Page 37 of Swept for Forever
“Sorry to hear that,” he replied. “Montana doesn’t care what month it is. The mountains throw tantrums whenever they feel like it.”
He gestured to my shoulder. The nurse eased the gown off, coaxing my arm free. Pain lit me up, but I bit it back with an exhale.
“I hear this was dislocated?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“And your friend reset it?”
I answered with a short nod.
He let out a low whistle. “Clean work. Still painful, though?”
“A little,” I admitted, wincing as he probed my shoulder joint.
“No instability. No nerve impingement. He spared you a longer recovery.”
I already knew that. Still, having it confirmed only deepened the way I saw Dom.
The doctor moved to my ankle next, rotating it gently.
“Sprained. But nothing major. Just rest and keep off it.”
Then he peeled the blanket up to my hip and inspected the length of my leg.
“Looks isolated to the calf,” he said, more to the nurse than me.
The bandage tugged at the skin as he removed it. When the wound came into view, his mouth drew into a flat line.
“I’ll need to stitch this up.”
The nurse swabbed around the gash while the doctor injected a local anesthetic. Cold spread under my skin before it gave way to numbness. But I could still feel the tug and shift of his tools.
I hovered somewhere between turning my head away and sneaking a look, caught in the space between curiosity and dread.
He eased the branch out. It was longer than I’d let myself imagine, streaked dark with blood. It clinked onto the tray.
“Lucky it stayed in one piece,” he said. “You didn’t try to pull your leg free, which was smart. And whoever lopped this off the tree for you deserves a damn medal.”
“You can tell that to the man outside,” I said. Dom had probably heard every word.
The doctor bent closer with a magnifying visor. “No fragments left, thankfully. But you’ve got an infection starting.”
No surprise there.
“We’ll get you on IV antibiotics.”
Great. More needles. But I felt too shitty to argue.
“All right. Let’s close this up.”
His hands worked fast, stitching layer after layer.
“How bad’s the infection?” I asked.
“Not aggressive, but enough that I’m keeping you here.”
“For how long?”
