Page 59 of Beach Cottage Kisses
Her mind pumping with clear, immediate action items, she left the chair for the seconds it took her to grab a blanket off the couch and throw it over Scott’s lap. Almost cried when she saw his hand close over it, holding it in place.
And telling the girls to stay, she lowered the chair down the step to Scott’s garage and headed for her car.
Parked right next to his.
And prayed.
Chapter Fourteen
Fully cognizant, fighting pain-induced nausea, Scott did what he could. He’d been going for ice. The bandage had been a better option to slow the immediate flow of blood. He’d hoped the situation wasn’t serious, figured himself for an uncomfortable night fighting fresh pain.
He’d made it through the worst. Knew he’d get through the night the same way.
Then he’d heard Iris gasp when she’d gotten a look at his dressing.
And knew.
If the sight of the dressing caused that much distress, he was in far worse shape than he’d thought. Was doing everything he could to stay conscious so he could assist her in getting him help as efficiently, as urgently as possible.
Approving of her choice to drive him the ten or so minutes to the hospital herself, rather than waiting for an emergency vehicle—the call for and arrival of which would take about equal time—he wanted to offer his praise. To thank her.
But needed all his lung capacity focused on controlling his breathing. Which helped ease the threat of stomach revolt.
And, he wanted to believe, helped relax the pain a bit, too.
He held his head up, and kept his eyes opened as Iris wheeled him into the emergency room.And while he let her do the talking, when the nurse said, “I’ll take him from here,” and moved to grab the push handles of his chair from Iris, Scott spoke up.
“She comes with me.” His words were firm. Clear. “If I have to sign to that effect, I will.”
The effort cost him. Nausea was pushing at his esophagus again. He closed his eyes. Breathed. In through the nose, out through the mouth.
Steady.
He didn’t even try to open his eyes as he was lifted onto a bed. Didn’t know who was lifting him. He heard Iris, talking to everyone who was there, answering questions, talking as they unwound first the compression wrap and then his bandage. While he breathed.
That was his job.
To stay the course. Endure the hard work it took to be a success.
Right up until he heard the doctor, who’d introduced himself when he’d come in, say something about needing to put in a couple of stiches to repair the tear in his wound. Just as soon as he was under.
“No.” Only one word. But filled with the strength of his conviction. “Local anesthetic only.”
The doctor argued. Clearly speaking to Iris. Scott was there. Waited.
“No.” Iris’s tone seemed to Scott to mimic his. In a very good way. “Unless his life is in immediate danger, like the pain is causing his blood pressure to soar, no pain medication.”
He heard more. The doctor, in a very convincing tone. Iris’s “I know” replies. Four of them.
And then she was touching his forehead. Rubbing her hand up it,brushing the short strands of his hair. And returned to start again. Slowly. Over and over.
He breathed with the touch. Like keeping time with a soft slow melody.
Even as the pain in his lower leg went from excruciating to off the charts.
His vitals were steady. His life was in no immediate danger from the pain.
And Iris’s tender hand against his skin was a constant.
