“My last name is Greyson,” Ian interrupted. “I’ve been trying to convince her to take my last name, but you know how women are today.”
The paramedic chuckled. What was this? Comedy hour? I was inpain and my boss was a liar. He was also doing and saying things that made my already-pounding head hurt more, and even worse, my heart ached. It ached for things I wish I could’ve had, things I was now pretending to have.
Ian stroked my cheek before I could rebut his asinine comment. “But maybe someday she’ll take my name.”
I closed my eyes. I felt nauseous, but I wasn’t sure if it was from the accident, the ambulance ride, or my pretend husband. But then I remembered something. My eyes flew open. “What about our meeting with Premier?”
Ian smoothed my forehead. “Relax. I’ll call Delfia when we get to the hospital.” He paused. “That is, if you want me to,Director.”
I had forgotten that. Was he really willing to give up his job for me? Then I thought, did I really want him to? He was opening doors for me that had once been closed. My baby was set to fly because of him. And despite his, let’s say sometimes abrasive on the clock attitude, he was a good leader. He was brilliant and we made a good team. “What I said in the car, I didn’t mean it.”
He kissed me again. “I’ll call Delfia then.”
I closed my eyes again, tried to breathe, and not to think about the pain I was in, physically and emotionally.
It didn’t take us long to get to the hospital where I was rushed into the emergency room. I heard them repeat to the doctor and nurse my vitals, which were thankfully normal, and what my injuries and symptoms were. The doctor, who I believe said his name was Dr. Ellis, asked my “husband” to wait outside while they examined me. When Ian objected, they said he could come back in a moment. I didn’t say anything. I still couldn’t believe he was continuing with this charade.
Dr. Ellis examined me from head to toe, and when he got to my arm, I yelped. The sharpness that went from the shoulder to my fingertips was like nothing I had ever experienced before.
“I think it’s a safe bet to say your shoulder is dislocated. I’m going to have to manipulate it back into place, and your forehead is going to need some stitches,” Dr. Ellis said like it was no big deal. It was a big deal to me. I desperately wanted to see the cut on my forehead and theword manipulate never sounded good. At least he didn’t think my arm was broken, but he was ordering x-rays just in case. But he was concerned about a concussion, so they were going to monitor me for a while, perhaps overnight.Oh joy.I was even more overjoyed when the nurse informed me I needed to be changed into their lovely attire. I had a choice between a blue and a pink hospital gown.
“I choose door number three.”
She laughed but wouldn’t let me stay in my blood-stained pant suit. She unceremoniously started undressing me since my right arm was immobile and they refused to take the neck brace off until after the x-rays. It was a good thing they had asked my pseudo significant other to wait outside. He would have gotten quite the show. Once they were done exposing me and poking me, they let him in.
Ian rushed to my side and took my hand, then began assaulting the doctor with his questions regarding my condition.
“Bad news, I’m going to make it,” I teased.
He kissed my hand. What was up with him?
The nurse handed Ian a clipboard as she left the room. “You and your wife will need to fill out her medical history and insurance information. As soon as that’s complete, I’ll take her down to x-ray.”
“I’ll take that.” I tried to reach for the clipboard with my left hand, the only hand I had available to me.
He pulled it away from me. “Aren’t you right-handed?”
“So?”
“Please let me help you.”
“Why are you being so nice to me?”
He dropped the pen the nurse had given him. “What does that mean? I’m always nice to you.” He sounded hurt that I thought otherwise.
“Not always,” I choked.
He scooted closer and rested the clipboard on my bed. “Kelli, I know we need to talk. I’ve wanted to talk to you about our past. But I don’t think now is a good time.” He was right.
Part of me ached to know the why of it all, but admittedly, part of me was scared to know the truth. “I guess you can fill out my medical history,” I conceded.
“Thank you.” He picked up the pen and clipboard. Not surprisingly he knew so much about me he could fill in several blanks without asking me. But then he got to the fun stuff.
“Are you pregnant?”
“Uh. No.”
“Start date of your last period?”
