Chapter 45
FORTY-FIVE
AUSTIN
It sort of pisses me off how much better the medicine makes things.
Or at least how much more bearable it makes them.
An hour later, I’m able to actually talk to Maddox, though I don’t do much of it.
For one, he’s practically radiating pity for me, and I fucking hate that.
He’s also treating me with kid gloves, which I might just hate even more.
The nurse tells me to rest and then actively prevents me from resting by coming in to poke and prod me every hour for the next several. When it’s not her doing it, it’s a social worker, who sends Maddox out of the room and makes me repeat what happened over and over again.
Or it’s the cops, who also make me repeat what happened, though hearing that Chase’s loud mouth is what led to Maddox calling me and ultimately saving my life is a new facet to the story I wasn’t aware of. Not a huge fan of the fact that I owe my life to Chase fucking Cartwright.
I tell the story so many times, you’d think I’d have it down pat, but every time I tell it, I remember more and more. It’s almost like time slowed and my mind had the ability to catalog every millisecond and micro-interaction, but at the same time, everything is blurry.
“He said he killed my mama,” I blurt out at one point, interrupting Officer Hamilton’s most recent question as the memory hits me.
His mouth snaps shut and Maddox’s head swivels around comically. I don’t look at him. I’d made that mistake a few times while hashing out the tale, only to find him either teary-eyed or red with rage. I couldn’t handle either emotion right now.
“Are you sure? This is the first time you’ve mentioned that detail,” the cop says, looking over his notes as though he may have forgotten a murder accusation at some point.
“I was more focused on telling you how he was choking the life out of me at the same time,” I snap, overtired.
The men are quiet for beat. “I think maybe it would be best to take the information you have and check back in a few days, Hamilton. She hasn’t gotten any rest and her pain medication will probably be wearing off any time now,” Maddox excuses.
My eyes flick up to the clock. It’s a blatant lie.
The too-cheerful nurse had re-upped my medicine three hours ago at the shift-change and I still had about two hours left to go of this dose before they gave me more.
I’d been tracking it closely to make sure they didn’t try to give it to me any more frequently than necessary.
“Of course,” the cop says anyway, and I’d roll my eyes at how easily everyone bends over for a Whittaker if I wasn’t fond of bending over for him as well. Maddox walks him out, shaking his hand and promising to reach out when I’m discharged.
“Do you need me to lay the bed down some?” I hear him whisper, much closer to me than I thought he’d be. He’d just been over by the door. I jolt and then wince. The medicine they gave me dulls a lot of the pain, but doesn’t erase it completely.
I can’t risk it though. I’m too much like my father as it is. We don’t need to tempt the addiction gene.
“Sorry,” he says unnecessarily. It’s not his fault I’m jumpy. I must’ve been drifting because the clock says it’s been a little more than twenty minutes since the cop left. Maybe I can sleep now.
I nod and Maddox lowers the back of the bed a bit for me, helping me lie back against the pillows with as little movement as possible. Neither of us bring up the way I cling to his hand, the way I’ve been doing on and off since he got to come back and sit with me.
More than anything in the world, I wish it were yesterday morning and I’d never gotten out of his bed to go to brunch with his sister. Maybe he would’ve been able to convince me to stay with him a couple more days and I would’ve returned home to a dead father and not a coked up, murderous one.
“Can it wait? She just got to sleep,” I wake up to Maddox whispering.
“I’m afraid it can’t,” another man tells him. “I’ve already had to wait longer than I wanted to, but she’s been very popular this morning. Besides, she’ll likely wake while we’re taking her vitals anyway.”
“‘M not asleep,” I mumble, blinking my eyes open. The man speaking looks vaguely familiar—a doctor, based on his coat.
“Nice to see you again, Austin.” I blink at him as Maddox helps me sit up and the new, less cheerful nurse starts taking my vitals, maneuvering the bed back into place.
When I don’t respond right away, he must realize I have no clue who he is. He chuckles good-naturedly. “I’m Dr. Carson, the Trauma Surgeon—”
“I got surgery?” I blurt. The blanks in my memory are becoming steadily more concerning if I’d somehow blanked out on being told I’d had surgery at some point last night.
“No, no,” he’s quick to correct with a tired smile. “I care for all of the patients that enter the trauma bay, regardless of if they’re in need of surgery or not.”
They should change his title then, I think, but that’s probably the least of his concerns.
“I helped you when you arrived last night, but it’s understandable if you don’t remember me.
It seems ridiculous to ask you how you’re feeling, so I’ll just ask about your pain.
I know you were concerned about taking pain medication at first, but you agreed to Toradol. Is it working well for you?” he asks.
I appreciate the lack of bullshitting, quite frankly. “Yep.”
He waits for more but I don’t provide it, so he moves on.
