Chapter Twelve #2
"You need to be careful," Trip told him. "Rural veterinarians are becoming a real target."
Emmett rolled his eyes. "I'm aware."
"Yeah, sorry. Dumb thing to say, huh? "
Blane looked down at his phone. "Deacon’s on his way. Cash wants to know if the girls can stay at his place tonight—says you should let them since they don’t have school in the morning."
"Okay." Emmett liked the idea of them having a fun sleepover at Uncle Cash’s place before they saw the state he was in. He flinched when Trip held up a large syringe.
"Just hang in there, bud. I need to flush the wound, but we'll have you all cleaned up soon enough. How's your head?"
"Doing good, Doc," said Emmett. "You've got no worries. I'm not dizzy. I can see straight."
Trip gave him a skeptical look. "You're not going to tell me you don't have a headache."
"I wish I could."
"You know the deal with concussion, Emmett."
Emmett pursed his lips and averted his gaze while Trip continued to work on the wound. His hand formed a white knuckled fist on the bed sheet.
His room was on the first floor, and he had a decent view of the parking lot from here. Harper must have gone back out and moved her truck after she brought him to the main entrance when they arrived. He could see her truck out there now.
He hissed through his teeth as Trip continued to poke at him, then tensed a little more when he saw Harper out there, going to her truck, then climbing in.
"You okay?" Trip asked.
"Yup. I'll be better when you're done, but I'm fine."
He ceased to even notice what Trip was doing as he watched Harper.
Maybe she had phone calls of her own to make.
She told him she wasn't leaving, so he hoped that was true.
She'd been a real asset in the clinic this afternoon.
She tried to make light of it, but in Emmett's mind there was a good chance that she had saved him.
The kid might have left when he had what he needed, but then again, given the state that he was in, he might have decided to turn around and put a bullet through Emmett's head before he left.
He frowned as he watched Harper. She seemed to just sit there at first, but then... was she laughing? Her shoulders were shaking.
Shit.
She was crying. She dropped her face into her hands. Even from this distance he could see the way her whole body shook.
"Am I hurting you?" Trip asked.
"No, you're good. It's not you."
If he could move, Emmett would have been out of the room and on his way down to her, but all he could do was sit and watch. He had no idea how long it lasted—seeing Harper fall apart and enduring Trip working on his shoulder seemed to take forever, and the former was by far the deeper wound.
Eventually, Harper straightened up and scrubbed at her face.
He smiled a little when she seemed to address herself in the rearview mirror before blowing her nose.
She brushed her hair and moved the mirror for a better view so that she could fix her makeup.
When she was done, she climbed out of her truck and locked it, ducking her head to check the side mirror one last time.
Then she straightened up, squared her shoulders, and headed back toward the main entrance, wearing a smile that, if he hadn't just witnessed the last few minutes, would have fooled even him.
He made the right noises as Trip talked him through all of the details he already knew.
He was lucky that the bullet had passed straight through.
He’d need a heavy dose of broad spec antibiotics.
Cracked ribs were one of the most painful injuries a guy could sustain, but at least these days, medical professionals didn't believe in wrapping them anymore.
He just had to force himself to breathe deeply to avoid pneumonia, and in theory to do the other much harder thing—rest.
That was going to be a bitch. He didn't know how to rest, and it wasn't as though he could, even though he knew he'd have to. As strange as it might sound, the gunshot wound was the easiest of his injuries—all he had to do was keep it clean.
The problem, or at least it was going to be a problem for Trip when Emmett told him he was going home tonight, was the concussion.
Blane took his phone from his pocket, scowled as he read a text, then tapped away furiously before looking up and addressing them. "That was Cash. He said he's not going to call you here at the hospital. He's going to take the girls with him, and we can call him when we get you home."
Trip straightened up. "Oh, no. No way."
Blane gave Emmett one of his rare smiles. "I had a feeling he was going to say that."
"Too damn right I am," said Trip. "Concussion, Emmett. Overnight in hospital. No negotiation."
"I'm not negotiating—I'm going home." Emmett turned to Blane. "Would you do me a favor and see if Harper's still waiting outside?"
Blane scowled.
"And if she's there, invite her in," Emmett added.
"You know damn well she'll agree with me," said Trip. "She's not like the guys; Cash and Blane might think it's okay to let you go home, but..."
Blane came back in, and Harper pushed her way past him. Her bright smile looked genuine, and maybe it was, but now, Emmett knew what it cost her to wear it.
"How's it going, guys?" she asked. "Are you all done in here?"
Trip frowned. "We're far from done. He needs to stay overnight. The risk of concussion—"
Harper held her hands up defensively. "Hey, don't start on me. I agree with you." She turned to Emmett. "Don't tell me you're thinking about going home. If you're worried about the girls, I can go and stay with them."
He smiled. "It's not the girls. I know they're fine. They're with Cash. It's me. I don't do well in hospitals. I'm going home."
"No, you're not," said Trip. "You don't mess around with a concussion, Emmett. You know this. You need someone to wake you up every couple of hours."
"Never used to bother you back in the day," said Blane. "We all had a concussion at one time or another—don’t remember you ordering anyone sent home."
"Because we were on active duty, asshole. And we all had each other’s backs—it was no big deal to check on whoever had taken a knock to the head every couple of hours when we were all right there in the same shithole or cave or wherever we were.
This is different. There are nurses who can…
" He turned back to Emmett. "Do you really want to put that kind of stress on the girls? "
Emmett scowled at him, and Trip cringed. "Sorry. That was a low blow. I didn't mean it."
"I know you didn’t, but you're right—it was low. You know better than that."
"Sorry, bud."
"All good. But I'm going home, no matter what," said Emmett. His head was pounding, every muscle in his body ached, the hole in his shoulder throbbed, and all of that paled in comparison to the pain from his cracked ribs.
Trip's shoulders sagged. "Okay, you're going home. I know that when you decide to be stubborn, there's no point in arguing, so I won't argue. But I have a condition."
"What's that?"
"You can go home on the condition that you have someone there with you."
Blane took a step forward. "He'll have someone there with him; I'll be there."
Emmett's gaze slid toward Harper. She'd been about to speak too, and he thought, or at least hoped, that he knew what she'd been about to say.
Blane folded his arms again and stepped back.
Trip raised his eyebrows. "So, is that it? Are we settled? You're going home, and Blane's going with you?"
Emmett shook his head slowly.
"What then?" asked Trip. "You gonna see sense and stay here?"
"No." He looked from Blane to Harper, and back again. "I appreciate the offer, bud. I really do. But Harper's a way better cook than you are."
Blane nodded sharply. "That's fine by me." He turned to Harper. "You'll take my number. If you need backup, I'm fifteen minutes away."
Emmett exchanged a small smile with Trip when Harper stepped forward to touch Blane's arm.
"Thanks, I'd appreciate that," she told him. "But what do you think, should we both go?"
Blane's gaze darted toward Emmett, before returning to Harper. "Not necessary. If you need me, call me—I’ll be there in less than ten minutes. We can figure out the details when we get there anyway."
Emmett smiled—he knew what was coming.
"As soon as Trip says we can go, I’m driving us to Emmett’s place," Blane continued.
"But…" Harper began.
"I’ll have your truck there waiting for you by morning," Blane interrupted.
Trip gave her a wry smile. "Try arguing with him if you want—you won’t have any more success than I did. And besides, you—" he told Emmett "—aren’t going anywhere until Deacon’s been to see you anyway."