Chapter 12
Dane
Firefighters are supposed to fight fires.
It’s right in the job description. Fight fires. Firefighter.
Nowhere in that career outline does it say your commander yanks you from duty when the city is aflame to receive emergency medical care.
Nor does it state the said firefighter is to be rushed to the nearest hospital for ABC—airway, breathing, and circulation—care, burn care, CT scans, X-rays for any internal injuries like blast lung, bleeding, or tympanic ruptures.
To say Tim and I were pissy about being sent off-site when there was a massive fire to extinguish was putting it mildly.
And if I could have yelled without my head exploding with the mere vibrations of speech, I would have shouted at whoever would listen.
Pitifully, I was too wobbly to protest much. Also, the need to puke combined with the ringing in my left ear prevented me from climbing out of the back of the ambulance to rejoin my brothers and sisters. That and the glower from Sully when I tried to spout off.
“Go. Now.” He barked with a look that said, “I do not have time for this shit, Rourke,” so I went quietly into the night.
Or morning. Or afternoon. I kind of lost track of time as I rode along with a pair of very nice paramedics who were doing their very best for Tim and me.
I kept dozing off on the ride. The oxygen mask they made me wear was annoying, but even a chump like me knew it was SOP for a firefighter injured on site.
I glanced over at Tim, then at the ceiling, wincing at the bright lights, then closed my eyes and drifted away once more.
Once we arrived at Genesee, we were whisked into the ED, where I was hoping to see Dr. Robby, aka Noah Wyle, come in to massage my sore shoulder, but alas, I was tended to by a team of doctors who were not famous Hollywood actors.
One could have been. He wasn’t as cute as Chip, of course, but few men were.
Shit. Chip. My brother. My phone. It was still on the engine. Fuck.
“Someone has to call my brother,” I coughed out before a different mask was slapped on my face and clean, pure oxygen was fed in.
I’d not inhaled any of the toxic fumes that I was aware of.
But given how flimsy my grasp of things was right now, maybe I had?
“My head hurts,” I told a nurse who said something about a grapefruit?
No, that wasn’t right. “I think I have a brain bleed. Did you just call me a grapefruit?”
“Rest,” she said. She was nice, so I did as she asked.
I woke up several more times during the rides to the CT room and X-ray. I’d lost track of Tim. I asked about the fire, but no one had anything to report. They just kept telling me to rest as they lowered the lights in whatever room they wheeled me into.
After a dozen tests, I was finally wheeled upstairs into a room with muted lights, thank all the gods.
Another nurse entered, checked me out to her satisfaction with pupil checks that sucked, questions that made me ache to answer, and finally some meds for the nausea and the headache.
The nice, not Noah Wyle, doctor had told me I had a concussion sometime in the past days, weeks, hours.
Time was wibbly wobbly to quote a famous Time Lord.
“I need to call my brother,” I said for the tenth or fortieth time. “Did Sully call my brother?”
“I’m sure he did. Now rest. The best thing for a concussion is to rest the brain so it can heal and repair the damaged cells.”
“Right. Sure. Really? I thought you weren’t supposed to sleep with a concussion.”
“No, that’s outdated. We now advise rest and will monitor your sleep for any red-flag symptoms. We’ll get you back to your family soon, Dane.”
“Okay. I need to talk to my brother. He has to tell Mom I’m okay. She’ll freak out. My dad died in a fire. Oh, and Chip. Chip will be worried. I don’t want him to stim over me.”
She might have replied. I’d sort of slipped off into another nap that lasted for who knows how long.
Coming awake to soft conversation to my left, I blinked an eye open to see my mother and brother seated beside my bed.
Mom looked as if she had been fed through a wringer.
Devon was a bit better, but still tense.
“Hey,” I said, making them both exhale as if they’d been holding their breath for a few decades.
Mom came to the bed to grab my hand. Her eyes were red. No shit—I’d made my mother cry. “I’m okay.”
“You’re not. You have a concussion.” She argued while her hands gripped mine tightly. “They said you got blown into a doorway.”
“Meh. My head is harder than any brick,” I tried to joke, but through the oxygen mask, the pun fell flat. Mom frowned. Devon rolled his eyes. “Chip. He’s waiting for me to return a text.”
“Chip from dinner with Eli?” Mom asked.
“What’s his number? I’ll call him for you,” Devon said. It took me a moment to dredge up his number and recite it. Shit, my brain really was scrambled. The mask was uncomfortable while talking, so I took it off. Mom scowled and repeated her question.
