Midnight, Moonlight & Miracles

She looked over her shoulder and saw the ER unit secretary in the doorway. “Yes?”

“Dr. Sullivan said to show you this.” The tall, thin, mid-fortyish woman handed her a computer printout. “He said to put it in the chart,” she added before hurrying from the room.

Megan’s eyebrows went up as she scanned the information. “Well, this is interesting.”

“What’s that?” he asked.

“It’s procedure to check the computer for previous data on every admit.”

“So I’m an admit.” His gaze narrowed on her. “Would you like to share the information with me?”

“I suspect you already know what it says.” She met his gaze squarely. “We saw you the first time a year and a half ago.”

His forehead furrowed. “Broken ankle?”

“Skydiving,” she confirmed. “Next was a shoulder separation.”

“I think that was hang gliding. That tree came out of nowhere.”

“Last but not least,” she said, “a ruptured spleen—resulting in surgery.”

“Waterskiing. I took the jump, and I remember soaring through the air with the greatest of ease. After that it gets a little hazy. I think one of the skis torpedoed me.”

“It appears you’re something of a regular here.”

She studied his pupils, watching for classic signs of concussion. The heart monitor would tell her his vitals, but she touched two fingers to the pulse in his wrist. For some reason, she felt the need to touch him.

“You have some dangerous hobbies, Simon.” She met his gaze. “Motorcycles? Hang gliders? Water skis, oh my. I’d say that makes you one of those guys who lives on the edge.”

“It’s not a bad place to be.”

“Why?”

“It’s the only safe place to feel anything.”

The words stunned Megan, but before she could respond, the doctor shoved aside the privacy curtain. The tall, balding, bespectacled physician had X-ray films in his hand.

“I see you’re wide-awake now, Mr. Reynolds.” He stood on the other side of the gurney.

“Thanks to Megan. She’s keeping me on my toes—so to speak.”

Dr. Sullivan nodded knowingly. “Megan’s one of the good guys. I just wish she was full-time staff.” He flipped through the pages of the chart in his hands, then looked at the man in the bed. “Good news. Nothing’s broken. But the paramedics who brought you in said witnesses told them you tried to get up after the accident and had trouble walking.”

“Yeah.” His brow furrowed as he thought. “I stood up and felt pain rip through my leg.”

“Where specifically?”

“Calf and thigh.”

“Since there are no broken bones, that would indicate soft tissue damage.”

“You want to give it to me in English?”

“Sounds like muscles, ligaments or tendons. You’ll wish it was a broken bone.”

“What do you mean?”

“Bones knit fast. For everything else, recovery is painful and slow.”

The patient nodded his head and started to sit up. “Okay. Thanks, Doc. Now I’ll get the heck out of here so someone who really needs this bed can have it.”

“Whoa.” The doctor put a hand on Simon’s chest and applied gentle but firm pressure, urging him back onto the bed.

Dr. Sullivan moved from the side to the foot of the gurney. “You’re not seriously planning to walk out of here? And I use the term walk loosely, because if you’ve got the kind of damage I think you do, you’re not going anywhere without crutches for a while. And the CT scan shows a possible concussion.”

“Two-dimensional pictures of the goose egg,” Megan translated, in case he didn’t know the term from his other visits.

“You said possible concussion.” He ignored her and directed the question to the ER doc.

“Yes. We need to watch you for signs of deterioration.” The doctor looked at Megan. “Has he complained of nausea?”

“He hasn’t complained about anything,” she admitted.

Simon glanced back and forth between the two of them. “So we all agree I’m fine. It’s been fun. I appreciate everything.”

Megan slipped into a state of readiness when he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the gurney. He’d regained consciousness quickly, and his snappy verbal responses told her he was firing on all cylinders mentally. But the rest of him had taken a beating. At the very least, he had to be wobbly. If he started to go down, she wanted to be close enough to catch him.

She almost laughed out loud. At five feet two inches, a hundred and five pounds, her catching a big man like him was ridiculous. But at least she could break his fall, slow his descent so he wouldn’t do more damage. She noticed the bright array of bruises, scrapes and one nasty-looking wound on his shoulder.

“You’re in no condition to leave the hospital,” she said.

“If one of you could call me a cab, I’ll just be on my way.” He looked from the doctor back to her.

“You’ve still got abrasions that need cleaning up and the laceration on your shoulder needs a couple of stitches,” the doctor said. “If you’ll just lie back down—”

“Thanks but no thanks.”

Simon tore the leads off either side of his chest and the one in the center. Then he did the same thing to the ones on his legs. The sound of Velcro ripping followed as he forcefully removed the blood pressure cuff from his arm. Megan remembered that she’d had to find an adult large to accommodate his impressive biceps.

Inane thought. And one she didn’t have time to analyze, because the idiot was going to leave without treatment. Before she could decide how to stop him or if she should even try, he removed the medical tape and IV from his arm. Blood dripping down the inside of his forearm mobilized her in a hurry.

She grabbed some gauze squares and pressed them against his skin to stanch the flow. Simon Reynolds must really hate hospitals. But in his condition it was the best place for him. She had a feeling rational arguments wouldn’t get through to him.

“I say we let him go.” She directed her comment to the doctor.

“I knew I liked you,” Simon said with an approving smile.

Dr. Sullivan pushed his glasses farther up on his nose. “Megan, I don’t think—”