by L. A. Witt
A nurse had taken down my name and sent me to the waiting room, assuring me Dalton was in good hands. He was going straight back for X-rays and a CT scan. I was almost surprised this facility had the equipment for a CT scan. Nothing about this place screamed state-of-the-art to me. The tiny waiting area looked like a regular doctor’s office, complete with tattered magazines, brightly colored plastic kids’ toys, and the obligatory fish tank. The gray-haired triage nurse looked as worn and tired as the cracked linoleum, and I wondered if she’d been here as long as the yellowing wallpaper and dull pastel-pink paint. Maybe I’d been spoiled with the high-tech hospitals I’d gone to as a kid, but this place reminded me of a veterinary clinic in a strip mall. Did they even know how to handle someone in Dalton’s condition?
Of course they did. Over and over, I reminded myself this was a hospital, these were medical professionals, and they did know what they were doing. Hopefully.
While I waited, I fielded texts from our coworkers and our chain of command, assuring everyone I’d update them when I could. Technically, Chief Lasby should have been here, but I’d assured him I’d wait for Dalton so he could deal with our crippled boat. And whatever issue had prompted Anderson to leave the harbor. Another disabled vessel, I thought I’d heard. Chief Lasby would handle everything back at HPU, I’d keep everyone posted about Dalton, and MA2 Simmons said she’d stay with MA3 Rhodes until her husband came.
I also texted Dalton’s roommate to see about getting him some clothes. What was left of his uniform was probably still on the deck of the boat. Not half an hour later, AT3 Jay Stockton strode into the waiting room with a pair of sneakers and a plastic grocery sack full of folded clothes.
“How is he?” he asked as he handed everything over. His eyes were wide—he was a younger Sailor, probably only a couple of years past boot camp, and it was entirely possible this was his first brush with the scary shit that could happen in the military.
Wait till you get deployed, kid.
I swallowed. “I don’t know. I haven’t heard anything. The EMTs thought he’d be okay, but he’s been back there awhile.”
Stockton pursed his lips, glancing toward the doors leading into the rest of the emergency room. “Well, this place can be slow as fuck. Buddy of mine came in with a sprained ankle and he was here almost six hours.”
I exhaled. As much as I didn’t like the idea of being here all damn night, I found some comfort in knowing the hospital was notorious for taking its sweet time. I’d stay here for days if it meant Dalton was all right. “I’ll send you a text when I know something. Between the hypothermia and the concussion, he’s probably—”
“Concussion?” Stockton’s eyes widened. “Shit, what happened? I thought he just went in the water.”
“No idea. He was bleeding pretty good from one side of his head, though, and one of the EMTs said something about a concussion, so . . .” I shrugged.
“But you think he’ll be all right?”
“I sure hope so.”
Stockton glanced toward the doors again. “Definitely keep me up-to-date. Even if it’s at crazy thirty in the morning. I want to know he’s okay.”
“I will. And thanks again.” I held up the clothes he’d brought.
“Don’t mention it.” He paused. “You know, I can go crash at my girlfriend’s place tonight. He could probably use the peace and quiet.”
“Someone might need to stay with him. If you don’t mind me hanging out in your barracks room, I’ll stick around and keep an eye on him.”
Stockton nodded. “Awesome. Does he have his keys?”
“I don’t know, actually.”
He took out his own and pulled one off the ring. “I’ve got a spare in the car.”
“Perfect. Thanks.” As I pocketed the key, I added, “We’ll get this one back to you ASAP. If Dalton doesn’t have his on him, and he didn’t drop them in the water, they’re probably in the security building.”
“Whatever.” He shrugged. “Long as he’s got a place to—”
“Mr. Ingram?” a woman’s voice called.
I spun around. “Yeah, that’s me.”
She smiled and waved for me to come with her. I glanced at Stockton, and he practically shoved me. “Go. Text me when you know something.”
I nodded and beat feet after her, and my heart sped up as we headed down the hall. “How’s he doing?”
“He might not be much of a conversationalist for a while, but he’s awake.”
