“I guess that depends on your idea of good.” He glanced around the dark room. “Still having light-sensitivity issues?”
“Yes.”
“It might take as long as a week before you’re back to normal. If it takes any longer than that, you’ll need to contact my office so I can coordinate with an ophthalmologist for additional testing.” The doctor gave Amery a once-over, and Ronin bristled. Mostly because the young blond doc was the type of man Amery found attractive.
But her eyes were firmly focused on him.
“Can I speak freely? Or would you prefer we discuss my concerns in private?”
Amery released his hand. “I’ll wait outside.”
Ronin snatched her wrist before she’d even moved. “I want you to stay.”
That shocked her.
“Why don’t you both have a seat.” The doctor pointed to the small table and chairs in the corner. “I’ll be right back.”
Ronin gritted his teeth from the sharp sting zipping down his spine when he simply rotated his body to set his bare feet on the cold tile.
“Do you need help?”
He tamped down his automatic response that he wasn’t a f**king invalid. “No.” As soon as he put pressure on his bruised knee, he nearly stumbled.
She said, “Careful,” but didn’t touch him.
Goddammit, he hated—fucking hated—how he shuffled the twenty feet between the bed and the chair like an old cripple. There wasn’t a part of his body that didn’t hurt.
Suck it up and be a man.
Ronin caught sight of himself in the mirror above the sink. His right eye was discolored red and purple. He had a bandage above his left eyebrow covering stitches. Bruises dotted his jaw. His bottom lip was busted up and also sported stitches. In his younger years, he would’ve shown pride in his injuries. Now? He was disturbed Amery had seen him this way.
Easing himself into the chair caused the hospital gown to ride up. To make his humiliation complete, Amery draped a blanket across his lap.
Dr. Dainsworth returned and sat on the rolling stool, getting in Ronin’s face. “I did my homework on you, Sensei Black. Impressive that you’ve achieved the eighth-degree black belt level at your age. Aren’t most jujitsu practitioners who reach Hachidan status in their fifties?”
“Yes. But my sensei in Japan factors other things besides mastering techniques into advancement. The belt system in Japan is different from the U.S.”
“Understood.”
“I imagine my sister contacted you because you’re . . . ?” Ronin purposely left that vague to see how this doctor would fill in the blanks.
“A neurologist specializing in treating sports-related brain trauma for athletes who have a documented history of repetitive cranial injuries.” He raised an eyebrow. “Need my other qualifications? Medical degrees? Internships? I can have my secretary send you a copy of my latest article in the New England Journal of Medicine on the four years of research I compiled on potential long-term effects of brain injuries in mixed martial arts fighters as compared to boxers.”
“So you’re the best of the best.”
“Yes. And like you, I reached that level at a relatively young age, also due to dedicating my life to my studies.”
Ronin respected warranted cockiness. “Hit me with the questions.”
“If you had to guess, how many times would you say you’ve been knocked unconscious either during a match or in practice?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
“Because it’s too high a number to count?”
He nodded.
The doctor jotted something down in Ronin’s chart. Then he asked, “How many times have you been knocked out in the last month?”
“Twice.” Ronin didn’t look at Amery, but he felt her staring at him.
“Did you seek medical attention after the first incident?”
“No.”
“What was different this time? Did you feel your injuries were more severe?”
“Not especially. I probably wouldn’t have sought help on my own. But I had some . . . confused moments and showed up on Amery’s doorstep and she . . .”
“Had no choice but to call an ambulance when you passed out on my floor,” she finished.
Dr. Dainsworth focused on Amery. “Did you see him after his first concussion? Were his reactions and behavior similar?”
She shook her head. “We broke up a little more than six weeks ago.”
The doctor directed his shrewd gaze to Ronin. “Did this breakup directly contribute to your need to compete on a more physical level?”
Here was a moment of truth between them. Ronin reached for Amery’s hand. “Yes. Being in the cage forced my focus away from what was going on in my personal life.”
The sound of the doctor scrawling seemed unbearably loud in the quiet room.
“Look. I’ll be brutally honest here.” The doctor’s eyes searched Ronin’s face. “You’ve suffered two major head injuries in the past four weeks. Have you heard of second-impact syndrome?”
“Of course.”
“So you know that a second impact to the brain, while you’re still symptomatic from the first traumatic concussion, can result in cerebral edema, brain stem herniation, cerebral hemorrhaging, and even death?”
“I’m aware of the risks, Doctor.”
“But you disregarded them. Why?”
“Physical pain is something I know how to deal with.” Even though Ronin wasn’t about to start discussing emotional pain with the doctor, the topic seemed to hang in the air like a foul odor.
Walking like a cripple, complaining about your head hurting—why don’t you just start crying so you come across as a total f**king pu**y?
“After studying your CAT scan,” the doctor continued, “your MRI, and your PET scan, my recommendation for treatment hasn’t changed. Before I tell you what that is, I have to ask: If you were aware that one of your students had these same types of brain injuries in the same time frame, what would your recommendation be for recovery?”
“Medical tests. Rest. Observe the practices but zero physical participation until cleared by a medical professional and after all the risk factors for returning to the discipline were weighed.”
“So you’ll enforce that rule with your students but don’t abide by the same rule yourself?”
Ronin hadn’t seen that one coming. He glanced over at Amery, expecting to see a smirk, but she was horrified. “Amery—”