“No but…”
“Then thank you for stitching me up, I’ll be going now,” I say and reach for my coat, which the nurse draped on the plastic chair in the corner. It’s clearly way closer than I think it is because my hand bashes into the back of the chair when I thought I was still over a foot away from it. Fuck.
“Mrs. Hale…” says the nurse who asked for my emergency contact and insurance information when the ambulance brought me in.
“Ms.” I snap and instantly feel bad because she’s been very nice to me. I pause to get my frustration under control and swallow down the vomit that is slowly crawling up my throat. “Sorry. I just can’t spend the night. I appreciate the concern and your professional opinions, but I just can’t.”
“Can I ask why?” The voice comes from behind the nurse and doctor. It’s deep and calm and definitely male.
I look up and see Logan Hawkins. Actually I see two Logan Hawkins. Well, one and a half. Damn blurry vision. I take a long, slow breath and open my mouth to answer but I don’t. I don’t want to explain to my tenant or the staff here that I can’t pay the medical debt I already have let alone incur more. I already have an ambulance bill to pay from tonight. I don’t need any more.
“Hey Liz. Dr. Kainth,” I watch them turn to face him. “Can you give us a minute?”
Dr. Kainth and the nurse both nod. I am having trouble seeing but not hearing, so when Liz leans closer to him and whispers, “Good luck with this one, Logan,” I don’t miss it. I also don’t blame her. I’ve been terse and uncooperative since I arrived in the ambulance.
When the staff is gone, Logan walks to the end of the bed and grabs the electronic tablet that’s clipped into the holder there. It’s my chart. He scans it.
“Sorry about bothering you. I know I must seem like a psycho.”
“I don’t use that term lightly.” He is wearing an unreadable expression—all one-and-a-half of him. The silence is starting to freak me out but then he says, “I’m your ‘In Case of Emergency’?”
“No,” I reply firmly. “I don’t have one.”
“Apparently, you do. And it’s me,” he says back and I think he raises an eyebrow but I can’t be sure.
I blink very slowly and decide when the blurriness is actually worse to just keep my eyes closed. “I don’t have any family in the area, and I don’t want to bother the few friends I have, so when she asked, for some dumb reason, I said your name. I had your number in my phone and obviously I know your address.”
“Okay,” he says simply. I want to see how he is reacting to this, but this double-vision isn’t going to let me even if I open my eyes. Is he looking at me like I’m some kind of nutty, stalker type? I know it was ridiculous to give his information.I know. But what the hell else could I do?
“I didn’t know she would make you come down here,” I say and run a hand through my hair. It’s damp and tangled and when I look at my fingers they seem pink. Probably blood still in my hair. Awesome. I wipe them on my jeans because I think if I stand up to look for a tissue or paper towel, I’ll tip over. Or throw up.God I really want to barf.
“She didn’tmakeme,” he replies calmly and clips the tablet back in the holder. “With head injury patients that insist on being discharged, someone has to take them home. It’s too dangerous to let you go home alone.”
“I was planning on taking a cab.”
“They won’t let you do that,” he leans on the edge of the bed. “Has to be a friend or family member. Or loved one.”
“Or tenant?” I ask hopefully. There’s nothing but silence. “Okay now it feels officially awkward.”
He smiles. Even through the double vision I can see how much more handsome it makes him. I never see him smile at home. I mean, not that I see him a lot. I try not to see him. I’m not being unfriendly. I’m trying to be professional. Give him his space, which he pays for. Anyway, on the odd occasion I’ve glanced out the window and seen him with Chewie in the yard or walking to and from his SUV, he looks tortured. His brow is always furrowed, his shoulders tight, his expression grim. It’s really weird.
So now, when I see the smile, I almost want to smile back, but I’m too busy losing this battle against the barf. I dart up, almost tip over, and grab the wall. The bathroom is too far so I drop to my knees so hard I want to yelp as they smash into the linoleum, and I barf into the small trash bin.
I can hear him moving around the room but I don’t lift my head. I’m embarrassed and humiliated and honestly not sure I’m done. Suddenly his hands are in my long hair, pulling it away from my face. I appreciate the gesture, but it only makes me feel worse about myself. Ugh. When the contents of my stomach are finally done joining the outside world, Logan is still there, now with a tissue. Too spent to stand up, I lean against the wall, push the trash bin away, and wipe my mouth.
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. That’s what serious concussions do. They make you vomit,” he says calmly. “And I’m betting you also have double or blurry vision. Or both.”
He’s sitting on the edge of the bed now, arms folded across his wide chest. He’s wearing the jeans, charcoal sweater, and brown boots I saw him leave the house in earlier. I mean, not that I was staring or taking inventory or anything. He was coming home from walking Chewie when I pulled in from the grocery store. Hard to miss a man walking a horse-sized dog…especially one so good-looking. Okay, so maybe Iwasstaring.
“Dr. Kainth asked me that and I told her no.”
Even with the blurry vision I’m certain he is smirking at me. “That’s a very good non-answer, telling me what you told her, not what is actually happening. Which means you have blurry vision or double vision. Or both.”
“Sort of,” I mumble back because I am too screwed up to beat him at his own game right now.
“Chloe, you have a fairly severe concussion if you have vomiting and blurry vision,” he says and his voice changes. He’s calm but authoritative. “You’re going to experience more vomiting as well as sleepiness, headaches, and dizziness for about twenty-four hours. It’s best if you spend the night so they can monitor you.”
