Page 93 of Dirty Filthy Boy
A wind gust almost knocks me down, so I flip up my coat's hoodie and hunker down into it. That's what saves me.
Just as I reach my car, a figure emerges from the shadows. An arm clamps around me, and I know exactly who it is. But, by God, I'm prepared. In a move I learned in a women's college course on self defense, I stomp his foot with my hard heeled boot, jab him in the stomach with my elbow, and twist in his grasp. Freed for the moment, I raise the baton I always have in my hand whenever I leave the office and strike his head.
But he's big and strong and doesn't give up easily. He snatches the weapon from me, and strikes my shoulder. A sharp pain, strong enough to take my breath away, shoots through me. Son of a bitch. With my arm numb, I go to my second line of defense, I let fly the pepper spray attached to my key chain. By sheer dumb luck, I'm up wind from him, so he gets the full effect.
Screaming like a banshee, he lands on his knees and drops the baton. I pick it up, and whack two hard blows on each side of his head. Blood pours from his hair, not that I give a damn. I don't stop hitting him until he keels over, unconscious. For the first time in my life, I wish someone dead.
With hands shaking, I race to my car, lock myself in, and call the police. In less than five minutes they show up along with the EMTs. Shaking, I explain what happened. I tell them Tommy's name, and what he did. They examine me and decide I need to go to the hospital. I might have a broken clavicle. Before I get whisked away, I call Marigold and Mr. Bartlett to tell them what happened. And then I'm taken away in an emergency transport vehicle with the sirens screaming all the way.
The hospital is a whirl of action as the doctors and nurses assess my situation. I'm conscious, which is probably more than can be said for Tommy Hawkins. But my shoulder throbs like a son of a bitch. An x-ray confirms a broken clavicle. But it's not severe. I'll have to wear my arm in a sling for six to eight weeks and do some physical therapy exercises. Ibuprofen should help me deal with the pain. But right now, they give me an opioid to help deal with the immediate pain.
By the time, the doctor's telling me all this not only Marigold arrives. "MacKenna? Oh, my God. What happened?"
I'd only given her the bare facts when I called her so I provide more extensive details about what went down. "I'm okay, Marigold. It's only a broken collarbone. Nothing that a sling and some pain pills can't handle."
"You're coming home with me."
"I can't. I have to go home. Rosco, remember?"
Up to now, Oliver's been silent letting Marigold handle the questions. But now he steps forward. "I'll take care of Rosco while you heal."
"No. I'll do it." Ty. Where did he come from?
My head's in a jumble from the painkiller, but even so. I know I didn't call him. "What are you doing here?"
"Oliver called me."
I glare at my former friend. "You shouldn't have."
All I get is a raised arch from him.
"MacKenna, he needed to know," Marigold says.
"Why?"
"Because I'm in love with you," Ty says, his voice a hushed whisper.
A declaration of love should come in a romantic setting, with music playing in the background. Not in a hospital ER when I look like crap from getting beat up, and I've lost half my hold with reality from some kick ass pain med.
To their credit, the doctor and nurse fitting my arm in the sling keep on doing their thing, doing their level best to ignore the starting quarterback of the Chicago Outlaws baring his heart to me.
"What did you say?" I ask, only half sure I heard him right.
"I love you, MacKenna. You don't have to say anything back. I just wanted you to know."
I blink to clear my vision. Those better not be tears in my eyes. Because I'm not crying, damn it. "Okay."
"There. You're all set." The doctor's words jar me back to the reality of the ER.
"Thank you."
"We're giving you a prescription for the pain. Only a week's worth. You'll need someone to watch over you for a a couple of days."
"She's coming home with me."
Marigold and Oliver exchange a look before she steps forward. "Ty, you have to focus on Saturday's game against the Roughriders."
"I can do that and watch over her. I'll get a nurse, whatever she needs."
