About fifteen minutes later, the doctor wandered back in with a shriek of the metal pegs in the curtain track blocking the door. “I have your X-ray results, Mr. McCrae.” He sat down on the rolling stool in front of the computer and logged in. With a few clicks, he had the first set of images pulled up. They were of my foot.
“The good news is I don’t see any fractures in your ankle. I think it would be wise to send you for an MRI to check out the ligament and tendon damage, but that can be done on an outpatient basis with one of our orthopedic doctors. You’re going to need to see one, anyway. Your hand is…” he quirked an eyebrow, then clicked more buttons on the computer. “Well, it’s a mess.”
New images appeared on the screen. My pinkie and ring fingers were in several more pieces than they should be.
“You’re going to need surgery. Soon. I called the on-call orthopedist, which is Dr. Henderson. She should be down shortly to discuss things with you and try to reduce that fracture a bit, so you’re more comfortable.”
I grimaced at the thought of what that would entail. “Great. Looking forward to it.”
The E.R. physician grinned, hearing the sarcasm in my voice. “The good news is you don’t have any other significant injuries. Your ribs look fine. They’re just bruised.”
That was something, I supposed. “Okay. Thanks, doc.”
He rose. “You’re welcome. Do you have any other questions for me?”
“Am I staying the night?” I really just wanted to go home. Or to a hotel. Some place with a decent bed. Hospital beds were a step up from the bedrolls we’d been sleeping on, but they weren’t a normal mattress. Plus, I really, really, wanted to take a shower.
“That will be up to Dr. Henderson and how quickly she wants to take you to surgery.”
My mouth flattened. I nodded, then muttered another thanks, and he left.
With a sigh, I glanced at Lana. “You can go, if you want. I’m going to be here a while yet.”
She looked at me like I’d grown another head. “I’m not going anywhere. If they release you, I’m calling us an Uber to take us to my house. If they don’t, I’ll stay until you’re settled in a room, then going home to get cleaned up before I come back.”
“I’ll be fine on my own.”
“Maybe.” She shrugged. “But unless you explicitly tell me to leave, I’m staying.”
The part of my brain that recognized she was dangerous to my emotional state formed the words. But another, more reckless, part slammed the lid on them.
My jaw worked, and I looked into the hall through the sliver of space between the curtain and the doorjamb.
I guess she was staying, then.
Chapter 22
Lana
Watching the doctor reduce Toren’s finger fractures was almost as painful as having it done. Thankfully, he got some nice drugs before she attempted anything, but the crunch of bone and the grunts of pain he let out that not even the medicine could hold back had me wincing with every tug.
Dr. Henderson had decided after reducing the fractures that surgery could wait a day or two until some of the swelling went down. The bones had realigned well with the procedure and the numbness he was experiencing began to recede by the time his twilight anesthesia wore off. Now he said it just felt like it burned with some pins and needles.
By the time the E.R. discharged him with appointments scheduled for an MRI of his ankle and a surgery date for his hand, which was three days away, the massive dose of ketamine he’d been given had mostly worn off, thanks to its short half-life. He’d refused anything stronger than some NSAIDS for the pain, which I both understood, but didn’t. Being loopy wasn’t my idea of a good time, but I also didn’t like pain. Toren’s argument was it was fine, so long as he didn’t whack his hand on anything or put too much weight on his foot.
I just shrugged, shouldered our bags that Walker had dropped off, and pushed him toward the exit and our waiting Uber. The hospital staff had told him he probably shouldn’t be alone for the rest of the day. Since his animals were being watched by a friend, I insisted he come back to my place. Tomorrow, we could drive up to Parker’s Landing and check in on things and come up with a plan for his surgery on Monday.
He’d been just drugged up enough at that point not to argue. Much.
Buildings whizzed by, an odd sight after being in the wilderness for what felt like a lifetime, as our Uber driver wound his way through the city to my house. The hospital had given Toren a set of crutches, so once he maneuvered himself out of the car, he ambled up the sidewalk to my front door with slow precision.
I glanced back as I reached the porch. I didn’t blame him for going slow. He had half a hand holding the left crutch, his two outside fingers wrapped in a splint made of stiff cotton, gauze, and that stretchy adhesive wrap, holding them out straight.
Unlocking the door, I pushed it in, then waited as he click-clacked his way inside.
“Make yourself comfortable.” I gestured to the living room as I set our packs down in the entryway. “I’m going to make us a couple sandwiches.” Neither of us had eaten yet, and my stomach was about to gnaw its way through my abdominal wall.
I found turkey, Swiss, and a loaf of sourdough that was a day or two past its prime. Given what we’d been eating for the last few days, I decided that qualified as a feast. I loaded everything on paper plates—because I was not about to wash anything tonight—grabbed a bag of chips from the pantry and carried it all to the kitchen table.
