Parker arches her brows. “If that’s your way of saying ‘stay in the van’, fuck that. Jasper can take her. I’m sticking close to Grace.”
My wife sways to her feet, her right hand gripping the door frame hard enough her arm shakes. The dark gray scarf hiding her blond locks comes loose and flutters to the ground.
Parker retrieves the scarf and helps Grace into the wheelchair. “Boss, if you ever retire, beauty school is a real possibility.”
Grace touches her hair, her gaze pinned to her left hand resting in her lap. “I…like it,” she manages.
All the color drains from Parker’s cheeks. “Shit, Grace. I was being serious. It looks great.” She leans closer and lowers her voice. “But next time I come to the house, I’ll clean up the ends for you.”
“I heard that.” Once I hand Belle’s leash to Jasper, I grab the handles of the wheelchair. “We’re gonna be late. Parker? Lead the way.”
Grace
The service elevator is quiet, but the second the doors open and we move out onto the floor, the noise is almost overwhelming. Too many people fill the halls. The scent of antiseptic reminds me of waking up in the clinic, disoriented, afraid, and alone.
I keep my head down, praying the world doesn’t decide to go sideways on me.
The scarf hides my hair well enough, but even with the dark purple bruise covering my left cheek, I still look like…me.
“Sir! Your dog can’t be in here.” An orderly steps in our path, his voice too loud. Too on edge. My entire body tenses. I want to disappear. To hide behind AJ or Belle or even Parker so he can’t hurt me.
AJ unbuttons his jacket. He clipped his Ranger star to his light blue dress shirt before we left. “We’re here to see Dr. VanHorn. All of us. Including the dog.”
“Ronnie, they’re good.” A woman waves from an open door a few feet away. “I’m Dr. VanHorn. I’m sorry I didn’t meet you at the elevator. This wing is being renovated next week, and I had to get someone to flip the breaker for the MRI.”
As soon as the door shuts behind us, Jasper clears his throat. “I’ll keep watch. You three go with the doc.”
I start to breathe a little easier when we leave Jasper behind. He’s AJ’s twin. Family. He’s never done a single thing to hurt me. But I still have a hard time finding my voice around him.
Belle noses my hand, as if she can sense how on edge I am. I curl my fingers around her harness until the doctor leads us into an exam room where the lights are on low and the blinds drawn.
“Grace, I’m Sydney.” The doctor crouches down so she can see my face, a warm smile curving her lips. She can’t be much older than me—not that I remember how old that is—with a streak of bright pink in her short black hair. “Normally, I’d have a nurse, a nursing assistant, and an orderly around for a battery of tests like this, so if I’m a little flustered, that’s why. But we’ll get through it. Okay?”
“Can Belle stay with me?” I ask, tightening my grip on the harness. “And AJ?”
Sydney frowns. “Not the whole time.”
“I ain’t leavin’ her alone,” AJ grits out. “No fucking way.”
The doctor rises, hands on her hips. “Sir?—”
“No. Fucking. Way.”
Parker wedges herself between my husband and Sydney. “Dr. VanHorn, how many months of funding did you just receive for your traumatic brain injury research project? Six? Or was it nine?”
With a sigh, the doctor takes a step back. “Fine. But if anyone,” she glances at Belle, “licks the equipment or drools on me…”
“Did you hear that, AJ?” Parker elbows him in the side. “No drooling.”
I hate the sensation of the hospital gown Sydney had me change into. Even worse, it’s white. When I first saw it, I almost begged AJ to take me home. But…I need these tests. At least that’s what I keep telling myself.
The CT scan wasn’t terrible. Sydney was gentle as she checked my reflexes, drew blood, and measured my grip strength.
But the MRI machine feels like a coffin. The bangs and clicks as it takes pictures of the inside of my head are deafening. Only AJ’s hand on my ankle keeps me from a full-on panic attack. He hasn’t left my side. Belle is in the next room, her front paws on a chair so she can see me through the window. Every so often, she barks and whines, but Parker is trying to keep her calm.
“Only another few minutes, Grace.” Sydney’s voice floats through a speaker somewhere inside to the machine. “You’re doing great.”
I’m so exhausted. It’s been more than two hours of questions, reflex assessments, scans, X-Rays, and even a set of math and word problems. I want to go home.
