“Don’t need it,” Seth replied. He’d been a professional athlete; he could handle pain. And after he’d watched his older brother, Curt, almost ruin his life with a prescription drug addiction, Seth hated taking any kind of medication, even aspirin.
His bushy gray eyebrows raised, Dr. Anderson looked up from Seth’s chart. “Well, it’s your choice, of course, but you did suffer a grade two concussion—and your laceration required ten stitches, so you’re going to have some fairly significant pain.”
“No drugs. No way.”
“Okay. But if you change your mind…”
“I won’t.”
Drew poked his head around the E.R. cubicle curtain. “You ready to spring him, Doc?”
“I think so, the doctor said, looking at the clock. “I’ve held him for three hours, he was only unconscious briefly, he seems to have no retrograde amnesia and everything else checks out all right.”
“Great,” Seth said. He was anxious to leave the hospital and get home. It had been a long, hard day.
The doctor looked at Seth. “The nurse will be in with your discharge instructions.”
He left and Drew entered the room. He had his baseball cap on backward, and his dark blond hair stuck out from underneath it. His brown eyes were shadowed with concern.
“How’d you get in?” Seth asked. “I thought they only allowed immediate family back here.”
“Phoebe is tight with Nurse Fiona at the E.R. admission desk, so Fiona was willing to do her best friend’s brother a favor,” he said, clearly feeling smug.
“Ah. Always pulling strings, aren’t you?”
“In important situations, yes. And this certainly qualifies.” He moved farther into the curtained room and pointed to Seth’s head, which was covered in a large bandage. “You’re lucky you came away with only a gash on the head and a concussion.” He frowned. “You could have been killed, bro.”
“Nah,” Seth said, waving a hand in the air, careful not to shake his aching head. “Everything would have been good if I hadn’t tripped over that stupid rock.”
Drew inclined his head, looking skeptical. “Maybe, maybe not. I’m just thankful you’re okay.” He pressed his mouth together. “I was pretty worried.”
“Thanks,” Seth said, deeply appreciating Drew’s concern. He genuinely valued the care and compassion that came from his very limited circle of friends. “But I’m all right.”
The nurse, an old battle-ax of a woman with short white hair and glasses, shoved the curtain aside and blustered in. “Mr. Graham?” she barked.
Seth winced. She was a health care professional. Couldn’t she speak softly? “Yo.”
She raised an eyebrow and gave him a dispassionate look. “Listen up,” she said, shoving a clipboard in the air. “I have your discharge instructions.”
Like a general marching into war, she reiterated what Dr. Anderson had said—that they hadn’t done a CT scan because he had only been unconscious briefly, he had no retrograde amnesia in three hours of observation, and that he was to engage in no sports for a week. She added, quite succinctly, that if he had any lingering or severe symptoms, such as vomiting or onset of amnesia, he was to come back at once for a scan.
“Last but not least, Mr. Graham, you are not to be left alone for twenty-four hours,” she said pointedly, glaring at him. “No exceptions.”
“Excuse me?” he said.
“Standard procedure.” She shrugged. “Those are the rules.”
Sensing it was useless to argue, Seth took the paperwork she handed to him and signed it. He’d figure out what to do about the twenty-four-hour thing later.
His store wouldn’t run itself.
Then she handed him his post-care instructions and left.
“Let’s get you out of this place,” Drew said. “I grabbed a T-shirt from my truck you can put on.”
Seth stood and took his gown off—he still had on his board shorts from the beach—and pulled on the T-shirt Drew had brought, being careful not to touch his bandage. He looked down at his feet. “I don’t suppose I came here with shoes on, did I?”
Drew shook his head. “Nope, you were barefoot, and I was so intent on staying with you, I forgot to grab your stuff. Dana Hiatt called and told me she picked up your shoes, shirt and sweatshirt when she left the beach and would drop them at your house.”
“I’ll have to be sure and thank her.” A thought occurred to Seth. “Hey, how’s Kim?” He’d been glad to see that she seemed okay when he’d come to on the beach, but you never knew.
“She’s doing all right,” Drew responded. “In fact, she and Lily have been camped out in the waiting room anxiously waiting for news on you.”
“Hmm. I didn’t expect that.” Surprise tinged with pleasure bounced through Seth. For some reason, he was looking forward to seeing Kim again.
With Drew by his side, Seth made his way out of the E.R. His legs felt like he’d run a couple of marathons, and his head was pounding even more than it had when he’d been sitting.
Just as they stepped into the waiting room, a young woman rose from a chair near the exit and approached them. Her dark hair hung in damp strings around her face, and the gray fleece sweatshirt she wore was still slightly wet-looking around her shoulders. But it was her big brown eyes that stood out like hunks of topaz against the paleness of her face.
His heart sped up. Kim. After they’d locked gazes on the beach, he’d recognize her anywhere.
“S-Seth?” she said, her voice quavering. “I’m Kim. Kim Hampton.” She tried to smile but only made her pale lips quiver. Obviously she was still shook up and exhausted.
No surprise there; he felt exactly the same way, and impersonating a banged-up piece of hamburger wasn’t floating his boat.
An odd feeling twisted inside him, and a reply stuck in his throat; all he could think about was reaching out and wrapping his arms around her, giving the comfort she clearly needed.
Whoa, Graham. Slow down. Taking her in his arms? What was up with that? He barely knew her. The blow to his head must have really done a number on him.
While he stood there, wrestling with the strange urge to comfort her, she moved closer. “You rescued me today,” she said, smoothing her hair behind one ear with a shaking hand. “From the water?”
“I, um, remember,” he replied inanely. Oh, real smooth. When was the last time he’d sounded like an idiot while trying to talk to a woman? He guessed it was probably when he was about fifteen. He hadn’t even been this tongue-tied when he had met Diana back in his rowdy college days, and he thought he’d perfected the art of casual conversation with a pretty girl since then.
“I…uh, just wanted to be sure you were okay,” Kim said.
Drew cut in. “Why don’t I go bring the car around while you two talk?”
“Okay,” Seth said, agreeing only because he wasn’t sure how far he could walk.
After Drew left, Seth looked at Kim. “I’m doing all right,” he replied, even though he felt as if he had a herd of horses with sharp hooves galloping through his brain.
“Oh, good. I’ve been so worried.” She let out a heavy breath, then eyed his bandage. “How’s the cut?”
“It needed stitches, but I’ll heal up.” He’d had worse in his baseball days, compliments of a few wild pitches. And his knee had recovered pretty well, too, even though that injury had put an end to his baseball career.