Page 123 of Slew Foot
Stupid man. He really was stubborn, wasn’t he?
Rafe took a seat on the edge of the bed, then pulled out his phone. He pulled up a notes app then typed out,Thought this would be easier if your tinnitus is really bad. You need anything?
Mickey looked surprised when he passed the phone over, but he typed something out, then handed it back.
Good idea. No, just tired. It was a long day.
I bet. Have you eaten?
Mrs. O made sure I ate several times and drank a lot of water.
Any news from the tests?
No. Dr. Pope will get the results in a few days.
Okay. Want me to let you get some rest?
Mickey’s expression turned frustrated.No! I want to play hockey.
Rafe rolled his eyes.Duh. Of course Mickey did. He would too.Okay, but …
Ugh. I should probably take a nap.
I’ll go get my knitting and watch a movie on my laptop with the earbuds in, as long as that won’t bother you.
Sounds perfect.
It only took Rafe a few minutes to gather his stuff, but by the time he returned to Mickey’s bedroom—their bedroom—Mickey was asleep. He’d passed out exactly where Rafe had left him, sprawled on his back, Rafe’s phone still clutched in his hand.
Rafe gently pried it free, planning to shut it off when he caught a glimpse of one final message from Mickey,I love you.
I love you too, Rafe thought, his heart aching, because he hated this for Mickey.
He carefully climbed onto the bed beside Mickey, set up everything he needed to stay occupied for a couple of hours, and settled in to wait.
What else could they do?
Until they knew more, there was nothing theycoulddo but wait.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
When Mickey met with Dr. Pope, the results were frustratingly inconclusive.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and he did truly look regretful. “I wish I could tell you more.”
But there was nothing he could say. There were no obvious signs of head trauma or any major red flags of other issues on the scans they’d done.
An audiologist had confirmed the tinnitus diagnosis, but it wasn’t unusual with a concussion. The same with the vertigo.
“You’re just going to have to wait it out,” Dr. Pope said. “Give your brain time to rest. That’s all we can do.”
That was Mickey’s idea of hell. “So I’m supposed to donothing?”
Dr. Pope shrugged. “Restissomething.”
But rest was not something Mickey was good at. He felt like he was climbing the walls. The only exercise he was cleared for was yoga.
But with the dizziness that accompanied the whooshing and ringing sounds some days, Mickey wasn’t so sure he could even manage that. As he walked into Dakota Crane’s studio later that day, he could barely stay upright.
