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“My Uber?”
“I called one to take you to the Rebels HQ. Again, I’m sorry about Bandit. Take care of yourself, Mr. O’Malley.”
For a moment, he thought she might say something else, but she merely shook her head slightly and headed out the clinic door.
“Well, it could be worse.” Dr. Morgan, the Rebels doc, patted the wound with some gauze and squinted. “It’s not too deep, but it’ll keep you out for a couple of weeks.”
“You’re kidding.” It felt sore, with the five stitches and the antiseptic, but he could flex it, which he did.
“Don’t do that just yet. You’ll re-open the wound.” The doc started to wrap it. “We’ll do daily redressing, and you need to keep it dry for a while. About a week.”
Sophie burst into the exam room. “What the hell happened?”
“Just a minor accident with a dog at the shelter.”
“The dogs are dangerous?”
He didn’t like Sophie’s tone, which implied that there was blame to be assigned here. Human blame. “It was completely my fault, Soph. I got a little too friendly with the dog and he wasn’t ready for it.”
“No one said anything about dogs that bite.”
He locked eyes with her. “This was your idea.”
Her body language changed in a flash. “I just talked to Ashley, the woman in charge of the shelter. Guess what she told me?”
Here it is …
“You were supposed to show up at noon. She assumed we’d changed our minds.”
“I fell asleep.” He tried to make it sound cute.
“Asleep? Dex, you can sleep as much as you want when you’re out of a job. If you don’t follow this plan?—”
“I did follow it. Just … a few hours later. But then …” He waved his newly-bandaged hand.
“Am I supposed to be sympathetic? Do you realize that I’m the head of PR for the Chicago Rebels hockey franchise?”
“Well, yeah?—”
“The franchise, Dex. The entire team. Yet, for the last year and a half, I’ve spent a good fifty percent of my time as your personal publicist. Cleaning up after your problems. Do you think that’s fair?”
“No, I suppose not.”
Sad head shake. Her phone rang and she grimaced. “I have to take this. Excuse me a second.” Out she went.
Dex turned to the doc, who was tidying up his triage station. “Tell me this is just a couple of days. I can’t be out for long.” Not when he needed to prove himself. One more black mark against him and he’d be out on his ear.
Or maybe it was already a foregone conclusion.
A part of him wondered if it was for the best. If this was a sign he wasn’t meant to be here with the Rebels.
Dr. Morgan smiled thinly and gripped his shoulder. “I’ll take a look at it tomorrow before morning skate and we’ll assess.” He headed out, leaving Dex to review the current state of play.
Injured hand.
Legal jeopardy.
Shelter volunteer reject.
