Over people continuously lecturing me, I dump my purse onto the seat Max’s bottom hasn’t touched for the past two minutes, then commence guiding the driver’s side window into its slot, hopeful it will give Officer Packwood the hint that our conversation is over.
“Careful,” Officer Packwood cautions while watching the window glide into place. “I wouldn’t want your hand getting pinched by the glass. With both your hand and foot out of commission, how will you manage the remainder of your four-hour commute?”
After hitting him with an evil glare, I shove my key into the ignition column, then shift the gearstick into reverse. I’m about to plant my foot onto the gas pedal when Officer Packwood presses something onto the window separating us, distracting me. It’s a business card for a family doctor in Hopeton.
“He won’t ask any questions,” he assures me, his tone as smug as the gleam in his eyes. “He’d rather his patients get what they need than be in pain.”
I stare at the card like my first thought wasn’t to roll down the window and snatch it out of his hand. I don’t want him thinking I’m desperate, even though I am.
After a beat, I give in. I roll down the window even quicker than I begged it to climb.
“Nuh-uh.” Officer Packwood yanks the card out of my reach before I can secure it in my hand. “He won’t ask any questions, but you need to be upfront about some things.”
“Such as?” I ask, too anxious to act anything but. Today couldn’t end fast enough. I’m at my absolute limit at pretending I’m okay. I am drowning, and this card could very well be my only life jacket.
“Such as…” Officer Packwood follows along nicely, “… your health insurance information. He’ll need to run it through the system. If it’s fake like the tags on this Jeep, you will leave his practice empty-handed. Do you understand?” He waits for me to nod before he hands me the card. “Tell his receptionist I sent you. That will get you straight in.”
“Thank you.” The gratitude in my reply hides my shock that the tags on Caidyn’s Jeep are stolen. He’s always been the more levelheaded one of the Walsh brothers. Assisting in the management of an underground fight circuit isn’t legal, but I thought that would be as far as his criminal proficiencies would extend. I guess I’m not the only one pushing boundaries. One of my daddy’s favorite quotes was, “You’ll never know your limits unless you push yourself to them.”
I’ve been pushed and pushed and pushed for years, so it’s only fair I start to push back. Fingers crossed I come out of the carnage with fewer scars than my insides are now holding. They’ve been nicked so badly the past twelve months I don’t believe even Maddox could fix them now.
Two hours later, the burn of the card Officer Packwood handed me becomes too much to bear. I yank it out of my pocket like it’s the solution to everything before punching in the number handwritten on the back into the dashboard of Caidyn’s Jeep.
A friendly female voice answers a couple of rings later, “Dr. Terry’s office, this is Nicky. How can I help you?”
“Oh… hi. My name is Demi.” I stop my introduction to give myself a quick pep talk. Only once I’m convinced I sound like the adult I am, do I commence talking again. “I recently fell, reinflaming an old injury. An officer who assisted me at the scene gave me this number. He thought you’d be able to help.”
Her pause is only short, but it doubles the knot in my stomach. “Certainly. Can I ask which officer recommended our practice?”
“Officer Packwood,” I answer. “Daniel Packwood.”
“Wonderful. Let me see what appointments we have available. Is the matter urgent?”
To her, perhaps not.
To me, very much so.
“Yes, I am in a lot of pain.”
“Okay.” Fingers tapping over a keyboard sound down the line before she murmurs, “How does tomorrow morning at eleven o’clock sound?”
With it being a little after three in the afternoon, I should be pleased Dr. Terry has managed to squeeze me in within twenty-four-hours, but I’m not. My ankle is throbbing, and don’t get me started on my heart.
“Is there anything available this afternoon?”
I picture the receptionist shaking her head when a woosh sounds down the line. “The cancellation you’re filling was only called through minutes ago. If you had been ten minutes earlier, your appointment wouldn’t have been filled until next month.”
“Then I guess I’ll see you tomorrow at eleven.” I try to keep the desperation out of my tone. I miserably fail.
“Wonderful.” Keyboard tapping continues as she says, “Let me grab your details so I can place you into our system. It will mean less paperwork when you arrive tomorrow morning.”
Over the next two minutes, I give the receptionist everything she needs—my full name, cell phone number, residential address, and any health insurance details. Her politeness has me feeling so good about my appointment tomorrow that after disconnecting our call, I tackle the mammoth number of unanswered text messages on my cell phone.
I scroll past the numerous missed calls from the warden’s office at Wallens Ridge, only stopping once I reach a message from Justine advising that Caidyn’s chicken noodle soup is ready for collection.
With how deranged I feel, I should say that I’ve caught what Caidyn has, so I can’t stop by. Instead, I punch in the address she attached to her message, then pull off the interstate.
I don’t want to disappoint another member of the Walsh family.
