I managed a wobbly grin despite the pain in my head and my ass, and said, “A Flatlander?”
Cameron snorted and some of the tension left him. “Let’s get you looked at.”
We drove to the ER over in Burlington and Cameron found a spot near the doors, easing forward into the space at roughly the speed of a glacier. It occurred to me then that he was probably just as shaken up as I was. But nobody had bothered to check if he was okay, had they?
It made me sad in ways I couldn’t quite articulate.
I managed to stand on my own, even though my movements were stiff and somehow every ache seemed to have intensified on the drive here. When we got inside the nurse took my details and I answered a bunch of questions. There were only a couple of people waiting, but one of them was a guy who’d shot himself in the hand with a nail gun, so he got seen first. We had to wait for a while but then I was given a hospital gown to change into and ushered through to a room. Cameron followed me, waiting outside while I changed. He knocked and stepped inside, and I said, “You don’t have to stay here with me.”
“I kind of do,” he said. “No offense, but you smacked your head on the sidewalk and you were close to passing out when you stood up. But I bet you’re planning to tell the doctor it was nothing and you’re fine so you can get out of here.”
I grimaced, and it was only partly because of the thumping in my skull. I’d been planning exactly that, hoping to avoid an overnight stay. But then, I’d just been hit by a car, so maybe my judgment shouldn’t be trusted.
A doctor came into the room, and okay, maybe this was the universe compensating me for missing the bake sale because he was young, and he wascute. He was taller than me, he had dark, floppy hair that fell over his forehead, and he was wearing a pair of round wire-rimmed glasses that somehow amped up his sexiness quotient by about a hundred. I wondered if he was single. Or gay. Or both. “I’m Doctor Anders,” he said, flashing me a warm smile.
I smiled back and fought the urge to giggle and twirl my hair around my fingers. Since I didn’t have hair long enough to twirl, that was probably the head injury talking, right?
Dr. Anders glanced down at the chart. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”
“Uh, I got clipped by a car, and I guess I hit my head when I fell?”
He hummed and pulled out a penlight and shone it in my eyes. Then he had me follow his finger as he moved it and asked me a bunch of questions, giving me encouraging nods when I got the answers right and scribbling on his clipboard.
“Any other symptoms?” he asked. “Did you pass out or throw up? Any slurred speech, dizziness?”
“Um,” I said. I honestly wasn’t sure.
Cameron spoke. “He blacked out for a few seconds when he hit the ground, and he was dizzy when he first stood up. No vomiting or slurred speech, though.”
“And do you have any other injuries other than the head wound?”
“Um, I landed pretty hard on my tailbone. I think it’s just bruised, though.”
The doctor hummed and scribbled and looked at me over the top of his round glasses with a hint of a smile. “Would you like me to take a look?”
“I think so, yeah.”
What? There was no head injury in theworldthat would make me turn down the chance to show a cute guy my ass.
Cameron made a weird choking sound, but when I glanced his way, he was busy examining the linoleum, or maybe the toes of his boots. Something down near his feet was fascinating, anyway. “I’ll wait outside,” he said with a speed that was almost insulting.
And then he ducked through the curtains surrounding the bed with a speed that wasdefinitelyinsulting.
The doctor looked at me expectantly, and I turned and faced the bed, then bent over as my gown fell open at the back. Gloved hands eased my boxer briefs down, and Dr. Anders let out a low whistle. “That’s going to be some impressive bruising.” He ran his hands over my tailbone, his touch brisk and professional, and nothing at all like the medical porn I’d watched. I hissed when he hit the tender spots, but after examining my ass further and getting me to move around to check my mobility he said, “Just bruised. But we can do an X-ray to be sure if you’d like.”
“No thanks,” I said, shaking my head—which sent a stabbing pain racing through my skull.
I let out an involuntary groan.
“Sit back on the bed,” the doctor said, donning a fresh pair of gloves. And then he shone that fucking light in my eyes again and examined the cut on my head. “You don’t need stitches, but I’m going to say there’s a chance you have a mild concussion,”he said. “I’m not going to admit you, but you will need someone to stay with you. Do you have a friend or relative who can watch you overnight?”
Shit. I was pretty sure nobody I worked with wanted to babysit my ass all night. “Um.”
The plastic rings rattled as Cameron pulled the curtain aside. “I can do it.”
I blinked at him.
“You’ll need to bring him back immediately if he gets worse. I’ll give you a list of what to watch out for,” the doctor said. “And if you’re happy to do that, then he can go home with you.”
