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“You made a good call and caught it in time,” Bently said.
“Looks like you got a few bruised ribs. No internal bleeding. But you do have a concussion,” Stanley explained.
“I would say you should see the other guy, but then again, I didn’t even get a good look at him.” Bently chuckled as if anything about this was funny. Humor was his defense as usual.
“It’s a good thing your friend found you when he did. A concussion is a traumatic brain injury,” the doctor started explaining.
“I know, Doc. This is not my first rodeo.”
Belle looked closer at the X-rays. Healed fractures from old injuries were scattered across his ribs. Surely he hadn’t sustained all of those on the job.
No. Something more sinister had to be at play.
“You might have trouble with your vision, problem-solving, motor skills, and reaction time for a while. You need to keep yourself in a quiet dark room with absolutely no TV or phone screens for forty-eight hours. You’ll also need someone to help take care of you. No driving.” Doctor Stanley crossed his arms.
Bently’s fists clenched.
“Your CT scan showed negative acute injury and no orbital or facial fractures. You got lucky.”
“This pounding headache doesn’t feel so lucky.” Bently winced.
“You might be nauseous and unable to walk unassisted for a while. Best to rest and let your body heal. You can’t rush these types of injuries into getting better or you could end up worse in the long run,” Doctor Stanley said firmly.
“Alright.” Bently waved him off.
“Belle here will dress your flesh wounds and we’ll monitor you for a few more hours. You should arrange for someone to pick you up. Did you want us to alert someone on your team?” Doctor Stanley asked.
Bently grimaced. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Alright. I’ll be back to check on you.” Rick left them alone.
Belle bit her lip, unsure of what to say. Anger rolled off him like waves lapping the shore, each one stronger than the next. She pulled out the tray and laid the items she’d need on the portable table. He closed his eyes, giving her freedom to study him as she prepared. Her heart ached seeing him like this.
“I’ll need this off,” she said gently, pulling open the hospital gown and lowering it to the bed. His broad bruised chest was exposed. The defined planes of his muscles rippled with strength. The ache in her chest grew. Angry black and purple bruises marred his olive skin.
“I’m going to wrap your ribs.” She explained each step as she carefully took care of his wounds.
A myriad of other scars covered his body. Every time she touched his skin, he winced.
“I’m sorry. I’m trying to be gentle,” she said softly as she peeled away the gauze around his head.
He remained silent. Jaw tense, and his face hard.
She leaned in to clean the wound on his head, preparing it for sutures. His breathing sharpened as she coasted the gauze over the dried blood. “What’s your pain level?”
“I’m fine.” His voice was scraping and raw.
“Your ribs are bruised and you have a concussion. I’d say you’re far from fine.”
His hand darted to hers, grabbing her wrist as his eyes snapped open. “I don’t need your pity!”
She gasped, flames licking up her arm from his firm grasp. Was that what he thought she saw when she looked at him?
Belle had her fair share of stubborn patients, but no one spoke to her like that. Her eyes narrowed. “Well, it’s a good thing I don’t have any for you, then. As your nurse, I’m responsible for your care. Pain management is part of that.”
He dropped her hand and sighed before nodding.
“On a scale of one to ten, what is your pain at?”
