Page 45 of Spark
“Mr. Rossi Ayala…” Dr. Phan enters, her attention so focused on the tablet she misses the tension in the room. “It looks like there are no surprises, which is good.” She looks up. “We’ll get you a brace for the knee and send you home with some pain meds. Follow up with your primary in the next day or two. The whiplash doesn’t appear to be severe, so I’ll send you home with some exercises and muscle relaxers. You’ll need to stay off the knee for two weeks.”
Mateo jolts up and grimaces with the sudden movement. “Two weeks? What about work?”
“What do you do for a living?” Dr. Phan scrutinizes the two of us as if just now picking up on the disquiet in the room.
“Construction. Remodels.” Mateo rubs his knee.
"And you bounce at Alter Ego," I add. Though the scowl Mateo is launching at me screams he does not find my input necessary. I jam my fists into my pockets to keep from ripping out my hair at the absurdity of his thought process right now.
“And I bounce,” he confirms.
Dr. Phan taps on her tablet. "Your discharge paperwork will state no going back to work for—" she stops and looks at Mateo, assessing. "Based on the physicality of your jobs and your age, I'm going to say three weeks."
Mateo drops his head back, letting out a beleaguered sigh. I refrain from doing a touchdown dance and high-fiving the doctor. I know this is a substantial financial blow to Mateo, but the relief that floods me is palpable. The once reddish bruise peering out from his gown is already taking on a bluish-purple hue. The well-rested, well-sexed glow he had this morning vanished, replaced by dark circles under red-rimmed eyes. Like the last leaves of autumn, my frustration flutters to the ground and crumbles.
"I'll take care of you," I say, hoping all I feel, all I want to do for him is somehow communicated.
Dr. Phan smiles. "Let him." She points to Mateo. "You have three weeks to be pampered. Enjoy it. The nurse will be in to go over your discharge paperwork soon."
He deflates, and his dispirited attempt at a grin looks more like a sneer than the good-humored expression I know he’s going for. “Thanks, Doc.”
“Come on.” I tug on the hem of the gown. “You change, and we’ll pick up a couple of hoagies on the way to my place. It will beat a soggy sandwich from here.”
He scrubs his face, then drops his hands to his sides like they’re lead weights. “What am I going to do?”
“You’re going to do as the doctor instructed and let me pamper you.”
“Finlay…”
“Let me do this for you.” We stare at each other. If the stubborn set of his jaw and the bulge of his folded biceps over his expansive chest weren’t so damn attractive—and if he hadn’t just suffered a head injury—I’d smack him upside the head. “Please.”
His features soften in reluctant acceptance. “I’d like nothing more.”
I hand him his shorts, chuckling as uncertainty and worry collapse, and relief fills their places. “Liar.”
He pulls his shirt over his head, concealing the purple and red splotches decorating his torso from view. “I’d never lie to you, Finlay.”
“Thank you.” I place my lips on his temple, wanting to take away all the wonderfully bull-headed man's worries. I just hope he’ll let me.
Chapter Twelve
Mateo
Workingwithmyinjuredleg propped on a stool is challenging, but I finish screwing in the new wall plate before my other leg grows tired from supporting my weight. "There. Goodbye, grungy cracked almond. Hello, glossy new white."
Two weeks into my time off from work, and aside from my sore knee, I feel like a brand-new person. For the first time in a year and a half, I’m well-rested. It’s amazing what adequate sleep and downtime can do. Now, all I need is for my body to finish healing and to get the all-clear from the doctor at the end of the week.
The chime of the doorbell startles me into dropping the screwdriver, and fear rushes through me at the realization I jerked my head at the sound of the bell. I’ve beenso carefulthese past two weeks to avoid sudden, sharp movements. I don’t need any setbacks with my neck.
I set the screwdriver in Finlay’s toolbox then hobble through the expansive rooms toward the front door. My leg immobilizer limits my range of motion, which slows me down considerably. Between that and the lingering pain, frustration is a ready emotion, but I’m trying to keep positive.
Using the tops of chairs as makeshift crutches, I propel myself the rest of the way to the front door. Through the window, I see Cameron, Hercules, and Olive standing outside. Opening the door, I breathe in the warmth of the June evening, perfumed by fresh cut grass and the smoky aroma of a neighbor’s barbeque, and smile wide. "Hey, I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight."
Grinning, Cam hefts a large cooler. Hercules is holding its twin. "We brought you more food."
"You don’t have to keep doing that." Stepping back, I wave them through then bend to accept Olive’s hug. "You brought so much last week."
"That was from the combined efforts of the rugby teams. This time, it’s from us. Where’s Finlay?"
