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What a bunch of psychos. Girls, plural? I listened while June haltingly told me the story. How Archer had touched her going up the ladder and how he had watched her and grown increasingly bold. Then, she told me how Meg hadn’t been in the mood for “the game” that day. And her solution, the crazy cunt, had been to kick the ladder out from under June so it looked like June had ruined their carpet and made an absolute mess of her job. Then she told me about how Archer had fondled her at the door before throwing her out.
I went from furious to homicidal in a snap. It was one thing to distantly assume something like that had happened. It was another to hear it from June’s mouth.MyJune’s mouth.
My hands clenched the steering wheel so hard that I thought I might tear the leather away from the thick stitching along the inside. June glanced over at me from where she’d been staring at her fist. She sighed, looking back down. “I know. It was stupid.”
I didn’t think I could get any angrier, but her words were like kerosene to a bonfire. “June Ella, are you seriously implying that my anger is directed at you right now?”
She flinched, hunching a look my way again. “You told me not to go.”
“Yes, and I’m frustrated withmyselffor the way I communicated my worry for you.” She sucked in her bottom lip. Unable to help myself, I reached over and tugged on her chin until she released her lip. “Cupcake, my anger with you is always surface-deep. You push back even a little, and you’ll find that the only thing I want is to see you happy.”
Her throat bobbed, but she didn’t say anything. I turned into the parking garage, and as I’d hoped, Irving was there in the spot next to mine. I killed the engine and said, “I’ll be right back,” before meeting Irving at the door of his silver SUV. The lines on his face deepened as he glanced over his shoulder at my car and then back to me.
“How bad is it?” he asked with concern. I’d given him a brief summary when I’d asked him for supplies.
“Bad enough,” I replied grimly. “They made it look like June’s fault. It’s their word against hers.”
Andrews clicked his tongue as he reached for the black duffel bag in his passenger seat. “That won’t be an enjoyable process to prosecute.”
“Maybe,” I agreed. “I’ll call Azura and see what she says.”
“Good idea,” he said. “Please let me know if you need anything else. I threw in everything you said and a few extras, so you don’t have to leave her. But don’t hesitate to call me.”
Andrews was possibly the busiest man alive. I’d felt bad enough calling and asking him to get medical supplies from the center on his night off. “I owe you one,” I smiled.
“Perfect, you babysit?” he joked with a grin.
I tapped the hood of his car. “Andrews, you didn’t pull me from a battlefield. Let’s not be dramatic.”
With a laugh, he rolled up his window, and I secured the duffel bag on my shoulder before going to my passenger door. Getting June upstairs wasn’t going to be comfortable for her. Carrying her had been faster, but it had jostled her dislocated shoulder. She was better off walking, so we took it slowly. I held her tight to my right side while we made our way across the garage and to the elevator. By the time we’d made it to my front door, she had sweat beading her hairline and her breathing had grown ragged.
I scooped her up at the threshold, and a dim part of me found that horribly ironic. This was not the way I had intended to sweep June off her feet when I’d realized I was helplessly in love with her. I carried her to the master bedroom, figuring we might as well get the worst parts over with first.
I set her on the edge of the tub with her feet on the outside, and then with her curious eyes on me, I dragged the padded chair over to her and set the duffel bag between my feet. Irving had organized it nicely, and I found the Midazolam bottle and a syringe.
June gave me a worried look. I punctured the bottle with the needle and drew out five milliliters, sparing her a glance. “This is just to help you relax.”
“I’m relaxed,” she said tightly. I snorted. “I am,” she insisted. “Your bathroom is very soothing.”
I looked around the spa-like space and had to agree. It was usually relaxing. “Regardless, you’re getting a few shots tonight.” I stood and moved from her right side to her left, pinched the tissue on her arm, and punctured the skin. I pressed the plunger faster than it took her to open her mouth to argue with me. That done, I got her a water bottle from my fridge and had her take two Ibuprofen pills.
With her right arm held gingerly between her legs, June followed my movements with a worried gaze. I sat down on the chair in front of her, and my knees sandwiched hers. I bent to the side and scooped up a penlight from the bag. June shied away from the light, and after I held her chin still, I didn’t get the pupillary response I wanted. Definite concussion, then. I dropped the penlight back into the bag. “Okay, now the fun part,” I said with heavy sarcasm, and I took her right hand in mine gently. “Have you dislocated your shoulder before?”
“No,” she demurred. She went rigid, and her left hand pressed on mine like she wanted me to remove my hand.
“You have to relax,” I said, hoping my voice sounded more comforting than the tumultuous emotions inside of me felt. “Just relax and I’ll give you a massage. That’s it.”
She gave me a dubious “yeah right” look.
Slowly, I brought her right hand to my right shoulder with her elbow down, so it crossed between our bodies. “The trick to this,” I said, holding her gaze with mine, “is to trust me.” I gave her a rueful grin. “Youdidsay you trust me.”
That pulled a smile from her. “True.”
With her wrist braced on my shoulder, I used my right hand to pull down on her elbow and my left to massage up her sore arm and toward her shoulder. “I know it hurts. Dislocated shoulders are rough. But all that tension around your shoulder is keeping it out of place. So, relax.” I massaged closer to her shoulder with firm, guiding motions. “Let it go. I’ll guide it back into place, and as soon as I do, you’ll feel a hundred times better.”
She tensed away from me. “I’ve seen how they do this on TV. It’s going to hurt.”
I lifted my eyes to the heavens and prayed for patience. “Just because TV does it, doesn’t mean it’s accurate,” I reminded her. “I’m on my own—I don’t have the assistance of another physician, so we’re doing this the slow way. Nice and easy.” I massaged harder, pushing until I knew she was going to start feeling it. To distract her, I said, “What were you doing behind a tree?”