“Dane, for goodness' sake?” She did her best to get the mask back on my face, but I fought her off like a toddler trying to avoid their mom trying to wipe their nose. “Stop being a brat.”
Yep, full brat mode was activated. I stopped. The nurse came in to scold me about the mask. They thought I needed to wear it. I thought I didn’t. Finally, my mother and the nurse gave up. Ha. Battle won. Shit, my head hurts.
“Are things progressing with Chip?” Mom asked when things quieted down, and I had a sip of water. Devon was out in the hall making the call to my… well, I guess he was my sig other. Which was nice.
“We’ve been seeing each other,” I confessed. It made me feel lighter to tell someone. It did not help with my headache.
“Oh, that’s lovely. And your brother knew about this?” Mom tucked the blanket up near my chin. Shit.
“Only because he broke in to borrow pimentos.” She seemed confused. “I’m going to close my eyes now.”
“Rest, baby. We’ll be here when you wake up.”
“Okay, Mom, thanks.”
That was it until something wet and warm ran over the tips of my fingers.
Waking sometime later, my head still hurt, but not as gruesomely.
Forcing my eyes open, I saw Chip and Sable on the right-hand side of my bed, Mom on the left, and Devon nowhere to be seen.
Sable was gently licking my fingers. Chip looked washed out, his hand flexing on the lead for Sable in time with the heart monitor they still had me hooked up to.
“Hi,” I said to Chip then glanced at my mother. “Mom. Hey. Why don’t you go home? Chip is here now.”
Chip was doing a very good impression of a statue beside me, his green eyes wide as he rocked ever-so-slightly back and forth.
“I will, but I wanted to let you know Tim is going to be fine. Seems like you took the brunt of the blast.” She cleared her throat. “Just like your father. Always putting the lives of others before your own.”
“Mom,” I whispered as she swiped at a stray tear. She made an embarrassed cough-laugh sound while dashing at that lone tear.
“I’m fine. Just a little overwhelmed. I’m going to go home now and leave you two to visit. Chip, it was so nice to see you again. Dane, rest.”
“I will, Mom. Love you.” She kissed my cheek, gave Chip a soft smile, and gathered her coat and purse.
She blew me a kiss before slipping out of my room, leaving me and a highly anxious Chip.
“Sit here.” I patted the bed. He shook his head.
“It’s okay. I promise. Having you sit beside me will make me feel better, just like having Sable lean into your leg eases your upset.
” He sat. Just. Right on the edge of the mattress, Sable tight to his thigh, her head on his lap.
“This side is better. My left ear is still ringing a bit.”
“They said you have a concussion and some lingering auditory damage in the left ear.”
“Sounds about right.” My stomach growled.
Sable’s one ear perked up. “Silly gut. I was ready to vomit for hours, and now it wants a burrito.” Chip caught his lip between his teeth.
“Hey.” Jade eyes rose from my stomach to my face.
“I’ll be fine. Just a knock on the head.
Can you tell me if there’s any news about the fire and the explosion?
There were people above us, in apartments and offices.
Two men with wrenches who were… I don’t know what they were doing?
Plumbing work? What’s the status? I don’t have my phone, so I feel out of touch with the world. ”
“I think the doctors would not want you to have your phone. Screens are not recommended for people with concussions. Data indicates limiting screen time after a traumatic brain injury in the first forty-eight hours is associated with a much faster recovery time. Rapid eye movement while reading on an LED screen can cause muscle strain in concussed patients such as yourself. It can trigger headaches and nausea. So, I would caution against using your phone for the next few days.”
“You’re amazing. Have I ever told you that?”
“Yes, many times. Sixteen in the last month.” He ran his hand over my forearm, being incredibly careful not to bump the IV needle in the back of my hand.
“When Devon called me, I was sitting in my car. I’d been in the maternity ward.
I wanted to come up straight away, but I got super stimmy, and I couldn’t speak very well because Devon said you were in an explosion.
I… there were things… on the news… I thought you were blown up. Bits of you. I just… hmmm.”
He began humming. Self-soothing. “I’m not in bits.
I’m good. Just a little banged up. I’ll be back on the job in a week or two.
” I wanted to touch him to reassure him, but he wouldn’t appreciate that right now.
So, I let him regulate as he rubbed my arm steadily.
Then my wonky brain caught up. “Wait. You were here? In maternity? Did your sister-in-law have her baby?”