“Hang on,” Roman gasped. “Taking inventory.” He tried to push beyond the numbness. He could feel a bruise forming on his forehead and he could taste blood, but he knew better than to try to move his neck. Better safe than sorry, even though he was beginning to feel every pain-pounding cell in his body. “I think I’m okay.” He wiggled his toes...on his left foot. On his right? Oh, man. He sucked in a breath, his hand going down to his leg. “Nope. Scratch that. Jasper, check my right leg.” He had four old faces peering down at him as if he he’d been plucked from the planet and put on display for his alien abductors. All that was missing was a probe.
He could feel the kid’s hands on his leg and knew by the suddenly pale color of Jasper’s cheeks he’d confirmed what Roman suspected. “I think it’s broken.”
“Yeah.” Roman didn’t nod. He took a deep breath and stared up at the sky. “Okay, you got your cell? Call Frankie. Tell her we need an ambulance. And then have her call for some volunteers to meet you here.”
“Why?”
“Because.” Roman sucked in a breath as his chest tightened. “We need to get those Christmas lights up.”
* * *
“FRANKIE?”
“Hey, Paige.” Frankie glanced up from her phone, clicking it off as she leaned an arm against the emergency room check-in desk. “How is he?”
She couldn’t remember feeling quite so frazzled. Her hands were shaking and her stomach was leaping like an out-of-place toad at a frog-jumping contest.
She’d known, logically at least, Roman was okay. He was in good hands, from the paramedics to the ER staff, which included nurse Paige Bradley. But as many times as Frankie told herself she had nothing to worry about, she couldn’t shake the desire, the need, to see for herself that Roman was all right.
Luckily, Ozzy had been working out at the station and offered to keep an eye on things. Meanwhile, she headed over with Sebastian to check on the volunteers stringing what would soon become an infamous set of Christmas lights. Given Roman’s orders to Jasper before the ambulance had arrived, she knew he’d want to know his reason for going out on the call in the first place would be taken care of.
It was. But her stomach was still a roiling mess. Roman hadn’t been on the job for a month and here he was, injured. She’d read his file. Roman wasn’t careless. In fact, his list of injuries over the past decade had been minor at best.
It was guilt, she told herself. Guilt because she should have taken the call. She knew the Cocoon Club took special handling, but she’d sent him out there anyway. That said, who could have known Oscar and his weaponized walker would go on a rampage? She could have known, she reminded herself. She should have known. Yes, guilt. Because to consider any other emotion where Roman was concerned would just open a door to a place she did not want to go.
“Roman’s fine.” Paige’s sunshine-yellow scrubs were so bright it almost hurt to look at her. With her neat ponytail bobbing behind her, her eyes were sympathetic but didn’t hold any concern. The combination instantly relaxed Frankie. “Well, he will be given a little time. He’s pretty bruised up. Ribs, left shoulder. And he broke his nose. Not for the first time, from what he’s told us.”
“No.” By Frankie’s recollection, this would be number four.
“The break in his leg is clean, so he won’t need surgery, but he’ll be in a cast for a good six weeks. More if he doesn’t follow orders and use crutches.” Paige’s tone stressed that fact specifically, and Frankie accepted the unspoken order to make certain he did as he was told.
“Can I see him?”
“Yeah, sure.” Paige motioned for her to follow. “We’re taking him in for an MRI in a bit. Doctor’s pretty sure he’s got a mild concussion, so he’s here at least overnight. He’s a little loopy. We gave him a shot for the pain, but also because he tried to get out of bed twice.”
“Of course he did.” Something told Frankie her already-full hands were about to overflow. “Huh, isn’t this a sight?” Frankie purposely kept her tone light and amused as Paige led her into Roman’s room. With him in it, the space felt as if she’d stepped into a doll’s house. He took up every inch of the bed. His leg had been prewrapped for a cast and was resting on a mound of pillows. The bruise on his forehead had Frankie wincing in sympathy, as did his swelling nose. He was going to have some serious black eyes come tomorrow. “You just couldn’t make this easy on me, could you?” Relief had swept over her at seeing him. She had to clear her throat of the emotion. He was a mess, but he was alive. “Everything has to be a production with you.”