Relief hit me so hard, I just about stumbled over my own boots. He was awake. I didn’t think I’d ever heard better news.
At the end of the hall, she stopped and leaned into an open door. “Mr. Taylor? You’ve got a visitor.” Then she gestured for me to go in.
Dalton was under a pile of heated blankets, semireclined in a hospital bed with an IV in one arm, white tape covering one side of his head, EKG pads all over him, and wires sticking out from under the blankets and the collar of his hospital gown. His eyelids were heavy, his skin was still pale, and damn if he didn’t look better than anything I’d ever seen.
“Hey.” I smiled as I stepped closer. “How are you feeling?”
He swallowed like it took some work, and his eyelids slid closed again. “Fucking hurts.”
My heart jumped. “Hurts? What hurts?” In all the chaos, we hadn’t even had time to check him for injuries. Aside from stabilizing his neck and trying to staunch the bleeding on his head, anyway.
He licked his lips slowly. “My fucking head. And . . .” He made a heavy, weak gesture toward his side and winced. “Kind of feel like someone ran me through the washing machine.”
I barked a laugh and dragged a chair over with my foot. As I sat, I remembered the bag and sneakers in my hand. “I’ve got some clothes for you, by the way. So you don’t have to wear that thing home.”
A small smile pulled at his pale lips. “I don’t know, man,” he slurred softly. “It’s the latest fashion.”
I snorted. “Yeah, okay. Well when you get your fashion sense back, these will be waiting for you.” I twisted around to put them on the counter.
“Where’d you get them, anyway?”
“Stockton came by.”
“Oh. Awesome.”
The nurse cleared her throat, reminding me she was still in the room. “We’re waiting on Mr. Taylor’s CT scan results, and the doctor might want to get another X-ray of those ribs, but I think he’s leaning toward releasing him.”
“Are they broken?” Dalton asked, voice faintly slurred.
“They don’t appear to be.” She fiddled with one of the leads disappearing under the top of his rumpled gown. “Dr. Engle thinks you pulled some muscles. Probably on the way out of the water.”
I shuddered at the memory of Dalton being hauled onto the deck like a ragdoll. They’d been as careful as possible in case his back had been fucked up, and they’d had a C-collar on him, but the decision had been made to pull him out as quickly as they could. They’d had to be careful about his neck because of how he’d hit his head, but apparently they hadn’t been as concerned about his back. Or at least, not concerned enough to risk keeping him in the water—which was tossing him around anyway—long enough to put him on a backboard. So no, I wasn’t surprised he had some pulled muscles. Probably some bruises too.
Dalton asked the nurse a few more questions. When he was done, she offered me a motherly smile. “I’ll send the doctor in as soon as he’s free. You’re welcome to keep him company until then.”
I nodded. “Thanks.” Then she left the room, and I turned back to Dalton. “You really got knocked around, didn’t you?”
Eyes closed, he gave a slow, subtle nod. He didn’t speak, though. As his breathing slowed, I realized he was drifting off. Wait, didn’t he have a concussion? Should I let him sleep? I glanced back and forth between him and the door, then decided my best bet was to check with one of the nurses.
I stepped outside the room. The nurses’ station was a few feet away, and
a tall white guy with wire-rim glasses and thinning blond hair sat at the desk.
“Hi,” I said as I approached. When he looked up, I gestured at Dalton’s room. “Listen, my friend is here with a head injury and hypothermia. Is it . . . If he starts going to sleep, do I let him? Or should I wake him up because of the concussion and all?”
The man pursed his lips. “Are you family?”
“Yeah.” I rolled my eyes. “I’m his brother. I just go to the tanning salon more often.”
He scowled up at me. “Well, I can’t disclose his medical information to anyone except his family or designated emergency contacts.”
I fought the urge to roll my eyes again. “I’m not asking for his medical information.” I jabbed my thumb over my shoulder. “I’m just asking if I should wake him up or let him sleep.”
The scowl deepened, and it was followed by a long-suffering sigh as the man got up. He strolled to Dalton’s room, and I silently followed him inside.
