Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Daisy
If it weren’t for the headache intensified by the awful overhead fluorescent lights, I would say it feels like I’m floating outside of my body. But there is too much pain keeping me grounded to the earth.
I have no idea what happened. One minute I was walking down the trail with Wesley, and the next I was waking up to a stranger holding my hand.
Everything hurt.
My vision was blurry.
Nothing came into focus until Owen’s face materialized. I’m not sure how or why he was there, but everything calmed once his hand slid into mine. When they closed the ambulance doors and he disappeared, I thought I must have imagined him. But he was waiting for me at the ER when I arrived.
He stayed by my side while they took blood and checked my vitals.
Once they were sure my condition was stable, the nursing staff wheeled me away for imaging.
As great as it’s been to have him here, he’s been oddly quiet.
He’s spoken soft, reassuring words, only letting go of my hand when the nurses require it, but there is a coldness to his tone when he speaks to anyone other than me. Like he’s mad at the world.
As angry as he may be, he’s still here, still in his uniform, offering me a small, forced smile every time our eyes meet.
The nurse wheels me out of the X-ray room and when he notices me, he bolts out of his plastic chair and joins me for the walk back to my ER room.
“You stalking me, Swift?” I say to lighten the mood when the nurse pulls the curtain closed around us.
“Gotta take care of my baby mama,” he replies with a wink.
“That reminds me. Who is taking care of our daughter if we’re both here?”
“She’s fine. She’s in her crate.”
I should tell him he doesn’t have to stay, but I don’t.
I want him here.
Only him.
“How’s your head feeling?” the nurse, who’s been pretending not to listen to our conversation, cuts in.
“It hurts. The lights aren’t helping.”
She hands me two small paper cups. One with two pills and the other with water. “Here’s some acetaminophen. It should take the edge off.”
She watches me down the pills and after checking my vitals, leaves, saying the doctor will be in with my results shortly.
As soon as she’s gone, Owen takes a seat on the edge of the bed. “Daisy, please let me call someone. Cal will have my head if I don’t let the family know.”
“No.”
“Give me more than that.”
“No, you cannot call anyone.”
“Even with a concussion, you’re still a smart ass.”
“Takes one to know one.”
“Now you're acting like a ten-year-old.”
I stick my tongue out, proving his point.
“Daisy, tell me why.”
It kills me to admit the truth because it will only make me sound like a child. But this is Owen, and he’s never judged me a day in his life. If I can trust anyone, it’s him.
I lock my gaze on his. His sapphire eyes cast a spell over me like they so often do. “Because I don’t want them to be right,” I confess.
“More, please.”
“You know. Stranger danger and all that. Everyone knew this date was a bad idea. I didn’t listen.”
“I’m not sure your pride is a good enough reason, sweetheart.”
God, every time he calls me that, I have a physical reaction.
Even in the state I’m in, his voice distracts me.
Thoughts of him ordering me to come during our stolen night at Oktoberfest play in my scrambled brain.
Only the feel of his calloused fingers squeezing mine brings me back from my naughty thoughts.
“What?” I ask, unable to remember what he said before he called me sweetheart.
“C’mon. You’re seriously injured. Your family would want to know. Would want to be here. Your pride can’t be the reason your brother murders me.”
I wince when I throw my head against my wimpy hospital pillow for emphasis, instantly regretting the move.
“See, you’ve got a knot on the back of your head on top of what is at the very least a concussion, and your ankle is jacked up.”
“We don’t know I have a concussion and my ankle isn’t broken. But if they saw me covered in these scratches and bruises, they would freak out. I don’t have the energy to deal with that right now. You know?”
His eyes soften, but he doesn’t reply. He’s worried that it’s more than a concussion.
He’s seen it all with his job, he knows the signs.
Before they took me back to imaging, I heard him out by the nurses' station talking to the doctor. He wanted to make sure the scans would catch a brain bleed or swelling. He’s fearing the worst. The more I take him in, the more I can see he’s scared to death right now.
Oh, this man and his great big heart.
“Besides, our moms left for their cruise this morning and will be gone for the next week. Mom hasn’t been on a trip in years. Why ruin it? Let her enjoy herself. When they get back, I’ll fill her in.”
