“So,” Austen began, “what you were saying about Thayer and his narrative made me think. And I might have an idea.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“I’ve been ignoring my social media ever since the interview aired last night, because it’s waytoo overwhelming right now. I’m getting nonstop mentions and emails and interview requests and it goes on and on.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Instead of trying to hide from all that attention, why don’t we use it to our advantage? I can break the news that you’re injured, from right here in the hospital. We could even take a pic at your bedside together—that’dreallymake it go viral.”
“Nice. I like it.”
“Then it’d only be a matter of time until people start asking what we’re doing together. That will set the stage for a more in-depth explanation to come later—and that’s when I’ll put the Campbell and Hathaway gag order story out there.”
“Well,Ilove this idea,” Dane said with a grin. “But are you sure you wanna do this? You realize everyone might turn on you, right? And Thayer might post those photos just to get you back?”
She shrugged. “Maybe they will turn on me. And maybe Thayer will release those photos. I don’t know. But I’m tired of being afraid to do the right thing, or afraid to speak out.”
“Hell yeah.” Dane beamed. “Then let’s take that picture right now.”
Austen jumped up onto the exam table next to Dane. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her closer. Austen aimed the camera at them.
“Show your hand to the camera.”
He held it up.
“Perfect.” Austen snapped the picture and went to work writing a caption for Twitter. “And … sent.”
“What’d you write?” Dane asked.
Austen read aloud. “Looking like plans to #TradeDaneDeHardt will have to be put on hold. At Parkland Hospital with the Dallas Devils captain, awaiting x-rays on what looks like a broken hand—ouch!”
“Sounds good. Now we wait.”
The door to the waiting room opened.
“Glad I didn’t interrupt anything this time,” the doctor said with a wink as he entered.
“What’s the word, Doc?” Dane asked.
The doctor slid the x-ray images behind the viewing screen. He pointed at the bones that made up his palm. Dane didn’t need to go to medical school to see they were broken, snapped like twigs.
“We’re looking at fractured metacarpals II, III, and IV,” the doctor said.
“So how bad is that?”
“I’m sure your team doctors will seek a second opinion, but I can tell you right now, you’re going to need surgery.”
Dane’s shoulders slumped. “Damn.”
Austen ran a hand between his bulky shoulder blades and muttered softly in his ear, “I’m so sorry.”
“Will my hand ever be normal?”
The doctor smiled. “Oh yes. It’s a relatively clean break. You’ll make a full recovery in six to eight weeks. No hockey until then, of course.”
“Well, hey, that’s good.”
“For now, we’ll put a splint on this hand so you don’t hurt it any worse.” The doctor opened a drawer, grabbed the supplies he needed, and quickly went to work. “And there you are.”
