while trying not to rub the fabric against my injury. I try not to look, but when I do, my stomach churns uncomfortably.
It’s darkly bruised and covered in dried blood. And… It’s big. Like the size of a softball. Tears sting my eyes because I can’t imagine that it won’t evernothurt.
“It looks good,” Mark says, and I sigh because I really need to hear that. I watch as Oxley moves the phone around.
“Will I walk again?” I ask.
“Yes. You likely won’t run marathons anytime soon, but you’ll be able to walk easily. Anything after that is up to you and your determination to regain your strength and retrain your muscles.”
“There’s still muscle there?” It looks like a divot in my leg.
“There is, but it’s damaged from the bullet. It’ll take some time, patience, and perseverance, but it will heal.”
That’s good news. I have to keep telling myself that. Good news. It is all good news!