He opens his mouth to speak, but Dr. Brown pulls back the curtain, interrupting his protests. Instead, he stands to face the doctor, his hand never leaving mine.
“Hello again, Miss McKinnon. We’ve got your results back, and it seems you are a very lucky woman.”
Owen’s body sags with relief.
“We didn’t find any swelling or bleeding. Considering the distance you fell and the impact you took to the back of the head, this is somewhat of a miracle. I think your overpacked backpack might have saved you.”
“It was Wesley’s. He asked me to carry it for him so he could climb.”
“Well, the weight of it certainly didn’t help, but I think it protected your back from any actual damage.”
Owen’s grip tightens. His face turns red, his jaw clenching.
Isn’t this good news?
Why is he so angry?
“Your ankle also isn’t serious. Painful, but not serious.
You’ve got a peroneal tendon tear or subluxation.
This means the tendon has torn from the bone.
But I don’t think surgery will be necessary.
We are going to send you home in a boot to stabilize things, and I’ll give you a referral to a specialist you can follow up with. ”
“And how should we treat the concussion?” Owen asks.
We. He asks like we were a couple.
“Both the ankle and her head injury simply need rest.” The doctor looks from Owen to me. “We need to keep you off your feet. Your concussion and ankle aside, the cuts and bruises are extensive. The true discomfort is likely a day or two away. Rest is important.”
Owen chuckles next to me. “Good luck, doc.”
“For how long? I have a business to run.”
“The concussion could take anywhere from a few days to a few weeks to recover from. There is no set time frame,” Dr. Brown answers.
“Every head injury heals differently. Let’s plan for a minimum of four to five days of rest. Try to stay away from too much electronic stimulation like TV or handheld devices. ”
Owen squeezes my hand, his train of thought going to the same place as mine. All we hear is no vibrators. We’re like a couple of idiot teenagers.
“Do you have a partner or a family member who can stay with you?”
“She’ll be staying with me,” the deep voice next to me says without a second thought.
What’s that now?
“I’ll be fine on my own.”
“I’m sorry, but if you don’t have someone to stay with, we’ll have to keep you here.”
“No worries, doc. She’ll stay with me and our daughter.” I look up at him, wondering if the doctor has it wrong and a grade two concussion is an inaccurate diagnosis.
Owen looks at me with no hint of humor on his face.
The doctor seems confused. I’m sure he’s seen some interesting things in his day, so he doesn’t comment. I think I’m more surprised by Owen’s statement than anyone.
“Okay, then. We’ll have your boot ready shortly, and we’ll keep you here for a few hours to make sure nothing changes. If things look stable, we should have you on your way home this evening.”
“Thank you,” I say, still dumbstruck by Owen.
Once we’re alone, he strokes my head gently.
Watching me. His fear is gone, replaced by something else I don’t have a name for.
The way he slides my hair from my face is so tender.
So sincere. My insides tremble at the implications of what a touch like this means.
I have no idea what to do with the feelings it evokes as that four-letter word sneaks its way back into my thoughts.
Softness lingers in his eyes, but a sense of purpose takes over as he speaks and breaks the spell.
“Listen, I have to drive my patrol car back to the department and get my truck. If you’re okay, I’ll stop by your place and get some of your things.
” He pulls out his phone. “Tell me what you need, and I’ll grab it. ”
I don’t argue with him. Instead, I give him a list that includes some clothes, my skin care routine, computer, and paperwork.
He grumbles about the work items, but I know they’ll be waiting for me once I bust out of here.
He repeats my list back to me and slips his phone into the pouch on his vest made just for the device.
“Try to behave while I’m gone and don’t hurt that beautiful brain of yours.
Give another thought to calling your family or one of the girls.
They’re gonna be pissed when they find out you chose not to call them.
” He places a tender kiss on my forehead.
“I won’t be long, but if you need anything, call me.
I’ll always come running for you,” he confesses.
His breath caresses my skin, when he brushes one more press of his lips against my forehead.
And just like that, he’s gone. Leaving me to drown in his sweet words and gentle touches. I may have made it through my fall, but I’m not sure I’ll make it through five days alone with Owen unscathed.