Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Beck
The second Asher and some tiny girl with jet black hair enter my hospital room, I jump down his throat with questions.
“What the hell happened, man?” I bark. Giving myself an instant headache with the tone of my voice.
“You might want to lower your voice so you don’t give yourself a migraine. The nurse told us to be quiet, asshat. Probably means you should keep your voice down too,” Asher voices, giving me shit right back.
“Why am I here?” I ask, irritated that so many cords and tubes are attached to me.
“You don’t remember?” Asher questions eyeing me suspiciously and then looking at the petite girl next to him.
“You aren’t going to introduce me to your friend?” I grit out, eyeing her suspiciously. “You have a girlfriend I don’t know about?”
“Hi, Beck…” the girl starts, her voice so soft and soothing. Almost familiar even.
“I’m Sloan. I’m friends with Sutton and Quinn. I’ve taken your self-defense class with them,” she says, her unique colored eyes tracing my face as if she knows me.
“Beck. Your fight with Kenzo King…” Asher begins.
“Fuck. Get me out of here! I need to get back to the gym to keep training. It’s in a few weeks. There’s no way that asshole is taking my belt,” I grind out.
Sloan and Asher share a look between each other before they both look at me solemnly.
“Beck…” he says, leaning against the windowsill as a doctor walks in.
“Good evening, Mr. Scott, I’m Dr. Hadley.
It’s good to finally see you awake. You had us worried there for a bit.
You sustained a pretty serious concussion.
You had lost consciousness for quite a while.
Thankfully you did not sustain any skull fractures or intracranial hemorrhage when we reviewed your CT scan,” he informs me.
“I’m sorry, what’s an intracranial hemorrhage? Layman’s terms, doc.” I try to make a joke.
“It just means you didn’t have a brain bleed or a fracture, Beck. That’s a good thing,” Sloan answers softly.
“Yes, what your friend said. Your scans are all okay. You were unconscious longer than we would’ve hoped. We watched the video of your injury and you were hit incredibly hard and very close to your temple,” he continues.
“What video? What injury? Did you swing too hard at me at practice, Ash?” I ask sarcastically, looking over at Asher, who looks weary now that I really look at him.
Dr. Hadley clears his throat, “In any case, we’re anticipating some short-term memory loss but it shouldn’t last for more than a few weeks.”
“Memory loss? What memory loss? My memory is fine!” I say appalled.
“Actually, Beck, man,” Asher utters, scratching the side of his head like he’s uncomfortable. “You already had your match against Kenzo and lost. And you…umm…don’t remember.”
“You also know me fairly well,” Sloan says so faintly I almost miss it.
“What? I lost to that fucker. He took my belt,” I growl and go to stand up, ripping at the tubing in my arm.
“Mr. Scott, please sit and calm yourself down,” Dr. Hadley instructs, trying to gently push me back down on the bed.
“Get your hands off of me!” I yell.
“Beck. Man, relax.” Ash grabs me by the arm and shoves me back down.
Dr. Hadley takes a step back and that’s when I notice Sloan is scrunched up against the furthest wall away from me in my room. She looks terrified as she begins to sit in a chair, wrapping her arms around her knees.
Is she scared of me?
“Sir, please take a breath. All of this commotion is not conducive for your healing. You sustained a pretty severe concussion, but it doesn’t appear there was any permanent damage.
However, with the location of your injury and the length of time you were unconscious there are some concerns.
You will need to rest for several weeks.
No heavy lifting. No fighting. No running.
Limit screen time and loud sounds,” the doctor states firmly.
A wave of nausea takes over me, and I vomit before I can respond.
Great.
Dr. Hadley jumps back to avoid getting sprayed. But I end up with vomit all over myself.
Walking into the bathroom, he comes back out with a cool washcloth, handing it to me, before continuing.
“Typically, we’d have you rest the first 48 hours.
It’s been 72, so you can get up and start doing some light walking.
If you go outside, please wear sunglasses.
The lights can trigger a migraine. The nausea and vomiting could persist for a few more days.
I do not recommend getting back in the gym and training for at least a month. ”
“A month! What the hell am I going to do for a month if I can’t go to the gym?” I bark at him.
“Beck, you can still teach the self-defense classes. You just can’t participate,” Sloan offers from the corner she’s still tucked away in.
“How am I supposed to teach if I can’t show you what to do?” I all but growl at her.
“You have us work with each other. You don’t have to exert yourself!” Sloan bites back.
“Will either of you make sure he follows up with a neurologist back in your hometown?” Dr. Hadley asks. “I imagine you won’t be staying in Vegas for a month.”
“We’re in Vegas?” I ask, turning and trying to look out the window. The second I turn my head another wave of nausea comes over me.
This time Sloan must notice I’m going to be sick because she’s running toward my bed and shoving a bedpan under my face as I projectile vomit into it.
“Thanks,” I grumble. Taking another fresh washcloth from her hand that appeared out of nowhere to wipe my face.
“You’d make a great nurse with those reflexes,” the doc points out and looks at Sloan smiling.
“Thank you, sir. I actually—” Sloan starts to say.
“Can I take a shower?” I ask Dr. Hadley, interrupting her.
“Please do. I am planning to discharge you tomorrow. Get some rest,” he says, pointing at me. “And please keep him in line,” Dr. Hadley directs Sloan.
“Yes, sir.” Sloan salutes him.
Asher chuckles and bumps shoulders with her.
“Prick,” I groan under my breath.
“Let’s get your stank ass in the shower.” Asher whistles.
“I will get myself in the shower, thanks.” I glare at him.
“There’s a great neurologist in Pittsburgh not far from the café. I will call and see if they can get you in to be seen in a few weeks,” Sloan offers.
“I don’t need to be seen, Little Bird…” I groan, getting myself up out of the bed and walking to the bathroom. I’m feeling a bit dizzy as I make my way to the sink.
“You remembered,” Sloan whispers, walking cautiously behind me.
“Remembered what?” I question, meeting her eyes in the mirror.
“Well…you usually call me, Little Dove, but that’s close.” Sloan smiles softly at me.
“It makes sense, you are so pint-size and fragile looking. Easily broken,” I scoff.
Sloan is in my face so fast. “Just because you’re hurting, Beckett, doesn’t give you a right to be a dick.”
And just as fast she came up beside me, she ends up walking out of the bathroom and slamming the door shut behind her.
“You really are a dick. Sloan flew all the way here to help you. Since we’ve met her, she’s tried staying in the shadows and she got on a plane for your ass.
Quit pushing people away with your shitty attitude,” Asher says through the door.
Then I hear the door to my hospital room open and close for the second time in just a few minutes.
I’m met with silence and my horrifying reflection in the mirror.
“Fuck!” I press my head against the cold mirror in the bathroom.
My face looks like hell. Bruises of all shades from purple to yellow litter the right side of my face and ear.
How the hell am I going to get through these next few months?
And why the hell isn’t Sutton here?