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“Really? You think so?”
I huff at her response. At least the girl still owns a sense of humor. The sound draws her attention, and her eyes narrow at me.
“You.”
Ember moves forward a bit as if to protect me from the girl. But I don’t need their protection. If anything, the girl needs protection from me. I’m definitely the more lethal of the two of us. Though the stare she’s giving me might make me doubt I would prevail so easily if she wasn’t injured.
“Me.” My lips quirk at the corner.
Quickly playing the mediator, Ember jumps in before I fuck things up further.
“How about we concentrate on getting you better,” they say, turning to the doctor for direction.
“Well, wounds such as yours typically take a month or two to heal. Should things continue to progress well, I think we can have you out of bed in the next few weeks.”
Hope returns to the girl at the doctor’s words.
“So I can leave soon then. Go back home,” she says.
“No,” I snap out.
The hope drains from her face and is quickly replaced with anger as her head whips to look at me. She remains silent. Glaring at me.
“What Cy means to say…” Ember cuts in. “There’s still a concern for your safety, and it’s not a good idea to resume your normal life.”
The doctor interjects next. “And while you may be physically patched up, you will likely need physical therapy to help you get back your strength and range of motion.”
“Training too. So this shit doesn’t happen again.” Everyone seems shocked when I speak. Either for the simple fact that I’m engaging in the conversation or for recommending she train. Who the fuck knows.
Most of all, the girl looks stunned, as though it’s unfathomable that I might give a fuck. Which, maybe it is considering how much of an ass I’ve been up to this point.
“Okay,” the doctor speaks slowly. “Maybe training too. But only when you’re well enough.”
With that, I mentally withdraw from the conversation. At the sound of Ember’s voice, I am forced to rejoin the group.
“Earth to Cy,” they say. I look up. “Since you’re all gung-ho about getting Juliana on her feet for training, why don’t you take over her physical therapy in the meantime?”
I look at them quizzically, and the doctor answers my implied question. “We can’t take her to any legitimate practitioners.”
“It’s too much exposure and too many questions, and you’re the D1 athlete of the group.” Ember adds.
“We need someone we trust to help,” the doctor says.
I narrow my eyes at them. They’re up to something, but I don’t know what it is.
“Fine.” And I finally leave altogether.
