"Carlos, I hate to tell you this, but it's definitely broken."
Fuck.
"Can't be!" he chuffed trying to hop back down off the exam table, "it's barely even swollen." I rolled my eyes and placed a hand on his shoulder, halting his trajectory. Last thing I needed was my most important client and good friend falling on his, what appeared to even my layman's eye, very badly broken leg and damaging his pretty head.
"I'm afraid it is," the team orthopedist said. "I'm also sorry to tell you that I'm going to be scheduling you for surgery…"
I had to put both hands on his shoulder and push to stop him from jumping up this time.
"Carlos," I hissed. "Stop! For goodness sake, sit back!"
"The super-bowl is next-fucking-week, Steph!" He growled right back.
Another eye-roll. "Yes, I am aware." I looked down at his mangled right lower-leg. "Are you thinking that this will heal in time?" I pointed at the worst of the gruesome bruising. He flinched away from my fingertip when I got too close. "Can you please just listen to the doctor?"
He humphed and slumped back, waving his hand in a 'carry-on' fashion.
"Okay," Scott said crossing to the monitor on the wall, he tapped the screen and a shadowy x-ray appeared. "Do you see this here?" He turned to Carlos. Of course Carlos could see it. I could see it; anyone with eyes would've been able to see that mess. "This fracture is actually very severe. Do you remember that L.T. hit on Joe Theismann?"
"Yeah." He muttered, much more solemn now that his eyes couldn't seem to leave the carnage on the screen.
I shuddered. There wasn't a single person associated with the National Football League that didn't remember that hit or the hideous injury Theismann sustained. It had been the first thing that popped in my head when I saw Flowers trip over Pugh and land shoulder first on Carlos' lower leg as he cut across the line. The sickening snap that followed was still reverberating inside my head like a bad ear-worm.
"This is a very similar injury, a comminuted fracture of the tibia and fibula. I'll have to rod and pin the tibia, here," he pointed to the largest shards of bone on the image, "and here. And the fibula here. Once the rods are in place, we'll be able to get you up and moving pretty quickly and be able to give you a better prognosis then. We have to take you up for surgery now though if we're going to limit the amount of permanent damage."
Permanent… Fuck, Theismann had to retire after that.
Carlos deflated like a balloon. "Permanent?"
"The biggest thing on your side is that it's not a compound fracture, you have a much lower risk of infection and far less soft tissue damage than an open fracture, and therefore a better outcome can be expected. But, I cannot stress how important it is that we take you up now. This is actually emergency surgery."
"Yeah," he nodded, still distracted by the shattered bones on the x-ray. "Steph, can you call Jeanne?"
This time I managed to stifle the eye-roll, but only just. I'm sure the princess will overreact and go into self-indulgent hysterics as soon as I speak to her.
"Of course I'll handle it."
He shot me a feeble attempt at a smile and, in a rare show of vulnerability, took my hand and squeezed it. "Thank-you."
Without thought, I bent and wrapped an arm around him. "You'll be okay. Okay?" He nodded against my shoulder, the smell of grass and sweaty shoulder pads strong but comfortingly familiar.
"Excuse me please." I was abruptly hip-checked aside as a nurse bustled in and started raising side rails and releasing the stretcher's brakes. Maneuvering him out of the room with unnerving efficiency not even pausing for a goodbye.
"I'll be here when you wake up." I called in their wake.
It wasn't until the pneumatic door swished shut that the panic settled in. Carlos had been my first big-potential client after I was lured over to Kratos Sports. He was a Heisman candidate and subsequent winner, rare for a tight end, but not unheard of. Kratos dangled him in my face like a big, juicy carrot. I had already seen the kid play by then and the opportunity to represent talent like that was best selling point the agency could've offered me. I quit KMG and never looked back. But, now here I was, standing helpless, wondering if one of the greatest athletes I'd ever come across was finished in football.
"If you want, you can wait in the room outside the surgical suite." The doctor tapped my elbow and motioned me out of the exam room.
"Scott, how bad is it really? Are we talking career-ending here?"
He looked pained. "Even as the team orthopedist, I can't actually discuss the details without his express consent, Steph. You're his agent, not his next of kin. I will tell you as a friend, that this is one of the most severe of this type of fractures that I've seen. I really have no clue how he wasn't screaming his head off. Anybody else would've. I've got to get up there and scrub-in. I'll do my very best." He squeezed my hand and walked away, leaving me and the growing pit in my stomach all alone.
