“I’m not sure your pride is a good enough reason, sweetheart.”
God, every time he calls me that, I have a physical reaction. Even in the state I’m in, his voice distracts me. Thoughts of him ordering me to come during our stolen night at Oktoberfest play in my scrambled brain. Only the feel of his calloused fingers squeezing mine brings me back from my naughty thoughts.
“What?” I ask, unable to remember what he said before he called me sweetheart.
“C’mon. You’re seriously injured. Your family would want to know. Would want to be here. Your pride can’t be the reason your brother murders me.”
I wince when I throw my head against my wimpy hospital pillow for emphasis, instantly regretting the move.
“See, you’ve got a knot on the back of your head on top of what is at the very least a concussion, and your ankle is jacked up.”
“We don’t know I have a concussion and my ankle isn’t broken. But if they saw me covered in these scratches andbruises, they would freak out. I don’t have the energy to deal with that right now. You know?”
His eyes soften, but he doesn’t reply. He’s worried that it’s more than a concussion. He’s seen it all with his job, he knows the signs. Before they took me back to imaging, I heard him out by the nurses' station talking to the doctor. He wanted to make sure the scans would catch a brain bleed or swelling. He’s fearing the worst. The more I take him in, the more I can see he’s scared to death right now.
Oh, this man and his great big heart.
“Besides, our moms left for their cruise this morning and will be gone for the next week. Mom hasn’t been on a trip in years. Why ruin it? Let her enjoy herself. When they get back, I’ll fill her in.”
He opens his mouth to speak, but Dr. Brown pulls back the curtain, interrupting his protests. Instead, he stands to face the doctor, his hand never leaving mine.
“Hello again, Miss McKinnon. We’ve got your results back, and it seems you are a very lucky woman.”
Owen’s body sags with relief.
“We didn’t find any swelling or bleeding. Considering the distance you fell and the impact you took to the back of the head, this is somewhat of a miracle. I think your overpacked backpack might have saved you.”
“It was Wesley’s. He asked me to carry it for him so he could climb.”
“Well, the weight of it certainly didn’t help, but I think it protected your back from any actual damage.”
Owen’s grip tightens. His face turns red, his jaw clenching.
Isn’t this good news?
Why is he so angry?
“Your ankle also isn’t serious. Painful, but not serious. You’ve got a peroneal tendon tear or subluxation. This means thetendon has torn from the bone. But I don’t think surgery will be necessary. We are going to send you home in a boot to stabilize things, and I’ll give you a referral to a specialist you can follow up with.”
“And how should we treat the concussion?” Owen asks.
We.He asks like we were a couple.
“Both the ankle and her head injury simply need rest.” The doctor looks from Owen to me. “We need to keep you off your feet. Your concussion and ankle aside, the cuts and bruises are extensive. The true discomfort is likely a day or two away. Rest is important.”
Owen chuckles next to me. “Good luck, doc.”
“For how long? I have a business to run.”
“The concussion could take anywhere from a few days to a few weeks to recover from. There is no set time frame,” Dr. Brown answers. “Every head injury heals differently. Let’s plan for a minimum of four to five days of rest. Try to stay away from too much electronic stimulation like TV or handheld devices.”
Owen squeezes my hand, his train of thought going to the same place as mine. All we hear is no vibrators. We’re like a couple of idiot teenagers.
“Do you have a partner or a family member who can stay with you?”
“She’ll be staying with me,” the deep voice next to me says without a second thought.
What’s that now?
