“Let’s see your fingers, Mr. Eaton.” She holds her hand out to me and I put it in hers, wincing as I do. Her dainty fingers prod so gently that I barely even feel them. “Both fingers are broken. The breaks are fairly clean, but from what I can see on the X-rays, there are some bone chips floating in there. We could do a surgical repair—”

“I don’t—”

She cuts me right back off with a pointed look. “I’m still speaking.” Good God, this woman is kind of terrifying. I clamp my mouth shut and widen my eyes to tell her she can go on.

“Like I was saying, we could operate and tidy things up immediately, but my inclination is to avoid surgery when possible. So the other option is to splint these and let them heal. Hope those chips sort of dissolve on their own and see how you feel. If they’re still causing issues, we can operate down the road. It’s a trade-off. Heal faster now in the hopes you don’t need surgery later, or still have issues and be laid out twice. It’s up to you.”

She’s very direct, very matter-of-fact. Some people might think her bedside manner leaves something to be desired, but I kind of like her. She speaks to me like I’m capable of making a decision, and she isn’t pushing treatment down my throat.

Her voice is gentler than I expected based on the stories I heard, and her eyes less vicious. They’re more . . . sad. Rimmed with dark circles.

“There are physiotherapy options and alternative health options that can help with rehabilitation from an injury like this,” she carries on, scribbling on the chart before her.

“Alternative health options?” I ask, scrunching my face.

She pulls her gloves off with a snap to write something down on her chart. “I’d recommend acupuncture to start,” she replies without even looking up at me.

“Okay.” I glance at Willa, who is still staring at her best friend’s sister, almost like she’s seen a ghost. “Let’s go the more conservative route.”

“Great.” She smiles but it’s pained. “I’ll get someone in here to fix you up and then you can be on your way. I’m sure you’re tired of waiting.” She stands and marches out the door, the picture of unaffected professionalism.

But Willa takes off after her.

31

Willa

Summer: Is Cade okay?

Willa: Yes. A couple of broken fingers. Will need 6-8 weeks to heal. So he’ll be an extra grumpy bitch for the foreseeable future.

Summer: Could have been worse. Luke is asleep. All good here.

Willa: Hey, Sum, has Winter responded to any of your messages?

Summer: No. I keep sending them anyway. I know she’s reading them. Why?

Willa: Because she’s our doctor tonight.

Summer: How does she look?

Willa: Sad.

* * *