Page 7 of Wild Scottish Rose

“Oh, thank God. Where is he?”

“Am I good to take him back, Mary?” Agnes glanced at the nurse who smiled up at me, and she nodded. “Come on then. He was sleeping last I checked.”

“Do you work here?” I said, taking off my jacket and wiping the rain drops from my face.

“No, but it’s a small town. I know Mary from school.”

Agnes stopped at a partially open door and gestured for me to go ahead. I pushed inside, and stopped short when I saw Ryan, his face pale, the beginning of bruising marring his pasty skin, a white bandage wrapped around his head. His eyes remained closed, but his heart monitor showed a healthy beat, and his chest rose steadily with his breaths.

“I’ll get the doctor.” Agnes slipped from the room, and I crossed to Ryan, picking up a hand to squeeze it.

“Hey bud, it’s Owen. I’m here now.” I waited, butnothing happened, and I turned to see a chair by the bed. Leaning over, I pulled it close without letting go of Ryan’s hand and settled in to wait.

A fresh-faced woman with kind eyes appeared at the door in a white coat, her hands holding an open folder. Glancing up from her notes, she smiled at me.

“Owen? You’re Ryan’s friend?”

“I am. We were here for my sister’s wedding.” I wasn’t sure why I was telling her that, but I felt like I needed to prove that I could sit next to him.

“Any family in town?”

“No, the rest live in the States.”

“In that case, I can tell you that while he almost drowned, he’d only reached HT II from the cold water. Which means the unconsciousness isn’t a result of hypothermia, but blunt-force trauma. From what I can tell, he hit his head on the canoe, or perhaps the paddle, before going under.”

“But why…what happened?” I asked, my eyes going back to Ryan. “He’s an avid paddler.”

“I can’t say, I’m sorry.”

“From my understanding, it’s your job to say, so explain yourself.”

The doctor’s eyebrow shot up at my tone, but I gave zero shits what she thought. I needed an explanation.

“It’s my job to treat the patient, sir, not to explain the details of the accident as I wasn’t on site during the time of trauma.” The doctor’s words had grown clipped.

“You’ll find out for me then.” It was a demand, not aquestion.

“I’m also not an investigative journalist, now, am I? You’ll need to ask your friend when he wakes.”

“When will he wake up?”

“Vital signs are good. Blood pressure is normal. We’ll monitor him for twenty-four hours for potential pulmonary edema, which can happen with fluid in the lungs, and then we wait on when he wakes up.”

“And his head injury?”

“A concussion, along with a few stitches. As I said, vitals are responsive, so we’ll just need him to wake up to see if there is any other trauma associated with head injuries. It’s likely the trauma, along with the shock of the cold water, is what is causing him to sleep now. He briefly awoke and spoke to me just before you arrived, before immediately falling back asleep. But it’s sleep, not unconsciousness, and that’s a good sign.”

“Am I okay to stay here?” I indicated the chair by the bed, and she smiled gently at me.

“Yes. As long as you don’t berate my staff, stay as long as you need.”

With that, I settled in for a wait, still holding Ryan’s hand, and called his parents. By the time I’d gotten through that phone call, a bone-deep weariness filled me. My exhaustion didn’t matter, though, not when my friend was hurting. Determined to stick it out, I stood and let go of Ryan’s hand, needing to use the restroom and find a cup of coffee.

“Owen.”

I whirled at the door, racing back to the bedside, and grasped Ryan’s hand. His eyelids flickered open, his brown eyes landing on my face. A hint of a grin settled on his lips. “Hey, bro.”

“Hey, man,” I echoed back, easing into my seat. “Doctors say you dove headfirst into a loch.”

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