Sinclair had come the day after Spencer had left, pulling a chair to his bedside table.
“The drains will be out soon and then maybe they’ll allow you to have less straps too, once the bandages are changed.”
“You’re my mother now?” Mocking a bit.
Sinclair’s eyebrows raised. “Am I just? I’m whatever you need. The young man’s parents were more than generous. You got wired a fortune for saving their son.” Looking around. “And where is he? Went home?”
Duncan sighed, avoiding Spencer’s eyes. “He left… to a rehab facility.”
“Oh, surprising. You did a better job than I thought.”
“He did the job.” That bitter curve of his lips, his eyes on the sky. He turned at Sinclair’s touch on his arm.
“I wanted to tell you do not despair if your arm is rusty a bit. Plenty of stuff you can do at the firm with a weaker right arm.”
“Weaker?” He swallowed at the pain, still fuzzy. “I know my body inside out. I know what I might be facing. This is not just a weaker arm.” Trying to flex his fingers but his hand stayed stubbornly immobile.
“One cannot lose hope though.”
Duncan grinned, soft. “Ok… whatever you say.”
Sinclair patted his arm. “You will heal, to the best of what is possible. Don’t bury that arm yet.” Even if he knew, having seen the X-rays and scans, the torn muscles and pulverized bones.
Duncan just gave him a weak smile, looking out the window again.
Days after the drain tubes got pulled out, and the bandage wrapped off. Duncan insisted to have a look, his hard eyes on that desolation, even if they had sewn him up, it was a dreadful sight, the stitches pulling on skin and flesh.
The doctor was all cheerful. “Well, it could be worse. How is the pain?”
“Bad on most days.”
Pulling a face when the doc pushed his gloved fingers on the wound.
“Once we take these out, you can go to rehab. A couple of weeks of PT and you should be like new.”
“My hand doesn’t move…”
The doctor flexed his fingers, in and out. “Well, they work like this… move them for me?”
Duncan tried but his hand stayed put.
“I’ll ask for a therapist to come and have a look. We might need another scan, just to be sure. Might be because it was tied up. I’m sorry, but you need a few straps, still.” He gestured a nurse close. “Bandages and strap his arm to his torso, but light. I’ll see you around.”
Duncan just waved, feeble, letting the nurse work, tired, worried about Spencer first before his own state, he was wondering what Spencer was doing, how he was managing thatfight when he had decided to do it alone without him at his sides…He said he is not letting you go…but believing it was harder than ever, that loneliness weighing on him, his absence like a thorn pushed too deep into an already torn heart. Closing his eyes on his tears because the last thing he wanted was to cry. To mourn when he was alive.
Waking to the sight of a huge bouquet of pink roses shimmering in that late afternoon sun, thinking he had dreamt it up when he sensed that human shape sitting near the bed. His eyes drifting there as his vision cleared.Fuck!That rage flooding him, with his disbelief.
“You…”
A small pull of his mouth. “I thought you’d be happier to see me.”
“Fuck off… why are you here?” His thoughts cleared a bit, so he grabbed the remote and raised his headboard to face him, his wound throbbing.
“I saw what happened in the news and I thought I’d check on you. Maybe it was a mistake…” Almost rising when Duncan sighed.
“I guess you can stay if you came all the way here.” Watching him sit back, his heart kicking at his bruised soul. It still felt good, after that initial hate, to have someone he knew and had loved. “Your flowers?”
“Yes. I know what you like, don’t I?” A soft chuckle, those eyes filling with warmth and worry. “I’m sorry… about how I treated you.”
