Chapter Twelve #2
I pretended to hem and haw it.
“Charlotte would be good company.”
“Good. It’s settled,” Christopher said, like he was afraid I might change my mind.
“I’ll send someone to pack you a bag,” Brio said, reaching for his phone. “And Tuna,” he added as the dog in question walked into the room, sniffed, then turned around and left.
“What do—” Brio started, but then there was a clap, making us all jump to find Salvatore standing in the doorway.
“Heya, sweetheart,” he greeted me with a smile that crinkled the skin around his eyes. “Hear you fucked up your foot.”
“Or ankle. Or both. It just feels like one big ache. Emphasis on big,” I said, lifting up my pant leg.
“I’m gonna go grab you that coffee,” Christopher said.
“I’m gonna take Tuna for a walk,” Brio said, following Christopher out.
“I’m gonna… be somewhere else,” Venezio said.
Alone with Salvatore, I answered his questions as he poked, prodded, and manipulated my foot and ankle before declaring I needed an x-ray. Which he had. I knew because Ant had just broken his wrist, and they figured it out by taking him to Salvatore.
Luckily, by the time I was rolled there in a wheelchair, I had a few long swigs of coffee in me, and felt like I could think clearly again. Though my stomach was growling loud enough for everyone to hear as I was rolled past the waiting room after my scan.
I’d just gotten back on the table when the door flew open, and something was chucked through the air at me. Catching it on instinct, I found a brownie protein bar in my hand.
“Stomach was growling,” Venezio said before turning and walking off.
“His bedside manner might leave a lot to be desired,” Salvatore said as he came in, “but he’s good at what he does.
Alright,” he said, stabbing the x-ray film into the light box.
“It looks like you lucked out. I don’t see a fracture.
Judging by the pain, swelling, and some bruising I’m seeing settle in, you have a Grade 2 sprain.
Which is a moderate, partial tear of the ligament. ”
“That’s not something I need a cast for, right?”
“No. A boot would be smart. You likely can walk on it, but it will hurt, and you might have a ‘giving out’ sensation. You’re usually going for RICE with this kind of injury.”
“Is the rice for eating? Using as a heating pad? Chucking at my enemies…”
Salvatore huffed out a laugh.
“Rest, ice, compression, elevation. Stay off it, ice it, put on compression socks, and try to keep it up above your heart as much as possible.”
“I can give that a try.”
“I trust Chris will keep you under control.”
“You underestimate me.”
Salvatore’s smile was genuine. “You’re probably right. But if you don’t take precautions, you could be looking at an eight-week recovery rather than four to six.”
Four to six?
Would I be living with Christopher and the kids for that long?
“You will likely be without the boot toward the end. And mostly mobile and able to go home. Take it from me, though, the more you stay off it, the faster you’ll heal. So don’t be a stubborn ass; let people take care of you.”
“My reputation really precedes me, huh?”
“Brio may have mentioned you a time or two when I’ve been stitching him up.
Now, I’m gonna give you a boot. I want you to use it at least for a week.
After that, trust yourself. If you try to walk and it feels really weak or hurts, go back in the boot.
If you feel alright, then keep the boot off.
Sometimes, this shit is real dramatic for a few days then kinda dies down.
But not always, so you’re gonna have to play it by ear. ”
“Got it. I can roll around on my chair at work.”
“It’s cute you think they’re gonna let you work.”
“They don’t let me do anything.”
To that, he raised a brow at me.
“Think you underestimate them. I’m just gonna grab a boot that will fit those baby feet of yours.”
“What’s the verdict?” Christopher asked as he came back in.
“A boot. At least for a week. Then I can see how I feel.”
“Not too bad then.”
“Salvatore thinks I’m not going to be allowed to work.”
“That’s probably true.”
“I have a job to do.” And an income I need to earn.
“You have a target on your back. If it’s really important to you to be open, Lorenzo might be willing to swing it with a few guards. And after you’ve taken a couple days off to heal.”
I could deal with that. It wasn’t like I was making a huge amount of money every day anyway. It was more important to be open over the weekend. I could force them to let that happen.
“Are the kids going to be okay with me staying at your place? That’s not too much? After… everything?”
“I think they’re gonna like the company. Especially Charlotte. Hope you don’t have big expectations for your room. I took the smallest one.”
“Of course you did.” His head tilted, brows pinching. “It’s just that kids have this whole world. All their junk they collect and hobbies. We have… work. And if we’re lucky, an hour or two to read a book or watch a show before bed. We don’t need the big rooms.”
“Yeah. I knew I’d have to hit work hard when we got back to the city, so it wasn’t a big deal to lose the space. Miss the primary closet, though. Half of Liam’s shit ends up on the floor anyway.”
“Alright, got the boot,” Salvatore said, coming into the room to slip it carefully on me. Then gave me a bottle of pain meds whose origins I chose not to ask about.
“How is it?” Christopher asked as I took a few tentative steps.
“It’s… sore. But I can—” I lost the rest of that sentence as I was swooped up into his arms.
“Ready to go home?”
It was just a turn of phrase.
It meant nothing.
Yet try telling that to my skipping heartbeat.