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“Amen to that.” Mo managed a chuckle.
Noah wiped his hands hard against his thighs. “I hate hospitals.”
“Fuckin’ A,” Billy said. “No offense, Dani.”
She chuffed out a laugh because she couldn’t blame them, especially as both Noah and Billy had spent considerable time in hospitals as patients. Billy for his burns, and Noah for the head injury that had reduced his hearing and sight on one side. Which, now that she thought of it, was probably why Tara seemed kinda tense, too. No one ended up in WFC that hadn’t been chewed up and spit back out by war. “None taken, believe me.”
Just then, Tara, Jesse, and Kristina returned with two plastic bags of goodies—cans of soda, bags of chips and pretzels, and candy and granola bars. “Dinner is served,” Tara said.
Dani grabbed a can of ginger ale hoping it might help settle her unsettled gut.
“You should eat something, too,” Tara said gently. “It’s probably going to be a long night, right? It’ll be easier with some fuel on board. That goes for everyone.”
“Yes, Mom,” Mo said.
Tara smacked his arm. “Put something in that pie hole, Moses Griffin.” That got him to chuckle, and Dani thought that anything that could inject some humor was all to the good.
Appreciating what Tara was trying to do, Dani grabbed a bag of pretzels.
Another half hour passed before one of her colleagues poked her head into the waiting room. “Dani?”
She was on her feet and across the room in an instant. “How is he?”
Dr. Sarah Mitchell was one of Dani’s favorite docs. Short with white-blond hair and nearly violet eyes, she was young, aggressively advocated for her patients, and always listened to the nurses. “He’s doing good. Resting. Does he have any family here?”
“No. None local,” Dani said.
From right behind her, Billy cleared his throat. “His Dad lives in Philly and isn’t well. I wasn’t sure whether to try to get in touch with him until we knew more, especially since they’re not close.” Dani blinked. She didn’t know any of that.
Dr. Mitchell nodded and looked to Dani. “He asked for you to be present when I went over everything.”
Heart tripping into a sprint, Dani turned to the others. “I’ll fill you in as soon as I can.”
Mo nodded. “Tell him we’re all here for him.”
“I will,” Dani said, following the doc through the big double doors. It was a short walk to his exam room, where she found Sean propped up in bed wearing a blue hospital gown and an IV. An oblong eye shield covered his injured eye. “Hey, Sean.”
“Hey, girl, hey,” he said in a sing-song that was totally not him. Jesus, he was high as a kite.
“Enjoying some pain meds, I see,” she said, biting back her humor. It certainly made sense why he wanted her in here now.
“Don’t I make this gown look good?”
Dani laughed under her breath. “Sure, dude. Whatever you say.”
Dr. Mitchell pulled up a stool. “So here’s the deal. About your eye injury. All the orbital structures appear intact. The cut along the orbital rim fortunately wasn’t deep, but it did require fifteen stitches.”
The news made Dani feel like she could breathe again. The guy might drive her fucking nuts, but she’d never wish him harm. And she knew how much being a firefighter meant to him—the same thing being a nurse meant to her: helping people, making the world just a little better one day at a time, tipping the do-no-harm balance sheet a little in the right direction.
The doctor continued. “The blurriness you’re experiencing is likely from the blunt force trauma caused by how you landed. The hope is that time will reduce the inflammation causing the blurriness.”
Sean’s gaze swung to where Dani stood at the foot of his bed. “The hope…? D?”
“It’s good news. No reason to worry yet.”
“You’d tell me?”
“Absolutely.”
Dr. Mitchell nodded. “Dani’s right. You also have a concussion and some bruising to your lungs, which is why you were having some difficulty breathing. Chest wall injuries can make it painful to breathe, laugh, cough, or lift things. You might also have pain or stiffness in your shoulders or back. All of which should clear up on its own in the next couple weeks.”
Dani nodded, mentally ticking off things he was going to need or need to do after discharge. There would be prescriptions to fill, follow-up visits to attend, schedules to rearrange, and help he might need until the chest pain dissipated enough for him to be lifting or bending.
“When can I go back to work?” Sean asked.
“You’re a firefighter?” Dr. Mitchell asked. Dani mentally cringed—there was no way he was going to like her answer. When Sean nodded, the doc continued, “Assuming your vision and chest pain clears up, I would think you could get back to work in three or four weeks, depending on your pain level and recovery.”
