I looked up at the woman calling my name and nodded, following her through to the room where I could sit and talk with my doctor. I sat in front of his desk, waiting nervously to hear what he had to say.
“Ah, yes, Mr. Warwick,” the doctor said. “I see you’ve still got it wrapped up. That’s good.”
I nodded. “I’ve been following everything you said.”
He looked at me evenly. “Everything?”
I swallowed. “Well, as much as I could.”
“The reason I ask is because the level of damage I’m seeing in your scans now compared to six months ago is drastic,” he said. He switched on a light behind him and referred to two X-ray sheets placed on a lightboard. I gathered they were both my wrist, but it wasn’t like I recognized it from the inside. “Did you rest your wrist like you were told by your last doctor?”
I winced. “Well, see, the thing is, I’m a chef,” I said. “I’ve been careful, as much as I can. It’s just – I can’t not use it at all.”
My doctor sighed heavily. “Mr. Warwick, that’s exactly what you’re going to have to do.”
I stared at him. “What?”
He stood and pointed to an area on the x-ray that just looked like a grey blob to me. “Do you see this damage, here? There’s no way you can go on the way you have been. If you do, you’re going to lose use of the wrist entirely. The muscle and joint simply can’t take any more strain.”
“What am I supposed to do?” I shook my head, spreading my arms wide. “I’ve been up for this Head Chef role, and I had to show them what I was capable of. I couldn’t just stop cooking.”
“I’m sorry,” the doctor said, but he was clear and firm. “You can’t go on working the way you have been doing. You’re going to need surgery to repair the damage, and then you’ll need months of recovery time.”
“Months?” I exclaimed. My head was racing. How was I going to pay the bills for months? How was I going to find a new job if I couldn’t even start when they were hiring? “How many months?”
“It will likely be two months before you can use the wrist at all, and six to twelve months before it’s back to anything close to the level of function you’re used to.”
I stared at him. I couldn’t help the fact that tears were gathering in my eyes. “And if I don’t take the surgery?”
“You’re going to mess up this joint so badly that the only thing we can do is amputate the hand and teach you how to use a prosthetic,” the doctor said. His voice wasn’t unkind, but it was very clear. He knew as well as I did that I’d let things get to this point by stubbornly refusing to let the pain stop me.
I closed my eyes, breathed in, and breathed out. I opened them again.
“Let’s schedule the surgery,” I said, and even though I was sure of the decision, my voice came out cracked and dry.
I walked away and back to my bike in the parking lot, then sat on it for a long time, not moving. I didn’t even put my helmet on. I just looked down at the handlebars and stared.
I shouldn’t have been using my wrist. But the bike was all I had. How else was I going to get home if I didn’t ride it back? Who would go pick it up for me if I left and got on a bus?
I pulled out my phone and played the message Rafael had left. His voice came through the speakers.“Uh, Drake? It’s me. Um, Rafael. If you couldn’t figure it out from my voice. Anyway, I’m calling from The Crow. Grey’s calling a general meeting tonight after the end of service. I think you’re going to want to hear the offer. We all will. I’m calling the others as well. Let’s just say things are going to change around here, and I think you’ll like it. So, uh, yeah. Call me back. Or just come along tonight. It’s up to you.”
An offer from Grey.
I didn’t think Rafael would sound so excited and positive about it if I was getting the Head Chef role and he wasn’t. Maybe Grey had thought of something else. Maybe he wanted us to share it.
It didn’t matter.
I couldn’t be the Head Chef of anywhere now, let alone The Crow. Even if I got full mobility back a year from now, I couldn’t go back to the way I had been. The level of precision I had built my career on was all about tiny movements of the wrist. I would destroy it all over again.
It was over.
All of it, everything I had worked for during my whole life – it was all over.
I went over Rafael’s message again in my head, realizing one thing. He hadn’t mentioned anything about the two of us or what happened last night. He hadn’t even acknowledged that it happened – no word of apology for leaving me alone in his bed this morning or for not bringing me along. No flirtation. No hint that he had enjoyed it and wanted to do it again.
He’d called me like we were colleagues and nothing more.
Maybe thatwasall we were, to him.
