Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 111685 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111685 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
“I know you’re probably in a lot of pain, but we’ll get you handled and taken care of real quick.”
He looked at the nurse who was stringing something up, and she reached for a tube going into my arm, switching it out.
No, no, no. I knew what that was, and I started shaking my head, but my God. It hurt so bad. Everything hurt.
“No!”
Stone looked at me, his hand grasping the nurse’s in the next flash.
She froze from his quickness.
I did, too, but then I said with my lips hurting and my mouth feeling just weird. “No morphine.”
The nurse’s eyes enlarged. “But you must be in so much pain.”
“No.” It hurt to talk. “Morphine.”
“But—”
Stone let out a roar. “She said no fucking morphine. No fucking morphine.” Then, casting me an apologetic look, he quieted his voice, “She doesn’t usually drink or do drugs. She hates not feeling clearheaded.”
I did.
I gave him a questioning look because I didn’t think anyone knew that about me. I never drank or partied in school, or got high, and living where we did, so many went that route out of boredom. It was either that or trying to half kill yourself doing stupid stunts like Peter Mills who climbed the top of a crane to hide a flag for flag football and fell.
He didn’t survive.
People did stupid things where we grew up, and I had, too, with Stone when we were kids, but that all stopped.
“Sandy.” From the doctor. He seemed resigned. “If that’s Miss Phillips’ wish, then we need to adhere to it.”
She let go of the tubing and took the new morphine bag with its stand and wheeled it out of the room as the doctor came forward. A grave look in his eyes, and I knew what that was about. I was trying not to flinch, trying not to feel, but the pain was slipping in through the numb shell I pulled over me. Still. I’d deal.
I’d have to.
“Miss Phillips, do you remember what happened to you?”
I couldn’t speak, but my eyes went to Stone, and with a heaviness in his, he answered for me. “She remembers.” He told me, “You backed up and a moving truck hit you. Your car was totaled. The truck just had scrapes. I’ve taken care of that, though.”
My car.
“Your head hit your dashboard pretty hard, and we had to put you in a medically induced coma. We needed to gauge your injuries and determine if there’d be swelling on your brain. When the results came back with positive findings this morning, we decided to bring you out of the coma. And now that you’re awake, I need to conduct a few more exams. Are you up for that?”
No.
I nodded, just the slightest movement.
“You’ll be able to speak again by tomorrow. We needed to intubate you for the coma, just in case. Other than the hard hit to your head, you came out of the accident without any big injuries. No broken bones, but your body is still healing from the trauma. You will be in pain for a few days.”
Checking my pupils. My vitals. The doctor left, saying he’d return to discuss departure plans with me about going home from the hospital. He glanced in Stone’s direction as he added, “You will need to go somewhere that you can be cared for. One more person will need to be there, and we can’t allow you to drive yourself home.”
Stone cleared his throat, looking up from where he’d been standing, his arms folded over his chest. “She’ll stay with me. I’ll drive her there.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but no sound came out as Stone sent me a withering look. “All your shit’s already been moved.”
Well. That shut me up.
“There you go. Problem solved.” The doctor touched my foot, a reassuring smile on his face. “Rest, Dusty. Your body needs to heal. One day at a time right now.”
He gave Stone a nod before leaving, pulling the door shut behind him.
Then it was just me and Stone, and his hands went up to his head. He let out a sharp breath. “Fucking hell!” Bending over, touching his elbows to his knees, he swiftly jerked back up, his hands falling, and a stark look was there.
Anger. Frustration. Pity. A whole mix of other things, but he was shaking his head. “Jesus Christ, Dusty. You know how the last few days have been?”
Anger sliced through my chest, and since I couldn’t speak, I mouthed at him, “Fuck. Off.”
He read it, and then his lip twitched before a full laugh left him. “Shit. There you are. Still fucking fighting while you’re literally bed-ridden. I have no clue why I’ve stayed away.” His tone turned mocking, a hardness lining his words, and I felt slapped by his words, but also comforted because that felt like familiar ground for us.