Like a zombie in a cheesy film, Alex began the slow drag home, making it half a block before Josie buzzed around him again, nattering on about the ER.
“You are the worst patient!” she said, nearly bursting into tears. Something in her voice broke, though she didn’t actually cry. She didn’t have to. He understood emotional pain all too well.
Oh, f**k.
Darla came running outside, a red and black thing that loosely resembled a skateboard in her hands. “Here!”
“Darla, that’s a ripstick,” Trevor said, laughing.
“It’s a skateboard!”
“No, it’s not,” Joe added. “It’s two diamonds with wheels, connected in the center. He’d be on his ass in three seconds if he tried to roll down the block on a ripstick.”
“Shit,” Darla said, staring at it. “Now there are different kinds of skateboards? How am I supposed to know this?”
“Did your mom win you a Segway? Because that could help,” Joe asked.
Josie waved them off. “You guys go back to…whatever you were doing. I’ll take care of Alex.” They complied, Trevor saying something that made Darla burst into giggles.
“You will?” Alex asked, starting to pant from pain and exertion. How could he go from barreling along at a fast clip to this? Being out of breath from a snail’s pace? Pain radiated through his hip and his shoulder ached. The wound on his face was crying, blood coagulating, and the throb of a new gash set in.
“If you’re too stupid to get to an ER, then you leave me no choice, dumbass.”
“Hey! Watch the name-calling. I’m not dumb.”
“Okay, asshat.”
“Much better.”
Lurch. Pause. Lurch. Pause. He couldn’t lean on her—she’d snap in two. A few parked cars gave him relief, a place to pause. Regretting the move to dismiss Trevor, he forced himself to keep going. Once he was sequestered in his own little apartment he would be able to get some mastery over this mess.
“You are the most stubborn jackass I have ever met.”
“I consider that a compliment, coming from you. Where do you hide your Olympic gold medal in obstinance, Josie?”
“With my sex toys.”
“So you can view it daily?”
“Hey!” she barked. “That’s low.”
“But true.”
“Okay. True, but low. It’s not my fault the only form of affection I get these days comes from molded BPA-free plastic.”
“It’s my fault?” At his driveway, he could see the end of this torture. The pain part.
“It just is, Alex. Like your wound. And it needs to be dealt with.”
“You can’t fix my gash with a sex toy.”
She laughed. “I might be stubborn enough to try.”
“See? You beat me there. You’re the Stubborn Champion.”
“Right now I want to be the nurse who convinces you to get proper care.” Her voice was weary, filled with sadness. She lent him a hand as he bobbled to his door.
He felt his pockets for his keys. Shit. No keys. Phone? No phone.
“I lost my—”
Trevor appeared suddenly, both in hand. “Here!” he said, breathing hard. “Darla found them on the sidewalk. Had me run them over.”
Grateful, Alex took the keys, while Josie reached for the phone. Opening his door, he hobbled in, opened the apartment door, and collapsed on the couch.
Josie fished around in his fridge and came back with an ice pack and a glass of water. “Nice ice wrap,” she said as she handed it to Alex, who carefully slid his arm through the wrap’s hole. The wraparound shoulder ice pack had come in handy over the years with rotator cuff injuries. Boy, was he glad it had been in the freezer. The cold gave him instant relief.
“What about your ass?” Josie asked.
“What about it? Do you like it? I embedded gravel and added a few red scrapes to it just for you.”
Sighing, Josie went back to the freezer and found a package of peas. “You’re a regular Tim Gunn of road rash, Alex. Sit on this,” she commanded.
Positioning the bag on his hip and ass, he had to admit that the cold packs made a huge difference in his comfort level. Internally, discomfort and anxiety were through the roof, because now that the crisis was over, he had to figure out what to do with Josie. Was she here out of professional courtesy? Because she really cared about him? Was there a chance to reconcile?
Or what?
Pressing the glass of his phone, Josie made a series of puzzled faces. “Aha!” she finally said.
“What are you doing?” His head throbbed, and he was emotionally and physically wiped.
“Under ‘Contacts’—Mom.”
He opened his eyes and sat up. “You wouldn’t!”
“I’ll call her if you don’t go to an ER and get care.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Look. I just need to clean it, apply Lidocaine, and do my own stitching.”
“What’s her name again? Oh. That’s right. Meribeth. Is it Dr. Derjian, or does she have a different last name?”
Groaning, he forced himself to stand, limping into the bathroom while clutching the frozen peas to his ass cheek. “I can’t hear you!”
“But your mom can.”
Slam! He looked at himself in the mirror. Gah! World War Z makeup artists couldn’t have done better. If medicine didn’t work out for him, he could get a job as an extra on the set of The Walking Dead. Road rash on his ass and one calf. The gash on his face. Probably the shoulder was just from the force of the fall, and his hip—time would tell. If it were too bad he couldn’t have staggered two blocks. He was healthy. Healing would just take time.
But that gash…that would take stitches. The idea of going to any emergency room right now made his stomach heave. First off, it was July—the month when new interns come in for the beginning of their internship year. That meant he’d be handed off to some fresh-faced med student with the suture skills of Leatherface. No f**king way.
Second, being a doctor who had to be treated for running into a sign meant ridicule. Big, heaping doses of it from colleagues. Again—no way.
Pulling out his first-aid kit, he found what he needed to start cleaning the wound. And then—
Bang bang bang. “Alex?”
“Yes?”
“Open the door.”
“No.”
“Alex!” Bang bang bang.
“I am fine, and about to start stitching. I really don’t need anyone screaming and banging in a way that might make my hands shake.”