A long sigh of relief escaped me as I felt some of the tension leave my shoulders. She understood. At least part of my worries. Hell, maybe that was why she was talking to me in the first place. She could’ve beenvoluntoldto assess me because no one else would see me. If so, I was glad they’d put their prejudices aside to at least help Marshall as much as they had.
She stood to retrieve Marshall’s records from the carrier at the base of his bed, flicking through the pages as she slowly returned to her seat, brushing her fingers up Marshall’s bare arm as she moved. Her eyes flew over the pages, lips pursing every now and then, and she nodded when she finished reading. “He’ll be fine. He received a severe concussion when he hit his head, which caused the unconsciousness. We’ll know more when he wakes up, but his vitals are strong and steady, and his pupils are reacting appropriately to light stimulus. His body needs time to repair itself, which is why he hasn’t woken up yet, but it’s only a matter of time before he does.” She placed the records on the tray table next to mine, then nodded at the heart rate monitor firmly secured to his finger. “That will track his vitals and let the nurses know if anything changes. He’s going to be fine. I promise.”
“What about his head wound?” The memory of seeing the pool of blood behind his ear plagued me.
“Excuse the phrasing, but head wounds bleed like a motherfucker.” She smirked at the shocked look I gave her. “The injury was small enough that it only needed cleaning when he arrived to make sure it wasn’t worse than it appeared and some glue to reseal the wound to help the clotting process along. The doctor who saw him in emergency was far more concerned with his concussion.” She gave me a pointed look. “Something I’m concerned about for you after what you just told me.”
I rolled my eyes, ignoring the lingering discomfort at the movement. The throbbing headache I’d felt when I woke up haddulled enough that it was nothing more than background noise now. The light-induced eye pain was no longer as irritating as it had been, although that might have been because we were in a windowless room, lit only by artificial light. As long as I didn’t move my eyes quickly or in a jerky way, I could live with any enduring ache.
I was far more worried about Marshall.
Regardless, I let her run through her assessment without complaint once she confirmed I could keep hold of Marshall’s hand. I answered all her questions, flinched and frowned appropriately when she shone light into each one of my eyes, and let her poke and prod my head a bit, focusing on a particular spot when I winced.
“Looks like you have a mild concussion,” she concluded, writing her findings on her clipboard.
“I figured as much,” I said, basically ignoring her again when I felt another twitch from Marshall’s hand. “Marshall? Baby?”
He didn’t respond, even when I lightly cupped his jaw and grazed a thumb against his cheek.
Hearing my disappointed sigh, Dr. Christine laid a hand on my shoulder and squeezed gently. “Keep talking to him. He can hear you, even if he can’t respond right now.”
“His fingers keep twitching. Isn’t that a sign he’s waking up?”
“It can be. It can also be a result of nerve reflex. Like when your feet sometimes jerk when you’re asleep. It’s normal.”
“Oh.”
She gave my shoulder another gentle squeeze. “Your husband is young, Daniel, and strong. He’ll be fine.”
Without taking my eyes off Marshall, I bit my bottom lip to stop my tears from welling and gave a stilted nod.
Thankfully, she took the hint. “Okay.” Her hand left my shoulder before I saw a business card get placed on the bedside table. “Here are the contact details for my family practice. I’mnot a resident here at the hospital. I was called in to help with the nonemergency victims of the tornado.”
Chancing a glance away from Marshall, I raised an eyebrow at her. I guessed it made sense but added fuel to my suspicion that the residents here weren’t as friendly as they wanted to appear to the public.
The corners of her lips flicked up again before her regular neutral look of general concern fell back into place. “I’ll be here for the rest of the day, so call me if anyone here gives you any trouble—any troubleat all,” she said pointedly. Yeah, she knew the doctors here were a problem, even if she couldn’t come right out and admit it. “I’ll hightail it back here. I expect Marshall will be discharged pretty quickly after he wakes up, which should be anytime in the next twenty-four hours, because they’ll want the bed. Any longer than that, you call me, okay?”
“Okay.” I gave her a grateful smile. “Thank you. For everything.”
She nodded. “You’re very welcome.”
And with that, she was gone. Off to see the next patient on her list.
Idly, I wondered if they, like me and Marshall, would identify as queer too.
Chapter Eighteen
Daniel
AftertextingJacksontheroom number Marshall was in, I used Rose’s phone to call my twin, Henry, figuring that he’d be pissy if I didn’t at least let him know about the loss of our house.
“Hey, Rose. What’s up?”
Keeping hold of Marshall’s hand, I leaned back into my seat and smiled sadly at the quiet, dependable gruffness of Henry’s voice. “Not Rose. Hey, Hen.”
“Dan?” There was a slight pause. “Everything okay? How come you’re using Rose’s phone?”
I felt my bottom lip wobble. “There’s been an… incident, Hen. Rose is fine,” I continued quickly, knowing that he’d freak if I didn’t lead with that. “So am I, but we’ve lost the house. I’m in the hospital—”
