Page 141 of Better Late Than Never

Only about two seconds, though.

Because after that time was up, Tobias backhanded me hard enough to send me stumbling into one of the waiting area’s chairs. I cracked my shin against the seat, then grabbed the back of the chair for balance.

Tobias’s hand materialized on the back of my neck, gripping painfully tight, and he hissed in my ear, “You might want to watch yourself, you worthless fucking whore.”

Then he shoved me away, nearly toppling me into another chair, before he stalked out of Radiology.

I turned around and dropped into the chair, my knees shaking and my heart pounding. Somewhere inside, I could feel the hollow spot where that momentary pride had been. Now there was nothing but confusion and fear.

My face throbbed. A faint itch on my upper lip suggested my nose was bleeding, and when I touched it—yep. Blood.

Holy shit. My head swam with panic and disbelief and…

And I might’ve had a concussion. He’d hit me hard, and it didn’t take much to concuss someone.

I shakily pushed myself to my feet. Given how dizzy that made me—yeah, a concussion was possible. Or it was just an adrenaline crash. Either or.

Rationally, I thought I should call base security. But mostly, I wanted to go down to medical. I didn’t even think I was seriously hurt, though I did take concussions seriously. Truth be told, my health wasn’t what was screaming at me to get my ass down to medical.

It was the way I couldn’t quite catch my breath. The way my vision started tunneling and my heart started pounding. The way an inkling of“oh fuck, I’m having a heart attack”crept into the back of my mind, even though on some level, I knew that wasn’t what was happening.

I closed my eyes and took a few slow, deep breaths, but it wasn’t helping.

The impact to my face hadn’t caused any serious injury, but it had stirred up an all too familiar feeling. In my mind, I already heard myself pleading with a corpsmen to let me see one doctor and one doctor only, ideally before this panic attack completely took hold.

Fuck it.

I grabbed a wad of tissues so I wouldn’t get any blood—well, anymoreblood—on my utilities. With shaking hands, I texted both Chief and Fox to let them know I needed to take myself down to medical, and that I would explain later.

Then I slapped theBe Back Latersign on Radiology’s door and took my ass down to medical.

CHAPTER43

CONNOR

“Keep it iced and elevated,” I told the miserable Seabee. “Motrin is your friend, but so are ice and rest. Got it?”

He grumbled something, but nodded. “Yes, sir.” He wiped a hand over his face. “Knew I should’ve stayed away from the damn fish corrals.”

I had to fight back a laugh as I entered my recommendations as well as his light duty chit into the computer.

The Romans had built a system of walls that, when the tide went out, trapped fish in small pools to make them easy to catch. Though the Romans were long gone, the corrals remained, and people still used them to this day.

Apparently one of those uses included drunk Seabees challenging each other to run along the walls without falling in. Having walked on the corrals myself when my sons were here, I was well aware of how uneven and treacherous they were; Quinn and I had both nearly turned our ankles, and Savannah had actually fallen off. Fortunately, it had only been a two-foot drop or so into ankle-deep water.

And fortunately, she’d also been sober, unlike my patient, who’d been shitfaced, running at full speed, and… well, he’d be regretting it for a few days.

“Make sure you keep the stitches clean, too.” I gestured at his forearm, which was wrapped and taped. “If you see any signs of infection, come back in immediately.”

He nodded. “Yes, sir.”

I released him a few minutes later with a handful of instructions, his light duty chit, and a prescription for antibacterial ointment. Technically he could’ve bought some Neosporin at the Exchange, but I’d been treating service members long enough to know that if I gave them a prescription and ordered them to fill it, they were more likely to obey.

Maybe I should’ve prescribed “don’t get drunk and run on the fish corrals like a dumbass” too.

I chuckled to myself as I stepped out of the room. Yeah, if I could prescribe that, I would?—

“Lieutenant Commander?” HM2 Anderson’s voice turned my head, and her serious expression made my humorous thoughts vanish. She gestured over her shoulder. “There’s a patient who refuses to talk to anyone but you, sir.” The urgency in her eyes made me think this wasn’t just someone who was pissed off or throwing a fit and demanding to see the highest-ranking doctor on duty. “I wanted to send him to the ER because I think he’s having a panic attack, but?—”

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