The blanket appeared in her hands, and Bowen had a question. “How are the other two?”
“You broke them only a little,” she admitted since it wasn’t going to be a secret and wasn’t revealing much information. “They’re going to be fine.”
Not exactly a lie. They were both likely out for the rest of the season at a minimum.
“Good. I like going full Hulk smash, but I don’t actually want to smash them.” His voice mumbled as they shifted him onto the backboard and lifted him onto the gurney with the help of two male firefighters.
“We’re making a run to MetroGen?” the one whose nametagread ‘Obi’ asked.
“Exactly. Glazier’s getting an ER doctor to go with us. You guys got narcotics in there?” She picked up the emergency tackle box, following the gurney to the ambulance.
“We’re EMT basic. Not even our own IVs. No one dispatched the Rescue Alpha paramedics.” He mentioned the new fire department paramedic program. The rumor at MetroGen was that the members were only women. “Just dudes here.”
“Yates’llput the IV in, maybe. Won’t be me,” she said, hoping he could do it. Most doctors didn’t put in IVs. Nurses and paramedics did—which she wasn’t.
“Roy, are you there?” Bowen called.
“Right here. Always.”
CHAPTER5
The ride over to MetroGen was bizarre.
First, the pain made him feel like he was floating, and it took both firefighters and Roy to keep him from trying to sit up.
Then a blonde doctor in glasses, reportedly ‘Dr. Yates,’ stabbed his uninjured left arm with an IV and gave him something.
So, then he was really floating.
“Fuck. Whoa. This is better than the bender I went on two years ago with the Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders. Did you hear about that, Roy?”
“Yes, it was in the paper. And the tabloids.”
“It was kind of boring most of the time. Which is why I set fire to the tent. Turned out to be a bad idea,” Bowen said.
“It got you featured on SportsIllustratedBad Boys edition,” Dr. Yates said.
“They spent a few pages on my tattoos, too.” He thought of a question he hadn’t asked. “We won, right?”
Her face came into view, hair slicked back from the rain. “Yes. For the third time, you won. And broke the quarterback and the tight end.”
They hit a bump, and he swore a long blue streak. “GoddamnMotherFuckerAssholeBitch. My arm!”
“Once you get the CT of your neck and head, I’ll give you more. Good game, by the way,” Dr. Yates told him.
“It was the bomb. We should win the Super Bowl, too,” Bowen decided. “If you fix my damn arm, right?”
“I’m not fixing it. Dr. Reynosa-Romualdo will be doing that after the images,” Yates told him.
Bowen felt the ambulance come to a stop. “We’re at MetroGen?”
“Yeah, we’re going straight to CT.” Roy had a wet cloth in her hand and was trying to clean the grime off his face.
“About damn time. Sorry about my language, Roy. It hurts like a bitch.”
“Don’t worry. Dirty mouth, covered in dirt. It fits.” They were moving out of the ambulance, and he could hear her talking to someone during their walk. “Yes, list Dr. Yates for conscious sedation and Dr. Reynosa-Romualdo for the shoulder dislocation reduction. Dr. Glazier will want no media, no interviews. He and the Browns and Seahawks will address the press later.”
“The press can shove it,” Bowen agreed. “One of those ESPN talking head assholes told me I had a bad attitude and wasn’t a team player, so I didn’t deserve to be captain. Fuck him. I have ‘team’ tattooed on my ass. I just don’t want to giveinterviews.”
