Page 68 of First Love, Second Draft

Matt did as she asked. “Feels okay.”

“We didn’t see any injury to your spine on the CT scan, so I think we’re safe to remove this.” She tossed the neck collar to the side. “Let me look again at those X-rays of your shoulder one more time. Might be wearing a sling for a while. All in all, though, I’d say you’re pretty lucky. One of the EMTs showed me a picture of your truck.” She let out a low whistle. “Can’t believe the other driver just took off. Kind of shocked he was even able to.”

Matt grunted.Gotta love a hit and run.“I won’t have to stay, will I?”

“I’m okay with sending you home as long as you’ve got someone who can keep an eye on you and bring you straight back to the ER if you start having any worsening symptoms, which a nurse will go over with you here in a bit.”

Matt gave a thumbs-up. Hopefully someone had gotten ahold of his mom or Aunt Gracie by now. If he was going to be miserable with a pounding headache, he’d much rather be miserable with a pounding headache somewhere far away from the sounds of other patients moaning and puking all night.

About thirty minutes later a nurse had his left arm and shoulder secured in a sling. “Sure you don’t want some Tylenol? You look miserable.”

“I’m afraid anything I try to swallow will only come right back up.”

“I can give you something for nausea if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He shrugged. The movement shot a bullet of pain through his shoulder. “You know what? Yeah. Give me whatever you got. Tylenol. Whisky. A belt to bite on. I’ll take it.”

The nurse chuckled. “Okay, cowboy, I’ll see what I can come up with.”

She returned with medicine that settled his stomach and eased the ache in his head enough that he was ready to ditch this place. “Were you able to get ahold of my mom?”

He’d lost his phone in the accident and the only two numbers he knew by memory were his mom’s and Aunt Gracie’s, which honestly should’ve won him a lot more points than just knowing the year and who the president was. If recalling someone’s actual phone number these days wasn’t proof he was good to go home, he didn’t know what was.

“We’ve left messages with your mom and aunt. Is there anybody else we can try?”

Before Matt could answer, the curtain was shoved back and a wild-eyed Rachel raced to his stretcher. “Matt. Oh my goodness, what happened? Are you okay? Wombat texted me on my way out ofwork. Said you were in an accident. Was it bad? It looks bad. You’re in a sling. Is that blood on your pillowcase? Why is there blood on your pillowcase? Did you hurt your head? Is that a staple?Did they have to staple your head back together?”

As happy as Matt was to see Rachel, she certainly wasn’t doing much to improve his headache. “It’s just a staple, Rach. I’m okay. They’re actually about to send me home.”

“Home? They can’t send you home. What makes them think they can send you home? You have a staple in your head.”

“It was just a superficial laceration,” the nurse piped in. “The CT scan of his brain was fine.”

“Sure. Finenow. But what about later? What if you have one of those secret head bleeds where everything looks fine, and then next thing you know you’re dead and wearing a toe tag?”

The ER nurse took the green plastic barf bag that Matt never used and handed it to Rachel. “I think you need this more than he does.” Then to Matt, she said, “Please tell me she’s not your ride.”

“Darn tootin’ I’m not his ride,” Rachel said, waving the plastic bag around. “No way I’m taking him home in this condition.”

Darn tootin’ shewas. Matt reached for Rachel’s hand. Squeezed. “Calm down. It’s just a little concussion. Now grab me my shoes so we can get out of here.”

“Little concussion. I don’t think so. Only place I’m taking you is to the intensive care unit.”

The nurse handed Matt his shoes. “Don’t forget to make a follow-up appointment in a week or two with the ortho doctor so he can make sure the shoulder’s healing okay.”

“Ha! As if he’s even going to be alive in a week or two.”

“Any questions about the discharge instructions?” the nurse asked, ignoring Rachel.

“Oh-ho-ho,” Rachel chortled like a deranged Santa Claus. “You better believe I’ve got questions. Starting with who is your supervisor?”

“No questions,” Matt said, getting up from the stretcher.

“You sure there’s nobody else you want me to call?” the nurseasked, sending a wary look at Rachel. “Like maybe security,” she murmured.

“Thanks,” Matt told the nurse as he sank back on the edge of the stretcher so he could put on his shoes. And maybe fight off a tiny wave of dizziness. “I’m good.”

“Good?” Rachel said as soon as the nurse disappeared past the curtain. “You are not good. You’re the exact opposite of good. You’re clammy, you’re pale, you’re shoeless, you’re circling the drain, you’re—”

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