Marc pulled the blanket from the unoccupied bed and draped it over me. Then he slid one firm, warm hand behind my neck to help me hold my head up long enough to wash down the pills Dr. Carver brought me, with the accompanying glass of water.
“These will make you sleep for several hours,” Dr. Carver said as I gulped more water to rinse away the bitter aftertaste. Smart man. If he’d told me that before giving me the pills, I probably would have refused them. “You won’t need anything for pain while you’re out, but I have something good for you when you wake up.”
I was sure I would need it. The local was already wearing off, and just holding my head up made my stomach feel like flaming knives were being driven through it. I’d had no idea I used those particular muscles so often, but I made a mental note never to take them for granted again.
“I don’t want to leave you alone,” Dr. Carver said, looking at my father, even though he seemed to be speaking to me. “At least until we rule out internal bleeding. Let me know immediately if you feel dizzy or nauseated, or if there’s blood in your urine. And someone will need to watch you for swelling, tenderness, or bruising.”
My father nodded, but Marc was the first to speak. “I’ll stay with her.”
Daddy frowned, and looked as if he might argue for a moment. But then his face went carefully blank, and he simply nodded. “Fine. I’ll send someone to relieve you if the stray wakes up before she does.” Because Marc was in charge of interrogations. He was really good at convincing people to talk.
Apparently satisfied, Dr. Carver nodded at Marc, already moving toward the door. “I’ll be back to take care of your arm in a few minutes.”
My eyes were already getting heavy, probably as much from exhaustion and shock as from the pills, which couldn’t have kicked in so quickly. Either way, the very thought of being sucked into sleep against my will was starting to panic me. I hate being left out of things, and if the stray woke before I did, I wouldn’t even get to hear what he had to say, much less ask him my own questions. No fair.
“Wait, I want to talk to him,” I insisted as my father bent over me, studying my eyes, as if to determine my awareness. “I want to ask him—”
“Believe it or not, we can handle it without you.” But his gentle smile softened the blow to my ego. “You get some sleep and let us worry about the stray.”
“I’m not worried…” I started to protest, but he was already looking at Marc, his expression now hard and angry. Whatever that was about, I didn’t want to miss it, either.