“Let us know if that stops being the case, would you? Between you and me, you’re not getting out of here until I’m confident you can breathe deeply enough to avoid the risk of pneumonia.
You’re not going to be able to do that without some sort of pain medication. ”
Another stand-off, and his lips quirk when I don’t respond to that either, eyes flicking over to Maddox. “Are you okay with me going over your diagnoses with Mr. Whittaker in the room?”
I nod and he takes over the mouse on the nurse’s computer. After a few seconds, he spins the screen around. An x-ray fills the screen and I think it’s of my ribs, but that’s just about the extent of my medical knowledge. Maddox takes in a quick breath.
The doctor uses the butt of his pen as a pointer to fill in the gaps.
“This is the imagery of your ribcage,” he says helpfully, moving the pen along a few of the bones.
“The two at the bottom here are fully fractured. The good news is, they’re clean breaks, which means there’s no need for surgery and they’ll heal on their own within about 6-8 weeks.
This one,” he moves the pen to the rib just above those, “has a hairline fracture—essentially a crack.”
His eyes return to me and I nod. Nothing he’s saying is surprising me. My earlier inability to breathe without wanting to jump off a cliff had clued me in to the whole broken rib thing.
“What about that one?” Maddox says behind me, gesturing towards the screen again. “Two up. That one’s broken too, isn’t it? It looks… different.”
The doctor’s eyes stay on mine for a beat and I swear I can feel what he’s about to say before he does.
“That’s an old injury. A couple of months, at most, but I couldn’t tell you for sure.
There’s nothing on file for any visits pertaining to a cracked rib prior to this one.
” he says, finally looking at Maddox, dragging the pen along the knobby-looking rib.
“It healed on its own, just not very well, which is why the healing callus is so thick.”
I grit my teeth, wishing I’d taken the hint when the doctor subtly offered to kick Maddox out before going over my diagnoses.
With any luck, Maddox would choose now to live up to a himbo stereotype, but based on how quiet the room has gotten, I don’t think that is the case.
His hand leaves mine and I don’t look back to see why, but it sounds like he sat back in his chair, the breath he huffs out further away than it would’ve been if he hadn’t.
“Regardless, to prevent this from happening again,” the doctor says, tapping the butt of the pen against the screen, “you’ll need to take it easy for the next two months.
Moving on,” he clicks around until a new image fills the screen.
“This is your nose, which is also broken, but not displaced, which means I didn’t have to go in and realign it for you.
It should heal within four to six weeks.
As long as nothing bumps it and you follow the instructions we give you when we discharge you, it likely won’t be cosmetically noticeable. Following me so far?”
“Yes,” I say with a tight jaw. Maddox’s hand finds my thigh over the mounds of blankets they’ve stacked on me, squeezing it gently. I’m not sure if he’s trying to show his support or reprimanding me for my attitude.
Dr. Carson is quick to dole out the remaining diagnoses, but I feel like I’m barely even hearing him. I knew I was in bad shape. The confirmation doesn’t make it any easier to swallow and I don’t plan to listen to much of his advice anyway, something he seems to have already guessed.
“Your shoulder was displaced when you arrived, so you’ll keep it in a sling for the next two weeks if you know what’s best for you, along with the brace on your wrist, which was sprained.
You have a concussion that we’re closely monitoring and five stitches through a laceration on your forehead that we’ll remove in about a week for you. ”
His face softens a tad and I wonder if he has to practice it, like an actor.
I wonder how many people he couldn’t save, if he’s become desensitized yet or if every patient is still a person to him.
“The good news, Austin, is that none of your injuries are life-threatening and you’re going to make a full recovery, physically.
Do either of you have any questions for me? ”
I imagine Maddox has loads, so I ask mine before he can start in. “When can I leave?”
Dr. Carson chuckles. “I had a feeling that would be your biggest concern,” he says, turning the computer back to face him and clicking around for a minute, tilting his head this way and that, like he’s calculating something.
With a sigh, he locks it and walks closer to the bed, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“I’ll make a deal with you, Austin. My relief is scheduled to be here at four.
If I’m satisfied with how everything’s looking and feel confident that you’ll actually follow my instructions, I’ll clear you to be discharged before I leave for the night.
You’ll be out of here by seven or eight, tops. ”
That timeframe felt unfathomable, honestly, but it was better than spending days here. I look over at the wall clock to avoid Dr. Carson’s knowing eyes, counting the hours. Ten. “What will you be looking for to determine that?”
He grins, wide. “Well now, if I told you that, you may be tempted to give us answers that match what I’m wanting to hear, rather than truths.”
Maddox snorts and I flick his hand where it’s still resting on my thigh for taking the doctor’s side. Dr. Carson laughs again as he leaves the room. “I look forward to checking in with you again later, Austin.”
“I’m sure,” I grumble as the door closes, leaving Maddox and I alone again.
Not a huge fan of that right now, all things considered.