Page 109 of Stolen Faith
Rowan sat up, holding his ribs. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Stay down.” She pointed at the bed.
Rowan relaxed back against the raised head of the bed. The doctor looked at her, Brennon, then at Rowan.
“They’re my fiancés,” Rowan said. “You can talk in front of them.”
If the doctor was surprised by him being engaged to two people, she didn’t show it. “Okay, then. You have two cracked ribs, upper ones.” The doctor pointed high on her side. “A spectacular set of bruises, and based on your range of motion, you might have some soft-tissue damage to the shoulder and chest muscles.” She tapped her own shoulder, front and back to demonstrate.
Izabel swallowed, remembering the beatings he’d taken with his hands forced behind his back.
“I’d like to do a CT and an MRI, but there’s a good amount of muscle inflammation and bruising, so I’ll let that come down and heal up before checking for deeper soft-tissue injuries.”
“I’ll follow up with my primary doctor,” Rowan said.
“No, you won’t,” the doctor said with exasperation. “You hard cases never do.”
“He will,” Izabel promised. “I’ll make sure of it.”
The doctor looked at her, and Izabel slipped on her boardroom face. The doctor nodded in satisfaction.
“Good. For now, ice the ribs and the shoulders. Cold pool would be good if you have access to a sports rehab facility. No strenuous activity for the next six weeks while the ribs heal.”
Rowan’s jaw had a stubborn tilt.
“Six. Weeks,” the doctor emphasized.
“We’ll make sure he takes it easy,” Brennon said.
She looked over and nodded at him; then her attention shifted to Izabel. “And you need to see a trauma therapist.”
Izabel nodded, swallowing hard.
“Probably all of you do.” The doctor swept them with a look.
They’d had to tell her some of what happened, but not all of it, and not why. The fact that the doctor hadn’t even blinked as Izabel described her controlled drowning torture meant this woman either had an amazing poker face, or she saw stuff like this on a regular basis. Considering they were in suburban Atlanta, that was…alarming.
“Are we cleared to leave, Doctor?” Rowan asked.
“Reluctantly, I’m going to say yes. I’d like you all to shower and eat before you go.” She gestured toward a door. “And let’s see how you feel after that. If there’s any weakness, dizziness, or nausea during those activities, I need to know.”
“Shower,” Brennon breathed reverently.
“I’ll have someone bring you extra scrubs for after, but don’t hesitate to use the call light in the shower if needed.”
They took turns taking a shower, and Izabel found that she didn’t like letting the water hit her face. Shit. She used a washcloth to carefully wash her face.
Definitely therapy.
She washed her hair, even found a disposable razor in the cabinet and shaved her armpits. Those two things together did wonders for making her feel normal.
The nurse, a burly man with a tattoo on the back of his shaved head, brought her a set of blue scrubs and white tank top. Double layering the tops provided some boob support and coverage, and she mentally thanked whoever thought of it. She also got slippers, which weren’t much protection, but it was vastly preferable to going barefoot.
They ate surprisingly good food while sitting in their respective hospital beds, and then each drank two full bottles of water before the nurse returned with stacks of discharge papers.
The mercenaries—PMCs; Rowan had confirmed that they were all former military, and now working as PMCs—who’d escorted them to the facility stood when they walked into the lobby. Rowan’s arm was strapped to his side with a black sling contraption meant to help hold his ribs in place plus keep that shoulder—which was the more injured of the two—stable. In their scrubs, they looked like doctors. With their collection of injuries and bruises, they looked like doctors who’d just escaped a war.
“Sir. Sir. Ma’am.” The lead mercenary smiled, a perfunctory expression. “We have a private plane ready for you. The airport is about forty minutes away, but that will give the captain time to file the flight plan before we get there. All we need is a destination.”