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“I think our patient was just trying to cop a feel,” said a female voice, laughing. “I don’t want you to get your hopes up…” Was she talking to the other female in the room? “but between his autonomic response and the fact that he said two words, we’re being given very good signs.”
Fleet felt the blood pressure cuff inflate on his upper arm.
“His vitals are normal as well, but let’s leave it to the surgeon to make a more detailed determination, shall we?”
The surgeon? Now Fleet was flummoxed. Had he undergone surgery?
Maybe it was broken bones needing to be pinned? He was determined to find out.
He flexed his feet, one by one. They both seemed to work just fine. And the breast-hand he’d employed had certainly responded appropriately. He began hefting hisleftarm, and that worked, too, except everything felt damned heavy.
“Nothing broken?” he asked. And,score!He’d managed four syllables.
“Nope,” the woman he assumed was the nurse spoke again. “The surgeon will explain everything. Right now, however, can you open your eyes for me?”
Fleet wanted to grumble, but… If he must.
He struggled to unglue his lashes, and managed to open to a gloomy fog again, one bereft of color. An indistinct figure poised above him, and another stood off to his left. He wished he could focus, but it seemed beyond him.
“Cloudy,” he grunted, but since he was on a roll at least with his language skills, he undertook a sentence. “Did I hit my head?”
“My, my,” the nurse said cheerily. “That had to have taken some effort. Slow down and relax. The surgeon will be in momentarily to answer all of your questions.”
Fleet watched the shadow of that speaker walk away and listened as her footsteps retreated down a hallway. At least his hearing was still sharp.
Like that nurse—because that’s who had obviously departed—couldn’t have given him some information to go on, Fleet scoffed internally. But he understood protocol. He wasn’t however, always the greatest at patience. “Who…else is here?” he asked, turning to his other obscured visitor; the one to the left.
“It’s me, Fleet. Talia.”
His heart instantly lit up. He hadn’t dreamed her! Then it plummeted again.Shit.If Talia was here, his prognosis must not be good. The only thing that would have her at his bedside would be a life-or-death thing.
He gave what he hoped was a smile. “Thought I…was a…goner, huh?” he quipped.
“Don’t even tease about it,” Talia admonished gently, and he felt her hand rest on his shoulder. Her warmth felt damned good. “You were actually touch and go for a while.”
Was she supposed to be giving him that info? Probably not, but he sure hoped he could lead her into revealing more. He didn’t want to wait to receive cold, hard facts from the surgeon.
“Tell me…what happened?” He still couldn’t see worth shit, but it was getting easier to talk.
“You…fell. Because of…”
She seemed hesitant.
“More, Talia,” Fleet urged.
“Those headaches you’ve been having?” He could almost see her chewing on her lip. “It turns out you’ve been suffering from what’s called a sentinel bleed.”
“Clueless,” he returned. What the hell was she talking about?
“It’s a slow bleed that led up to a major event; a brain aneurysm.”
Well, hell. He knew whatthatwas.
“I…exploded while bouldering?” he questioned, already running the scenario back again. Climbing, becoming dizzy, blinding pain, losing his lunch, then…nothing more.
“Don’t say exploded,” Talia scolded. “It’s a terrible visual. Your artery…ruptured.”
Fuck.He understood. It wasn’t an anomaly.
