But when the doctor walks into the bedroom, gorgeous with light brown skin and a shaved head, I sit up straight. My heart pitter-patters and my body wakes up, realizing I’m surrounded by gorgeous men.
Then, I spy the skull ring on the doctor’s middle finger. Crap, why am I so attracted to dangerous men?
“This is Elodie,” Jaeger says.
The doctor nods to Jaeger before he turns to me. “Elodie, I’m Atticus. I’m here to examine you. Where does it hurt?”
I bite my lip as he handles my ankle with care. Jaeger lurks at my back, a heavy presence. Atticus touches something sensitive, and the flare of pain makes me reach for Jaeger. His hand catches mine, enveloping it in his warmth and strength. I squeeze as hard as I can, and he lets me.
“Looks like a grade two sprain,” Atticus says.
“That sounds bad.”
“It is. You must be in a lot of pain.”
I shake my head and squeeze Jaeger’s hand tighter. He touches my back with his free hand, stroking my hair. It’s a light touch, ghosting over my curls, but it helps.
Atticus opens his case and pulls out a white pack. He crushes it until it turns cold. “Elevation and ice will bring the swelling down. I’m going to give you a compression wrap, but you’re going to need to ice it every three hours.”
“We’ll set a timer,” Jaeger says. I’m too worn out to protest the ‘we.’ The cold feels good on my heated skin.
Atticus opens a second section of his case, revealing row after row of baggies filled with pills. “And for the pain?—”
“No drugs,” I say quickly. “Nothing addictive.”
Jaeger’s fingers go still on my back, but then he keeps rubbing.
Atticus selects a bag of white pills. “You can get these over the counter.”
“She’s just had two aspirin,” Jaeger tells him.
“These are better. Take three.”
Jaeger takes the bag and tips three into my palm. Atticus continues to discuss my care with him right over my head.
“These can be combined with aspirin. She should ice it a little longer and use this to wrap it. Need a demo?”
“I’ve got it.” Jaeger takes the wrap and more instant ice packs. “Ice every three hours, along with the pills.”
“Rest, ice, compression, and elevation. Stick to a routine to get a jump start on the healing. I can check on her again in a few days.”
I’m about to tell him that I can’t afford his services when he says, “But she’ll need to keep weight off the ankle for at least a few weeks.”
“What?” I gasp loudly enough that the guys turn to me. “I can’t do that.”
“Bunny—”
“I have to work. I don’t get sick leave. I can’t take off weeks and weeks?—”
“You have to heal,” Atticus says. He looks sympathetic, but his tone is firm. “Rest is what you need.”
I’m too dazed to argue. I’ve always been broke. I moved in with my sister Margot and her two kids after her ex left her. She’s on disability in a subsidized apartment, but money’s still tight. When I got my job as a waitress at Inferno, we both celebrated. I knew it was owned by the mob, but it paid well enough for me to look the other way. I deal with the temptation of drugs and alcohol and work as many shifts as they’ll give me, but the pay isn’t enough to touch my sister’s medical bills, not to mention the debts that her ex skipped out on.
Last week, a thug showed up, demanding payment for a loan shark. Margot’s ex borrowed from that loan shark, but he’s in the wind, so we’re the ones responsible. He threatened her and the kids. That’s why I agreed to St. James’ proposal and signed the contract so quickly.
The ten thousand has to go straight to that debt, but I still have to work to eat, to live. To pay my part of the rent so the creepy landlord doesn’t throw my family onto the street.
Atticus packs up his case and shakes Jaeger’s hand.
