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“Because it’s healed, Ms…”
“Gallagher.”
He smiles. “As much as I would like to, I can’t keep Mr. Allen on the disabled list just because I fear a potential re-injury. Bull riding is a dangerous sport, but he knows the hazards, and it has to be his choice. It’s my job to make sure he goes in with eyes wide open.”
Monroe nods, and thank God she doesn’t say another word.
“So that’s it?” I ask. “We’re done?”
“Almost. I spoke to Dr. Pine about the concussion—”
“I don’t need clearance from the concussion to ride,” I say, interrupting him.
“I know you don’t.”
“Wait.” Monroe turns to me. “What do you mean you don’t need to be cleared after a concussion?” She looks back at the doctor.
“I’m afraid he’s right, Ms. Gallagher. The PBR doesn’t require medical clearance after a concussion. He’s free to ride as soon as he feels up to it.”
“But that’s ridiculous.”
“I’m fine, Mo.” I grit the words out, ignoring the nauseating look she gives me.
“Yes, you’re fine now. Forget about the shoulder injury; I’m more worried about your head.”
Son of a bitch. What was I thinking bringing her with me today?
“That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about next, Mr. Allen,” Dr. Wong says. “Dr. Pine wants to see you while you’re in the building today.”
“I’m not sure if we’re going to have time, and I didn’t make an appointment.”
He nods. “My nurse went ahead and scheduled you one after I talked to Dr. Pine the other day. He just wants to see how you’re feeling. It won’t take long, and if you’re ready, you can go over there now.”
“We’re ready,” Mo answers for me.
“Great.” Dr. Wong reaches for my chart and pulls out a piece of paper. “Here’s your medical clearance.”
“Thanks, Doc.” I fold the paper and stuff it in my back pocket.
He reaches for the door and stops. “For what it’s worth, you’re an extremely talented bull rider. I just want you to walk away from the industry someday with enough of your health left to become an even better husband and father.” He glances at Mo, giving her a smile and nod, and steps out the door.
“Mo.”
She stands up, pulling her purse strap high on her shoulder. “I refuse to apologize for asking questions that pertain to your health.”
“I wasn’t going to ask you to apologize.”
“Good. Because I won’t,” she says, walking out.
The silence is deafening as we walk to the opposite side of the medical complex to Dr. Pine’s office. Within twenty minutes I’m back in a stark white room, sitting on a bed with that noisy-as-fuck paper.
“Mr. Allen,” Dr. Pine says as he walks in. He’s a tall man with a gut that tells me he enjoys his dessert as much as I do. Other than a few gray hairs along his temples, he looks the same. “It’s been a while.”
“That’s a good thing, Doc.” I shake his hand. “Means I’ve been healthy.”
“Until recently,” he adds, turning toward Mo. “And you are?”
“Monroe Gallagher,” she answers, slipping her hand in his.
