Page 43 of Back Room Host

“He fell down the stairs. I-I don’t know …”

I was about to lose it. Everything had been too much earlier, but now that I was responsible for Juri sitting here on the stairs, grimacing in pain, I was overwhelmed. Meanwhile, Ron examined Juri’s ankle, causing him to groan again.

“I’ll call an ambulance,” the security guy said, pulling out his phone.

“What? No!” Juri exclaimed in horror. “That’s way too expensive! Just call a damn Uber if you have to!”

“It needs to be X-rayed.”

“Oh fuck!”

“I’ll call an Uber,” I said, pulling out my phone. “Then we’ll go to the ER.” My hands shook as I opened the app. Ron put his phone away and focused on Juri’s wrist. “I’ll be right back. Just getting my jacket.”

Juri rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Where the hell am I supposed to go? I’m not running off!”

I quickly ran to the back office, grabbed my jacket, and returned. By now, most of the people were gone, but Clé and Sandro were now sitting with Juri on the stairs, and Ron was handing him his coat. The way Juri tucked his hand into the sleeve made his pain evident.

Fuck! Because of me!

“What did you do to him?” Clé demanded.

“Believe me, it was unintentional,” I explained apologetically. “Pure reflex action.”

“He can’t walk anymore!” Clé accused me angrily.

His tone set off all my alarm bells again, and my muscles tensed. “Do you think I wanted that? Fuck! I would undo it in a heartbeat if I could.”

Juri sat there, looking rather pale, while Sandro wiped the blood from his face with a damp napkin. The sight was like a stab in my chest, and I winced in disbelief.

Clé was sensible enough to accept it as an accident and calmed down again. “Are you going to the ER?”

“Yeah. The Uber is coming in three minutes.”

“Okay, then let’s make sure you get to the entrance,” Clé said to Juri, helping him up.

As I took Juri’s arm over my shoulder and supported him around the waist, I became aware of his body heat again. It hadn’t even been twenty minutes since he held me in his arms. He had managed to calm me down for a moment, but unfortunately, it hadn’t been enough. Not today.

With our assistance, Juri painstakingly navigated across the landing and descended the second flight of stairs toward the exit. His grip on my shoulder tightened, and he emitted groans of discomfort. His left foot bore no weight, necessitating almost full support from us as we carried him along.

The driver was already waiting for us and stepped out as he spotted us approaching his car—he was well aware of our destination and connected the dots. With a friendly gesture, he opened the door and assisted Juri in settling into the seat.

“Keep us posted!” Clé said as I walked around the car and sat down next to Juri in the back seat.

Juri nodded, then his friend closed the door, and we drove off.

“I’m sorry. Really. Please, tell me you understand that. I need to hear it,” I pleaded.

Juri just grumbled, almost bringing tears to my eyes. That was all he said, fueling my fear that he might have even suffered a concussion.

When we finally arrived at the emergency room, I requested a wheelchair from the receptionist. Of course, it didn’t surprise me that Juri initially refused to sit in that thing. But the driver had to leave immediately, and as long as we didn’t know the extent of Juri’s injuries, I didn’t want to carry him on my back, so I pushed him inside to the reception desk. When the woman there handed us a form, Juri shook his head irritably.

“What?” I asked, alarmed. “Do you need help?”

He held up his injured left hand. “I’m left-handed.”

I took the form and the pen and helped Juri fill it out, then returned it.

“We wouldn’t be sitting here if the ambulance had picked you up,” I said, nervously checking the time again and again.

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