Page 19 of Kept By the Loan Shark

“A five,” I said after a few seconds of gauging it against the agony of yesterday.

“You have pain meds ordered, and you had a dose right before shift change. You’re due for another in, oh, two hours or so, but if the pain increases or you’re just super uncomfortable, all you have to do is ask.”

Hagen sent me a look that all but begged me to take whatever pain medicine was offered. He clearly couldn’t handle the sight of me battered like this.

“So, after rounds and whatever tests they order, you’ll get a visit from our traumatic brain injury team,” she said as she moved around the bed and checked other tubes leading out of my body from under the blanket. “They’re going to want to establish some benchmarks for your current state. You know, checking your language capabilities, your memory recall, things like that.”

Knowing she had probably seen more than her fair share of head traumas, I asked, “How bad was it?”

She hesitated at the foot of the bed. “You were lucky, Cassie. Extremely lucky. Being hit like that?” She shook her head. “You’ve got some rough weeks ahead of you, but you’ll recover well. You’ll probably have some lingering side effects, but all the signs so far point to a positive outcome.”

Realizing that was the best I was going to get, I nodded and thanked her. She finished her assessment, smiled at us and left with a promise to check in later. Once she was gone, I squinted at the sunlight streaming in through the windows. I didn’t even have to ask Hagen to shut the blinds. He moved immediately, making quick work of blocking out the morning sunlight and giving my sensitive eyes a break.

When he was back at my side, he dragged the chair closer and took my hand as he sat. As if he could read my mind, he said, “We dated years ago. Seven years,” he clarified. “She wanted to get married and have kids, and I wasn’t there yet. She’s married. Well,” he amended hastily, “divorced actually.”

“Okay,” I murmured, not at all in the mood to ask uncomfortable questions about it. He seemed to be telling the truth and that was enough for me right now.

“I talked to Ronnie’s girlfriend earlier,” he said, rubbing his thumb over my hand in slow, soothing strokes. “She said Kyle didn’t call her, but he may have tried to reach Ronnie. Your brother just started his fourteen-day shift on the rig, and the service out there is spotty at best. She promised to get a message to him as soon as possible.”

“He needs to stay and work. I don’t want him messing up his new life because of this. He’s safer out there in the middle of the Bering Sea.”

“I agree.” He adjusted the blanket around my waist. “Is there anything I can get you? They left some water here for you. Do you want to try to drink some?”

“Yes.”

Carefully, he held the large plastic tumbler of ice-cold water and guided the straw toward my mouth. I sipped cautiously and swallowed slowly, the fear of bringing it right back up keeping me from gulping down the whole cup to quench my thirst.

“Okay?” He wiped the drip of water from my chin with his thumb.

“Yeah.”

He tenderly caressed my cheek, and he seemed overcome with emotion. “Cassie, about Travis, I—”

A knock at the door to my ICU room interrupted us. We both glanced up as a team of doctors entered. Hagen held my hand as the doctors and interns introduced themselves and kept holding it as they discussed my case. A series of tests were ordered as well as evaluations by various therapists.

“We’ll compare your scans from last night to the ones we’ll get this morning,” the head neurologist explained. “Have you ever had an MRI before?”

“A year or so ago,” I answered tiredly. “My friend needed another brain for her study.”

“Her friend is a neuroscience grad student at Rice,” Hagen clarified. “Do you think those scans would be helpful? I’m sure Taylor can get them to you if we ask.”

“Actually, they might be,” the doctor agreed. “We’ll put a call in to Rice and see if we can get them.”

I zoned out as Hagen asked more questions, his concern clear as he worried about my vision and memory. Vaguely, I was aware of the doctor telling him the usual spiel about how no two cases are the same and no one really knows what to expect in brain injuries. I wanted to concentrate on the discussion happening, but my mind felt fuzzy and slow, like a bogged down browser that needed a restart.

When the medical team left to see their next patient, I turned toward Hagen’s tender and chaste kiss. He stroked my jaw. “Are you okay?”

“Tired,” I said with a little yawn. “And sort of confused. My thoughts feel mushy and disjointed.”

“Well,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement, “your vocabulary seems to be just fine.” He reached for the tumbler of water on the nearby rolling table and brought the straw to my lips. As I took a small sip, he asked, “How is your vision? Vicky said that you were complaining of double vision and problems on the left side last night.”

“Was I?” I couldn’t remember—and that scared me. I closed my right eye and realized she was correct. “My left eye is fuzzy.”

“Okay, well, we’ll get that sorted out,” he promised, his voice tinged with fake optimism. “You’ll look adorable in glasses,” he added with a loving smile.

I wrinkled my nose. “I don’t want to be adorable.”

“Too late. You already are.” He kissed the tip of my nose as if to prove his point. When he sat back, his stomach growled loudly. He made an apologetic face. “Sorry. I missed dinner and breakfast.”

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