I wandered to the elevators in something of a daze, thinking about the bizarreness of the day. When I woke up this morning. I never would've guessed that by 3:00 in the afternoon, I would be trying to find the surgical waiting room in the prestigious Hospital for Special Surgery. We were only supposed to have had a meeting after practice today to discuss the final year option of his contract. He wasn't supposed to be sustaining the most horrific injury I'd ever witnessed.
At 32, he was already 4 years past the average age of retirement, but still in better shape than most rookies. He'd always been that way. Fast, strong and agile, at 6'5" and 260lbs he was on the larger side for a tight-end, but throw a ball to that man and he could run faster than Usain Bolt. He was leaning towards finishing out one more year with the Giants, but he had the option to retire at the end of this season if he wished. His leadership qualities and offensive brilliance had already had other teams hinting around my office that they may be interested in him as a coach. He was definitely interested in that for the future, but he was determined to win one more Super-bowl. His first had come his second year in the league, his final minute 80-yard touchdown the game winner. They hadn't won one since, though they'd gone deep into the post season every year he'd played for the Giants. I fully believed he could go for one more season after this at least, but to have his hand forced by a freak accident was just too fucked up for words.
After finally finding the right waiting room, I slumped in a chair and dug my phone from the black hole that is my bag and steeled myself for the screeching that would inevitably occur if Jeanne deigned to answer my call. Carlos' phone was presumably in his bag back in the locker room. I hadn't even thought about his things as we hopped in the ambulance at the practice facility.
After one more deep breath, I sighed and pulled her name up in my contacts. My hopes rising when the phone rang for the fourth time, fingers crossed that it would shoot to voicemail...
"Hello."
Dammit!
"Jeanne, hi, it's Stephanie Plum."
"Oh? Yes?" disdain dripping from those two little words.
God, I really hated this imperious bitch. Always treating me like I was some peon gopher or something.
"I'm sorry to have to tell you on the phone, but Carlos is at the hospital, about to go into surgery in fact." I paused for the inevitable histrionics, but none came. "Hello?"
"Yes?" Total I'm-superior-to-you calm.
Ummmm, okay…
"Yes, so, his right leg is very badly broken, it happened in practice today. Total accident. They're, um, doing the surgery right now." I could not believe that she wasn't reacting to this! "He asked me to call you, I think he'd like it if you came here."
"Did he really?" Sardonic now. "Did he say that he wanted me to come there?"
"Well he asked me to call you, I'm inferring the rest."
"Are you? Well, what should I infer from our last conversation, hmmm?" Oh, here comes the let-me-make-this-all-about-me angle. "4 days ago, Carlos was calling me selfish for going skiing in Banff. Just because I wouldn't get home before this stupid 'big game', I mean really, how often do you get to go skiing in the Canadian Rockies?" For a movie star? Probably every freaking week… "He knows I hate football! To top it off, the game wouldn't even be anywhere warm! If I have to leave Manhattan for a game, it better be in Miami or LA. It's January for fuck's sake, I'm not freezing my ass off in the middle of a swamp in New Jersey for anybody. And now, he wants me to come rushing back from the most beautiful place I've ever been to what? Baby him over a boo-boo on his leg?"
I actually underestimated how much I hated this woman.
"So, does that mean you're not coming back here?"
"No!" She yelled. There's the screeching. "I'll be back February 9th like I said. He can just manage by himself. Reap the benefits of emotionally abusing me." And she disconnected.
"I really hope Jennifer Lawrence kicks your scrawny ass at the Oscars, you asshole," I said to dead air. I was so freaking happy that I never went into talent representation after law school. Athletes were so much easier to deal with, sure, they had egos, huge ones even, but they never really got melodramatic like actors do. Calling someone on their pathological self-centeredness does not equal abuse. It was way past time for Carlos to say something to her. I had always been befuddled by their relationship, she was a semi-decent actress who was incredibly beautiful and lucky in the landing of roles (she would never credit her agent in that, but she should. Connie was the best in the business and made sure that she got the choicest of readings.), but otherwise an awful human being. Her selfishness being the least of her character flaws. He was a good, gentle, and loyal man, who happened to be incredibly attractive. He also had a strong enough character that he wasn't hung up on himself, even with the way he turned heads.
The phone call to his parents was significantly more difficult. They had finally taken a long deserved vacation in Hawaii, a second honeymoon of sorts. A Christmas gift from their five football playing sons. Mrs. Manoso broke down in tears when I broke the news that her oldest (and favorite, though she would never admit it) child had gotten hurt and she wasn't there to take care of him. His dad was booking a flight home before we even hung up.
After a quick check in with the office to clear my schedule for the rest of today and Friday, I settled in to wait.