He glared at the screen, eyes moving side to side as he read what I assumed was Dalton’s chart. After a moment, he said, “Your friend is fine to sleep.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
The man didn’t offer anything further. He left, and once again, it was just me and Dalton. I took my seat beside the bed, not sure what to do except wait for someone to come in and give me news. Or, well, give Dalton news. When he was awake.
He was still asleep when the other nurse came back in. She typed something into the computer, checked his vitals on the monitor, and turned to go.
“Wait,” I said. “Is he . . .” I chewed the inside of my cheek. “Look, I know you can’t tell me anything because I’m not family, but can you at least tell me if he’s gonna be okay?”
She hesitated, regarding him silently, but she finally nodded. “He’ll probably sleep for several hours when he gets home, and then be very tired tomorrow, but he’ll be fine.”
“And it’s really okay for him to sleep like that? With a concussion?” I didn’t trust that other dick-bag.
The nurse smiled. “Yes. Someone will need to stay with him for the next twenty-four hours at least—ideally forty-eight—but he can sleep.”
I released a breath. “Okay. Thanks.” I felt like an idiot for being so hung up on whether or not Dalton could sleep, but I was terrified of him suddenly taking a turn for the worse. Especially if it was something I might be able to prevent. Fuck, I hated being this useless.
As I watched him sleeping peacefully, my brain kept darting back to the ambulance ride. When Dalton had come around enough to moan when the medics had prodded him just right. I’d imagined all kinds of horrible injuries that might’ve been causing the pain in his side. Busted ribs? Internal bleeding?
Fortunately, it had turned out to be some pulled muscles. Probably from struggling to stay afloat, or maybe they’d happened in the process of hauling him onto the boat. Dalton wouldn’t be comfortable for a few days, but given the alternatives, I didn’t figure he’d be complaining.
Neither was I. He was alive, and it looked like he was going to be okay. That was all I needed right now.
The Coastal General emergency room stayed pretty quiet as near as I could tell, but it was another solid three hours before the doctor came in. Dalton was starting to come around, and when he heard the words “preparing your discharge papers,” he perked right up.
“So I can leave?” he asked.
“As soon as your paperwork is finished, yes.” The bald doctor smiled. “Remember, get as much rest as you can, and check in with your primary care doctor in the next forty-eight hours.”
Dalton nodded. “Will do.”
The doctor left, and I helped Dalton sit up.
“How do you feel?” I asked.
He groaned, rubbing his forehead. After a moment, he exhaled as he lowered his hand. “I’m okay. Just really, really tired.” He paused. “And the room keeps . . .” He made a gesture like a boat pitching on the waves.
“It probably will for a while. You need a hand?” I motioned toward his clothes. “Getting dressed?”
Some color bloomed in his cheeks. Even if it was out of shyness, I had to admit it was good to see him getting pink around the edges. Anything to remind me he was alive.
“No, I’m good.” He gingerly stepped down off the bed and took his time getting all the way up. “My head is fucking killing me, though.”
“Yeah, I believe it. Looks like you took a pretty hard hit.” I paused. “What did you hit, anyway?”
“I didn’t hit anything,” he said dryly. “The boat hit me.”
I blinked. “Come again?”
“After I went overboard, a wave threw the boat, and—” He gestured at the bandage. “Didn’t get out of the way fast enough.”
My blood turned as cold as the water we’d pulled him out of. That boat wasn’t big enough to handle seas like that, but it wasn’t exactly an inflatable dinghy. Tossed around by waves that strong, it could’ve killed him as easily as a speeding truck.
Oblivious to the worst-case scenarios bouncing around in my head, Dalton wrinkled his nose and licked his lips. “Man, I could really use some water. My mouth still tastes like the fucking ocean.”
I was on my feet before he’d finished speaking. “Sit tight. I think there’s a vending machine down the hall.”
“You need cash?” He looked around. “Shit, where’s my wallet?”
“Hopefully in your locker.” I took out my own wallet and gestured with it. “I got you, though. I’ll be back in a second.”
