Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 122242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
"You may."
"A lot of her fractures healed badly. Without intervention, they're likely to cause problems in the future. Bone deterioration and chronic pain are obvious concerns, as are bone deformities. There isn't a whole lot we can do to correct some of the old breaks since they've been left without treatment for too long. But some can be corrected." He looks from Octavio to me. "I won't lie to you and say it'll be a painless process or that it'll be an easy fix, but to avoid difficulty later, you need to seriously consider your options, Ms. Donovan. Particularly where the old breaks in your tibia, your humerus, and your ulna—your shin, upper arm, and forearm—are concerned."
I pull my gaze from his, my stomach churning uncomfortably.
"Do they cause you any pain?"
"Sometimes." I stare down at my hands, refusing to look up. I can feel the heat of Octavio's gaze burning into me. "Mostly when it rains or if I get too cold." The pain is always there, but I've lived with it for so long, I don't really notice it anymore unless the weather takes a turn, or I don't stay warm enough. "Um…there are bumps though, or knots, I guess. On my shin."
"Anywhere else?" Dr. Patterson asks.
"My ribcage and my foot."
I hear him flipping through my chart again. "I'm not sure there's anything we can do about your ribcage without causing further damage, but surgery to repair the break in your shin may help alleviate some of the pain and reduce the size of the knot. Does your foot bother you?"
"Not really."
"Do you recall how long ago it was broken?"
"Three years ago."
Octavio goes completely still beside me, barely even seeming to breathe.
"I fell down some stairs."
Octavio shifts beside me, a little growl emanating from his throat.
"The fracture there appears to have healed mostly like it should have, except for one small section. If it doesn't cause you pain, I'm not sure surgical intervention would be ideal, as it probably wouldn't eliminate the knot," Dr. Patterson says. "But if it ever starts to give you problems, we can certainly have an orthopedic surgeon take a look and see what he suggests."
"Okay," I agree.
"I'll get Shelly in here." He rises to his feet. "I'd like to see you again in a few weeks. Think about your options, and we'll discuss them a little more next time you come in."
"Thank you."
Dr. Patterson lets himself out of the room.
"You didn't fall on your own, did you?" Octavio asks as soon as the door closes behind him. His tone is full of barely suppressed rage, making me shiver. "Who pushed you, conejita?"
"N-no one."
"Tell me."
"No one pushed me," I whisper, staring holes in the linoleum at his booted feet, which are planted shoulder-width apart. "I dropped a laundry basket I was carrying. The laundry detergent spilled on the floor. Ivan got angry and threw the bottle at me. I slipped trying to avoid it and fell down the stairs."
"Ivan," he says. "Ivan Sedov?"
I nod.
He's utterly silent and unmoving for a long moment and then he expels a heavy breath and tilts my chin up until I'm forced to look at him. He has that look on his face again—the one that reminds me of a lethal warrior. When he speaks, his tone is gentle. "Thank you for telling me," he says simply, and then leans forward to brush his lips across my temple.
Before I can say anything, he pulls back, reaching into his pocket when his phone rings. I watch as he frowns and puts it to his ear. The nurse, Shelly, comes in while he's talking on it. He moves out of the way to give her room to work but keeps his eyes on me the entire time.
Shelly snips the stitches from my hand and then covers them with Band-Aids before she draws my blood into several little vials. I turn my head, avoiding looking too closely at the blood. Ever since the shooting, the sight of blood makes my head swim, and my stomach churn.
Octavio ends his conversation as she's finishing up and shoots me a look I can't read.
"I need to take care of something at work," he says when she hands me the slip to check out at the front desk and leaves the room. "And you can't come with me."
"Okay." I never go with him when he's doing work things.
"Roman and Luke are on a raid with the SWAT team right now," he reminds me, striding toward me. "I can't leave you with them."
"Oh." I lick my lips, understanding dawning. There's no one to watch me. If I can convince him that I'll be fine on my own for a few hours, I can slip out while he's gone, never to be seen again. I open my mouth to do exactly that, and then his eye twitches like the thought of me not being safe stresses him out.