Page 60 of Boots & Scars

The doctor jerked back, clearly taken aback.

"Well?" Everly pressed. "You should say sorry to him."

"I'm not going to?—"

"Please," Everly interjected, her voice softer, but no less determined. "I understand you have a job to do. But you insulted my friend by thinking the worst of him. It's only right you acknowledge you were wrong."

"I don't want his apology," I said snidely, though my chest tightened at her words.

Everly glared at me, and my heart skipped a beat at the sight of it. How was it that something so awful happened to her, yet she remained unbroken?

"She's right, Mr. Sinclaire," Dr. Langley finally conceded. "I apologize."

Everly nodded once as if satisfied and turned back to face me. The fire in her eyes had not dimmed one bit. It was like she drew strength from the confrontation, as if every word spoken was a brick laid in rebuilding herself.

I swallowed hard and reached for her hand without thinking. She took it without hesitation.

Dr. Langley sighed and flipped through his paperwork again. "Let's get started."

His examination was thorough, almost methodical. He moved around the room, gathering instruments and making notes. Each time he touched Everly’s skin, I saw her flinch even though she tried to pretend it didn't bother her. It killed me inside, watching her go through this.

“All right, I need to check for any fractures,” Dr. Langley said, setting down his clipboard.

Everly nodded, her face pale but resolute. I squeezed her hand, hoping to transfer some of my strength to her.

“Lay back,” the doctor instructed.

Everly did as she was told, and I could see the effort it took for her to keep her composure. The doctor pressed gently on her ribs and limbs, checking for any signs of breaks or sprains. She winced a few times, but not once did she complain.

“You’re doing great, killer,” I whispered to her.

She gave me a small, tight-lipped smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

The doctor continued, moving on to check for bruising and swelling. He carefully lifted the edge of Everly’s shirt to examine her abdomen. The sight of the purple and blue marks made my blood boil. How could someone do this to her?

“Does this hurt?” Dr. Langley asked as he pressed on a particularly nasty-looking bruise.

Everly sucked in a breath through her teeth but shook her head. “Not too much.”

“Liar,” I muttered under my breath.

She shot me a look that was both grateful and annoyed. It was so typically Everly—always trying to downplay her own pain.

The examination dragged on, each minute feeling like an eternity. The doctor checked her head and neck last, making sure there were no signs of a concussion or whiplash. Then, he turned his attention to her pelvis. He was methodical, almost detached, as he examined her. I watched her face, saw the tear slip down her cheek, and her chin tremble. It tore me apart.

I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms. Thoughts of Zach filled my mind. The anger swelled inside me, and I began to plan.

Slow.

Painful.

He’d pay for this.

Dr. Langley straightened up and jotted something down on his clipboard.

“There’s some damage,” he said flatly. “I’ll prescribe painkillers.”

Everly’s eyes widened. “Damage?”

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