It took a while to find a machine that didn’t require exact change and did have something besides Diet Coke, but I eventually found one down the hall from the ER’s waiting room. By the time I came back with the water, he was dressed and sitting on the bed, pulling on his shoes. When he looked up, his gaze went straight to the water, and his eyes lit up like I’d just brought him a winning lottery ticket. Not surprisingly, he downed the first bottle in two gulps.
“Holy fuck,” he said as he lowered it. “I needed that.”
“I’ll bet you did.”
He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. “What a crazy fucking night. I swear I can still feel the ocean.”
“Not gonna get seasick on me, are you?”
“Not making any promises.” He was silent for a moment, eyes closed, but he seemed alert. Still sitting upright, his fingers idly turning the bottle cap over and over. Then his eyes flew open. “Shit! Rhodes!” His voice was full of panic. “Is she okay? Is she—”
“Hey, hey.” I touched his arm. “Take it easy. She’s fine. Her husband already took her home. In fact, she texted me a little while ago to make sure you were okay.”
He released a relieved breath. “Oh thank God. She went in with me.”
“I think she went in after you.”
His eyes unfocused. When he finally nodded, he looked dazed. “Yeah. I think . . . I think I remember that. Sort of.” He squirmed like he was trying not to shiver. “I’d be dead if she hadn’t gone in.”
I blinked. The statement was so matter-of-fact. I was kind of used to that from him, but not when we were talking about how close he’d come to fucking dying in the last few hours.
His eyes flicked toward me. Then he watched his fingers playing with the plastic ring around the top of the water bottle. “I couldn’t get a grip on the handles to inflate my vest. Then after the boat hit me, I was out for . . . I don’t know. Probably a few seconds. But if she hadn’t inflated it for me and hauled my ass up . . .” He shook his head, Adam’s apple bobbing with a hard swallow. “I don’t remember much after that.”
My stomach somersaulted. In the moment, while he’d still been in that cold and violent water, I’d known Dalton had been in very real danger, but it was surreal to realize how quickly and easily he could’ve died. He could’ve drowned long before hypothermia had become a concern. The boat crashing into him could’ve killed him in an instant if it had hit him hard enough. Ice filled my veins as it
dawned on me that while I’d been begging my boat to get me to him faster, it could have easily been too late already.
He rolled his shoulders and tilted his head to one side, then the other. As he shifted around, he winced, holding his side gingerly.
“How you feeling?” I asked. “In general?”
“Better than when I was in the water.”
I laughed and couldn’t resist giving his forearm a little squeeze. “I think we all feel better than when you were in the water.”
He turned to me, eyebrows up.
“You scared us, man.” I squeezed again before taking my hand back. “When they pulled you out of that water . . .” I didn’t think I could finish the thought. Not without puking.
Dalton studied me intently. “What?”
I held his gaze, then shook my head. “Man, I was honestly afraid you were already dead.”
He shuddered. So did I.
Then he looked around. “Let’s chase down that nurse with my discharge papers. I’m ready to get out of here.”
I couldn’t agree more.
My car was still on base, so I called us a cab. Fortunately, Dalton’s waterproof ID case had been on a lanyard around his neck, and that had survived the chaotic night, so he had his military ID when we approached the base gate. I was pretty sure the sentries would have let us on anyway, though. They knew us, and they probably all knew what had happened.
On the way into the barracks, Dalton could walk, but his balance didn’t seem to be so hot, so I kept an arm around his shoulders. He didn’t protest. In fact, he leaned into me as we walked, and he still wobbled a bit.
“You okay?” I asked. “Dizzy?”
“A bit. Everything’s kind of . . .” He gestured like the walls were tilting from side to side.
“Just keep leaning on me, okay?”
“I will. Thanks.”
As we continued down the hall, a few guys poked their heads out of their rooms. Everyone wore concerned expressions, so word must have gotten around about what had happened. Fortunately, they also seemed to realize that neither of us was in any mood to deal with questions, and no one said anything to us.