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I nodded and rose from my seat. She was probably right. Sitting in my wet clothes only served to remind me why I was there. After I got changed, I returned to my seat to find Marcy waiting.
“Your friend has a nasty infection caused by a wound on his ribs. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it was a gunshot wound.”
Maintaining eye contact, I said, “I don’t know. I only met him at the B&B the other day.”
Her gaze swept over me carefully. “You saved his life, you know? If that infection and fever had been left any longer, he would’ve been in big trouble.” She squeezed my knee. “I’ll let you know when you can see him.”
Continuing the charade, I said, “No need. Like I said, he’s just some guy staying at the same place as me.”
Her shoulders lifted in a slight shrug. “No problems, Fallon. I’ll give you an update in any case.” She left the waiting room, and I sucked in a deep breath. The scent of disinfectant made my stomach turn as I was shunted violently back in time to when my mother had to come in for chemo. Only this time, I didn’t have Grayson here to hold my hand and tell me everything was going to be okay.
For a brief moment, I considered calling him, but I didn’t want to worry him while he was on his honeymoon. He and Sloane had fought way too hard and given up way too much for their relationship to thrive, including Grayson giving up his position as Warlord for the clan. They needed the break, and I needed to handle this on my own. I had to prove to myself that I could.
Pulling my feet up onto the seat, I wrapped my arms around my legs and buried my head against my knees. I did my best to block it all out—the smells, the noise …
The memories.
I chose to focus on what we were going to do once we got out of there. I thought Orin would need a couple of days to let the antibiotics do their work. We were already laying low, but we couldn’t stay here. There would eventually be more questions—questions I had no idea how to answer.
About three hours later, Marcy was back. She had a coat over her scrubs and a handbag slung across her shoulder.
“I’m heading home now, Fallon, but I came to tell you that Jim has been given intravenous antibiotics and something to help bring his fever down. His temperature has already dropped, and it looks like the antibiotics are working on the infection. I personally cleaned his wound, and he’ll be just fine in a couple of days.”
“Can I go and see him?” I asked.
She gave me a look—one that said she wasn’t buying the whole acquaintance act, especially since I was so adamant that I hadn’t wanted to see him before. “Sure. He’s been moved onto a ward. I can take you if you like?”
I bobbed my head and stood. My legs felt stiff from disuse. Marcy led the way through the hospital halls, into an elevator, and then out onto another floor. The whole thing was a ward with beds set into sets of six, three on one side, and three on the other, then divided by a wall.
She walked to the end section and waved me forward. “He’s in bed six.” Squeezing my hand, she started to walk away when I called out a hasty “Thank you!”
Marcy kept walking.
Returning my attention to Orin, I took him in. He had a hospital gown on now, and the edges of his tattoos peeked out the neck and under the sleeves. The thin blanket was pulled up to his chest and folded over neatly. Beside the bed was an automated infusion pump regulating the administration of antibiotics. I took a seat beside the bed and stared at him.
For the first time in nearly forty-eight hours, the color was back in his cheeks. His eyes were softly closed, all the tension that had been there before gone away. He would be here for at least a few more days, but at least I knew he was in good hands. I glanced at the clock above his bed. The hands were positioned at twelve and eleven, and I frowned. That would mean that I’d been here for nearly ten hours.
“You should get some rest,” someone said behind me.
I turned around to find a young woman—a doctor, I supposed, given the stethoscope around her neck—standing there. She had curly red hair held back from her face in a loose ponytail.
“Your friend is doing fine.”
“He’s not my friend,” I replied automatically. “Just a guy who’s staying at the same B&B as me.”
She gave me the same look Marcy had—thebullshitlook—but didn’t try and correct me. She stepped a little closer and picked up the chart hanging on the end of his bed.
“He’s been given a sedative to help him sleep. He seemed quite restless after we brought him into triage.” She leafed through a page, then peered at me from under her lashes. “Do you know anything about the bullet wound on his side?”
I made my eyes widen in disbelief. “A bullet wound?”
The doctor nodded. “He’s lucky to be alive. Someone put some stitches in, and those sutures saved his life. They helped pull the two parts of his chest together and prevent any further tears or damage to his lung. It was a very close thing.”
I looked back at Orin. “Maybe he did it himself?”
She shook her head. “I don’t believe that. I think he had help.”
Was she fishing? I cleared my throat. “Well, I’m glad he’s okay.”
