Page 46 of Beach Cottage Kisses
Pain was a state of mind.
And apparently he was going to need every ounce of his mental control to get his in line.
If his choice was to deal with out-of-line meanderings where Iris was concerned, or become a master of pain management, he’d take the pain challenge every time.
Chapter Eleven
They iced. And heated. Everyone but Dale had left. Dennis Mitchell, the professor married to his pediatrician wife, Cassie Miles—owners of the first cottage on the beach—had taken Harper to get Scott’s car. And Harper was bringing dinner back with her. Scott had requested supreme pizza. Until Iris had pointed out a paragraph in his discharge instructions. He’d ordered lightly seasoned pasta soup and salad instead.
And while Dale and Scott worked to figure out the best process for getting Scott to the bathroom, working on Scott’s crutch skills in combination with the back injury, Iris took the girls and drove down to her place to pack what she’d need for the next few days. Including a set of sheets and a comforter for the bare mattress in Scott’s spare bedroom.
The room Gray had used for a while the previous fall.
Chances were Scott had bedding. She’d opted for her own. Using his just seemed too…personal. Which was why she packed towels, too. Her own stuff, touching her own body, just not in her own house.
She didn’t take long, wanting to be back before dinner arrived, and walked in just as Scott was wheeling himself in his office chair, sitting on a long board upon which his left leg rested, keeping it straight. Dale was right beside him.
Other than a few gatherings on the beach, the bearded writer kept to himself, mostly. No one knew much about him. But all the dogs on Ocean Breeze loved him, which was enough for Iris to like him, too.
“We can rent a wheelchair for you,” she offered as the girls ran in and sniffed at Scott’s one bare foot on the floor.
He shook his head. “No need. This is only until I see the physical therapist tomorrow and find out what pain I just tolerate, and what indicates that I’m doing further damage.”
And so it went.
Harper didn’t stay for dinner. But she offered, once again, to take over for Iris anytime. Being neighborly. Kind. With absolutely no challenge attached. So no reason for Iris to get defensive about the offer. Or respond with the “no need” she blithely offered.
Dale, she thanked more profusely as he left. And hoped she didn’t have to take the man up on his offer to come down during the night, if necessary. But left that one openended.
And then it was just the two of them. With at least a couple of hours before the administration of his next round of medications. The pain meds he might or might not take, as the doctor had issued them as needed, but the antibiotics and anti-inflammatories were a must.
She could go to her room for a few. Had her laptop, tablet, SD cards and a camera, too. Could do some editing. Wasn’t at all moved by the idea.
Felt no creative fire.
They’d have to ice again soon. The back ten minutes per hour for the first seventy-two hours.
The knee, twenty to thirty minutes every two hours. One hour would be one ice pack. Every other hour would be two.She had the schedule set. And had come home with enough ice packs to get the job done consistently.
It was going to be a long night.
She’d had them before. A multitude of them.
Propped up on the couch, Scott had Morgan on his stomach and chest, with Angel curled around the nonelevated foot.
His bandaged leg, the discoloration around it, was visible to her now that he was wearing basketball shorts and a T-shirt. The bulge of the compression bandage wrapped around his lower torso wasn’t as obvious, but she knew it was there.
And the whole day, the call from Sage, her initial fear, the manic drive to the hospital, seeing him laid up…it all rained down on her. Tightening her chest. A sense of doom sliding over her.
Until she stopped it with the anger and determination she’d learned to use. A silent, mental action meant to take back control of her psyche from the fear that always loomed, ready to pounce.
Except that she didn’t stay silent. “What in the hell were you thinking? Taking on South Beach? It’s where the professional surfers go, Scott! Even I know that much. And you…you can’t stay up on a board on Ocean Breeze, which—” Shocked at herself, she stopped abruptly. Bit her lip for a second, but then, chin up, stared at her patient.
Her friend.
Opening her mouth with an apology ready to spill out, she closed it again as Scott looked her in the eye and said, “You don’t want to know.”
He had that wrong. “Actually, I do.” More than just about anything in that moment. If the man had a death wish, he needed more than physical help. And she wasn’t going to sit around and watch him dwindle without at least trying to get him what he needed.
