Page 7 of Incoming Layne Shift
Trying her best not to wince in pain while wiggling her fingers, she inhaled sharply instead. She sat on the edge of the examination table in the makeshift in-home clinic that only those involved in the city’s criminal underground knew about.
It looked like the room must have been a sewing room in its past life. The strip of wallpaper bordering the top of the walls had vintage-looking spools of thread and silver needles sprawling across it. The colors were faded maroons and olives indicative of an era long gone.
Instead of smelling like a typical sterile medical office, it smelled like cranberry and spice reminiscent of the holiday season. The basket of potpourri probably had a lot to do with that. In a way, it made seeking medical attention a lot less overwhelming. It could even be considered cozy.
Dr. Patricia Kimmel continued her examination of Layne’s right hand which was now swollen and bruised within hours after using it to strike Liam down.
Layne had been using Dr. Patty, as she preferred to be called, for years, especially when it came to injuries that required a no-questions-asked policy. The last thing that was needed was nosey doctors asking about the frequency of injuries sustained by her or anyone else who did work on her behalf. Layne still wasn’t sure how much Dr. Patty knew about the O’Reilly business matters, but the woman never dared to ask.
It was the way that Dr. Patty scrunched up her broad nose in disapproval that made Layne uneasy about the forthcoming diagnosis. After landing an explosive hit to Liam’s face, Layne suspected something had gone haywire by the snapping sensation in her hand surrounding her ring and pinky fingers followed by numbness. That was before the swelling even began.
“How bad is it?” She asked the doc, hoping for news that her worst suspicions wouldn’t be confirmed.
Gently setting Layne’s hand down she shook her head, her loosely held bun loosened up even further with the movement. Dr. Patty shoved her square-framed glasses up on top of her head of black hair that showed signs of silvery grey streaks coming in. “It’s a boxer’s fracture, Layne. You’ll need to get this immobilized to start allowing it to heal properly.”
Layne groaned in annoyance. Of course, of all faces to break her hand on it would be Liam’s. Not to mention, Joey was going to lose his shit.
“How long before it’s all healed up? Three weeks?”
The older woman gave Layne a stern look. “Try two to three months. Minimum. Especially if you want to regain full use of it.”
While the doctor gathered some supplies to wrap up Layne’s hand, Layne grimaced at the thought of any part of her not being fully functional for that length of time. She had too much going on professionally not to be physically on top of her game.
Layne hopped off the table after her hand was shored up in a soft black splint with her ring and pinky fingers stabilized together.
“Oh, don’t forget to take these as needed for the pain.” Dr. Patty handed her over a bottle of painkillers. Layne’s mouth went dry as she stared at the bottle that was just freely given to her. Her mind went back to that dark spot she had been in after her father’s funeral where she relied on the numbing effects of prescription medication.
Layne nodded at her briefly. “Thanks.” She pocketed the pills into her leather jacket. They felt like they carried the weight of a two-ton bag of bricks. Despite the pain stemming from her fifth metacarpal, she wasn’t sure she could bring herself to allow the relief to enter back into her system.
She began to leave when Dr. Patty lightly touched her arm. “Before you go,” the look in her eyes shifted into those resembling a concerned mother. “Please, be careful out there. As much as I know you don’t like coming here to see me, I also don’t want an increase in our visits. There’s been something brewing in the air, and I don’t like the feel of it.” Well, that wasn’t ominous at all. For a woman who relied on science, it was out of character for her to tap into unsubstantiated gut feelings.
With a partial smile tugging at her lips, Layne shrugged casually. “You know me, but I will do my best to avoid any more visits for a while.”
When she finally left the modest home that housed Dr. Patty’s unlicensed medical practice, she pulled out the plastic pill container and looked it over. The temptation was literally in the palm of her hand staring her down. It whispered such beautiful promises to her like a devil on her shoulder. She squeezed her palm around the cylindrical object and cursed under her breath.
As she passed by a trash receptacle on her way back to her car, she chucked the pills inside. It was going to be a shitty and painful couple of months.
Layne sat in the backroom of McGregor’s after texting Joey to meet her there for a quick bite to eat for a late dinner. She hoped that being in a somewhat public setting would help keep his reaction to the turn of events on the milder side. Thanks to her ownership interest in the pub and the seedy nature of its patrons, there was a lot of discretion as to what transpired there.
When she saw Joey walk in, wearing a rugged pair of jeans and a slate gray shirt under his leather jacket, she lost her train of thought of how she was going to explain to him how she ended up with a broken hand. His blonde hair was a bit out of place which usually was an indication he had just removed his motorcycle helmet.
He laid his eyes on her, immediately noticing the black brace on her hand. His cocoa-colored eyes filled with darkness. Striding over to her he gently lifted her arm while his muscular body vibrated with the need to inflict violence on her behalf. “What the hell happened?” The tone of his voice indicated he was ready to go break the hand of the motherfucker responsible, or worse.
Attempting to brush it off, she murmured, “It’s not that bad.” She eased her arm out of his hold, but it only prompted him to look her over for any other potential injuries she may have sustained. His hands roamed over her body only to find nothing else to feed his desire to inflict suffering.
“I’m fine, Joey,” she attempted to reassure him again. “It’s just a minor fracture from trying to put Liam in his place. It was worth it.”
Not seeing any other obvious wounds, he sighed and drew her in with a hand on either side of her head and laid a kiss on her forehead. “How did he take the news?”
She shook her head. “He already knew.”
“What?” His voice dropped in disbelief as his hands fell to the tops of her shoulders. “What do you mean he already knew?”
Trying not to get herself all riled up again, she took a deep breath. “He’s known. He’s known this entire goddamn time that everything was supposed to be under my control.”
“Two-faced, selfish motherfucker, I’m going to fuckin’ kill him!” Joey stepped back from her and began to pace across the floor. His fingers combed through his long-cut dirty blonde hair as he wracked his brain on all the ways Liam tallied up a long list of shitty deeds.
Layne retrieved her glass of golden ale with her left hand, the engagement ring on her finger lightly tapping against the glass as she did so. Her eyes watched as Joey worked through his thoughts and feelings. Taking a few sips of the beer before setting it back down again, she finally decided to try to get him to settle down.