“I don’t know how I can repay you,” I say. “I’d like to try. Can I get your contact information? Buy you dinner or… I don’t know, Logan. Crow.” As I start to get stressed out thinking about what comes next, everything just hurts. My face, my head. My heart. I rest my chin against Mia’s head and close my eyes. “I would take your contact information, but like you said, I have no clue where my phone is. I was at the top of the stairs talking to my boss when I dropped it.”
He shakes his head. “You don’t owe me anything.”
I stop him with a hand. “Please,” I say. “My God, you’ve done so much. I insist.”
His dark eyes grow more intense as he looks at me, his full lips set in a serious frown. Not a frown, exactly, but when I look past the sexy stubble, his mouth is tight. Like he’s uncomfortable. And the poor man probably is.
“I…I have my own debts to repay. I was happy to help. Don’t worry about it.”
His own debts to repay…
I watch the attractive stranger and try to make sense of his words. But before I can think it through, there’s a sudden sound of footsteps outside my little partition.
“Ms. Connor?” The nurse pops her head past the curtain. She looks from Mia to Logan. “There are a couple officers here. They’d like to ask you a few questions if you’re feeling up to it.”
“The police?” I’m confused. Why on earth would the police show up here with questions?
Logan’s lips tighten into a very decisive frown now. He nods at me. “A woman with an injury and a man on the scene.” He rubs the stubble on his chin with a hand. “Doesn’t look good.”
With those three words, I understand.
“I’m fine to talk to them,” I tell the nurse with a smile. “Thank you.”
The officers step through the curtain and look from Logan to Mia to me.
“Ms. Connor?” the younger of the two talks to me, while the older man stands beside Logan. “How are you feeling?”
I give them a weak smile and meet the officer’s eyes. “I’m so much better now. Thank you.” I motion to Logan. “Logan, would you mind taking Mia to the cafeteria for something to eat?” I kiss my daughter’s hair. “I’ll bet she’s starving.”
Mia nods and gives me a hug before scooting to the edge of the bed. Logan reaches out a hand to her, and she takes it without hesitation. He helps her jump down from the bed, and then, Gavin in one hand and my daughter’s in the other, he looks away from the cops.
“Logan, take my purse. You can use my debit card. I don’t think I have any cash.” I mentally calculate the balance in my account, but unless Logan buys Mia everything in the cafeteria, I should have enough in there to cover it. “And of course, please get yourself whatever you need. You’ve got to be starving.”
He shakes his head. “I’ve got it covered. We’ll be back later.”
As this stranger takes my daughter away yet again, I rest my head back against the pillows. I’m so, so tired. There is no reason I should trust this man with Mia, and yet, I feel a lot more concerned about why the police are here.
“Ms. Connor.” The officer points to my forehead. “Looks like you have a pretty nasty cut there. Do you remember how it happened?”
I give the officers another smile. They are just doing their job. I try to remind myself that if I were a victim of violence, I’d need them to do exactly what they are here to do right now. Following up. Confirming. Making sure I am safe.
“I do remember,” I say. “I’ve been having headaches lately. One came on really fast this morning, and I tripped over some loose carpeting on the stairs. I’ve been meaning to fix it, but…I’ve been meaning to get to a lot of things.”
They ask me a few more questions. About Logan, how long I’ve known him, and whether he was in my house any time before the 9-1-1 call. On some level, I appreciate that these men are doing a job. But right now, I’m exhausted. I’m sure there are women out there who need this kind of intervention, but that’s not the case here.
“Can I give you a business card?” the officer asks after I answer all their questions. “If you need support, the county has some services.”
I don’t hesitate before answering. “Sure, of course. Thank you.”
They hand me a business card. It’s got a sunshine logo on it and has a toll-free number I can call for information about county programs. But since there’s no crime, there’s no problem. And nothing more for the officers to do here.
“Best of luck with your headaches, ma’am.” They look me over one last time and then head out.
When I’m finally alone, I lay my head back against the pillows and close my eyes. I have no clue who I’m going to call or how I’m going to manage the mess I’ve made of today.
When the curtain moves aside and Mia and Logan come back, I’m surprised at the relief I feel looking at their faces.
Logan’s chin is set, and his dark eyes flash. “Everything all right here?”
I understand what he’s asking, and I nod. “Yeah,” I sigh. “They left.”
The doctor comes in then, and the tiny space is suddenly very crowded. Logan steps aside but stays close to the curtain. Mia climbs back into my lap.
“So, I have some good news.” The doctor explains that I have a mild concussion from the fall. “That was a decent tumble you took,” he says. “The cut on your face is likely to swell, and don’t be surprised if you get a black eye and some bruising, but there’s nothing on the initial scan to suggest a serious brain injury.”
When he says brain injury, I look at Mia, but she doesn’t look afraid. She looks tired and is resting her head against the front of my hospital gown.
“Do you have help at home?” The doctor looks from Logan to me. He doesn’t wait for me to answer and starts explaining post-concussion care. What I should do, what I shouldn’t. He hands me a bunch of paperwork so I can follow up with some other doctors this week, but the real kicker comes when he says at the end, “Since we don’t know how exactly the fall happened, I’m tempted to medically restrict you from driving.”
No driving?
“What?” I ask. “Why? For how long?”
He hands me a fact sheet about concussions and recovery. “I recommend you take a week to ten days to recover. No strenuous activity, no driving. If you can get into a specialist in the next two weeks, that doctor will want to run tests and can better assess how you’re recovering. That should provide a clearer idea of the timeline for a return to normal levels of activity.”
I lower my chin and say nothing. A week to ten days? And then maybe longer? I feel the sting of defeated tears burn my eyes. The fall, the fear, the pain, the costs… That would have been enough. But now this? Everything about my whole life is going to be disrupted. Making things even harder for both me and my child. Harder is something I literally cannot afford. Disruption is something I’m not prepared to work around.
My lower lip trembles, and I bite it to try to keep myself calm. The doctor is talking about symptoms, what to look out for over the next few days, but I can’t listen. Can’t focus.