That’s how I liked it, so I took him to my spot in Mirage, California.
Zay sat back in the seat, one hand holding his shoulder.
I glanced at him.
“You good?”
“Huh?”
I exhaled slightly.
“You good?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Just can’t hear for shit.”
“That’ll come back. I got a doctor on standby for you,” I assured him.
He nodded once.
Didn’t look convinced.
We pulled up to the property about an hour later.
Low.
Wide.
One-hundred-degree heat outside.
No neighbors.
Just space and control.
We stepped out.
A doctor was already inside waiting.
No questions asked.
Zay sat on the couch while the doctor moved his arm carefully.
“You’re gonna feel this,” the doctor warned him.
The adjustment came quickly.
A sharp shift.
A pop.
Zay gritted his teeth hard.
“Shit—”
He exhaled. “Better.”
The nurse with him wrapped it.
Stabilized it.
