Page 43 of Spark
The doctor nods, managing to combine professional efficiency and empathy seamlessly. "May I?" She points to Mateo's hospital gown, and he opens it for her to view his bruises. She examines his knee, and he winces with every touch. "I'd like to get some scans, so we know what we're dealing with, but it looks like you may have a slight concussion, whiplash, and some water on the knee. It doesn't look like there are any broken ribs." She makes a note on her tablet then turns her attention to me. "You'll be here for a while."
“That’s fine.” I don’t care how long we’ll be here. If Mateo has to stay overnight, I’ll be with him.
A few more taps on her tablet, and Dr. Phan says, "Okay. I’ll have the nurse bring you something for the pain. Someone else will bring you to x-ray. Once I receive the results, I’ll be back.”
“Thanks, doctor.” Mateo lifts his hand. Dr. Phan exits, her ponytail bobbing.
I sag into the plastic chair. Whiplash, a concussion, and water on the knee—whatever that is—he could have been paralyzed or—
"Are you okay?" Even laced with the strain of pain, his voice is as rich and inviting as a snifter of cognac after a tedious day.
I grunt a humorless laugh. “I think I’m the one who’s supposed to be asking that, not you.”
He leans back and closes his eyes.
“Don’t fall asleep.” Jumping from my seat, I brush his forearm.
“I’m fine. Just resting my eyes.” He opens one. “How long do you think we’ll be here?”
I look at my watch wondering if I’ll be able to talk him into staying with me for a few days once he’s released. “I guess it depends on how busy they are.”
The eye closes, and he sighs. “I have to be at the club by seven.”
“Are you nuts? There is no way you’re working tonight.”
“As long as they give me something for the pain, I’ll be fine.” Every word he says brings another wince.
My mouth flaps and flutters, but there are no words. I don’t know who he thinks he’s fooling. I’m standing right here. I can see the level of pain he's in. I can see how even the slightest movement is implemented with precision and thought to ensure the least amount of discomfort. And he’s going to risk his health to work an eight-hour shift at some club? “You can’t—”
“Mr. Rossi Ayala?” An orderly rolls a wheelchair in. “Ready to go for a spin?”
Mateo sits up and wobbles. I scurry to steady him. He smiles weakly, and I assist the orderly with getting him into the wheelchair.
“They haven’t brought him anything for the pain yet,” I say.
The orderly places a blanket over Mateo's legs. "Sometimes, it can take a bit. They’ll have it for him by the time we get back. You may want to grab a coffee or something to eat while we’re gone.”
“I will. Thanks.” I lift my hand as I watch while the man who looks young enough to still be in high school wheels away the man who is quickly becoming the nucleus of my world, the two of them joking and laughing. With hands quaking, I pull my phone from my back pocket and text Cam as I weave my way to the waiting area. Mateo was the one who was hit, but every muscle, every bone in my body feels like I’ve been run over by a SEPTA bus. Then backed up over and parked on.
"Hey." All of Cam's concerns are communicated in the one word. My brother can act like a numbskull, but other than Aileene, there’s no one I trust more. And knowing he’s here for Mateo, and for me, has me blinking back a blurry sting.
Then, I notice Hercules and two guys from the under thirty team. The long, lean guy with the hot pink hair and tattoos is consoling the guy who looks a lot like the zoo dude from Olive’s birthday party. Watching the game, I knew he looked familiar but couldn’t place him. And now I’m having a hard time reconciling that this is the man who tackled Mateo hard enough to cause whiplash, with the man who was so gentle with animals and children, he'd make Mary Poppins look like a ruffian. All of them are still in their shorts and rugby shirts, grass stains on their knees, and sweat streaks of dirt all over.
"How is he?" Cam asks.
“The doctor sent him for some scans. I’m going to get some coffee.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and nod in what I think is the direction of the cafeteria. The stress of the day is catching up with me and coffee is the best distraction I’m going to get in this place.
Cam claps me on the back but keeps his arm around my shoulders. “Let’s go.”
As we follow the signs to the cafeteria, Cam introduces me to Apollo—whoisthe zoo guy—and Aspen.
“I’m sorry,” Apollo says, his voice barely audible above the intermittent announcements over the loudspeaker and the hurried steps of the visitors and workers. Head bent, his unruly mass of hair hangs in front of his face. The guy looks almost as bad as Mateo. Herc keeps glancing at Apollo, a worried set to his mouth. He brushes his hand along Apollo's wrist, but the larger man is sloshing in his guilt too much to notice.
Aspen pats Apollo’s shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault any more than it was mine.”
“I shouldn’t play,” Apollo says to the glossy linoleum floors.
“Your enthusiasm is a good thing.” Anyone who’s unintentionally caused harm to another person doesn’t want to hearit will be okay. But Cam’s ability to comfort while encouraging is one of the qualities I admire about my baby brother.