And wait.
And wait some more.
By the time Scott finally wandered in, I had paced a track in the laminate floor. "How is he?" I demanded before he was fully over the threshold.
He held his hands up in supplication and slumped in a chair. It wasn't until I saw the crescents of sweat staining his underarms and the utter exhaustion pulling down his eyes that I realized it was now 10:00 at night.
"How…"
"He's fine," he said, cutting me off. "He's in recovery, awake and asking for you."
"Which way is it?" I asked, hurrying to the door.
"To the right, three doors down…" I didn't hear the rest because I was already there.
I was made to don gown, booties, and a fetching cap and to scrub most of the skin off my hands before I was granted access to my groggy client. His long body was buried under a mountain of blankets and his dark skin was very pale under the harsh lights and blue cap still covering his thick, black hair. I pulled a chair close and his eyes slowly blinked open. The residual anesthesia and painkillers they were no doubt pumping into him, dulling their usual brilliance.
"Hey," I whispered.
The goofiest grin slid slowly across his face.
Yep, they definitely gave him morphine.
"You stayed?" He slurred.
"Of course I did." It hadn't even occurred to me to leave. Not for a second. "How are you feeling? Any pain?"
He shook his head the tiniest bit, the grin spreading. "Nuh-uh… Feel good."
I couldn't help but laugh. I'd seen Carlos a little drunk before after a few celebratory occasions. He was full-on high here.
"The nurse said he's going to bring you to a room in a few minutes…" I trailed off as he slowly dragged his hand out from the pile of blankets over him. Watching confused as he sluggishly cupped my cheek in his cool palm.
"You're so pretty, Steph," he slurred.
I snorted, he'd get flirty on those few instances of tipsiness too. "Um, thanks." I started to pull his hand away, but caught those big brown eyes sadden pitifully and returned it to my face. The beatific smile returned.
He sighed drowsily and those eyes slid slowly shut, his lips barely moving, "Do you know what I thought the… first time I… saw you?"
"What?" I whispered, watching the nurse disconnect the monitor and get ready to move him.
"Hmmmm, that you were…" he paused so long that I thought he fell back asleep. "you were so fucking… beautiful… and smart… and funny." For some reason, my stomach went funny at his words, even though he really did fall asleep then.
The nurse caught my eyes and nodded in Carlos' direction. "They say some really crazy stuff when they come out of surgery."
Well, gee, thanks. Guess it's crazy to think that I was any of those things.
The nurse must've seen the look on my face and quickly back-tracked. "No!" He insisted, panicked, "I just meant, people talk about odd things. What he was saying was… nice." He turned away before he could dig himself deeper and grabbed some paperwork from the nearby desk. "If you follow us…"
He tapped the footbrake two orderlies joined him and they wheeled Carlos' stretcher down the hall. I trudged behind them, the anxiety fueled adrenaline high I'd been riding since this afternoon burned off in the sheer relief of seeing him safely through surgery. They berthed him into a private room and left quickly, pausing to hand over his chart to the, holy shit, pubescent child in scrubs at the nurses station. She looked everything over and headed my way.
"Hi, Stephanie, right?"
She actually looked younger close up, but her nametag proclaimed her M. Stempkowski MSN. Strange that a 15 year old would have an advanced degree in nursing. "Yes."
"Dr. Romeo convinced me to bend the rules and let you sit with Mr. Manoso for a while. He went to grab something to eat and will be up in a little while."
"Okay, thanks." I fell into the seat next to the bed as she checked him over. Smiling to myself as, even in the low light, I could see she blushed as she checked the placement of his nasal cannula. His physical appeal so universal that even semi-comatose and almost completely covered up he could make a woman react. She was very professional as she examined his IV's and checked his vitals though, alleviating any worry about the level of care he would be receiving. I was surprised when she lifted the blankets over his leg and there was a cast covering him from just behind his toes all the way up to about four inches above his knee. At least they had thought to cover it in Giants blue. He wouldn't be in the least bit pleased that his knee was immobilized as well. He woke up as the nurse tucked the blankets back over his leg, slightly more lucid than before.
"Hi."
"Hey." His smile significantly less loopy now.
"How are you feeling?"
"Fucking tired." He pulled his arms out from the blankets and yanked at the nasal cannula.
"You should probably…" he tugged it free of his ears and tossed it aside. "…leave that on. Never mind."
Did I forget to mention that he could be quite stubborn?
"Does your leg hurt?"
He shrugged his shoulders. "s'not too bad. It's kind of cold in here though."
"After my dad's surgery the doctor said it was pretty common to feel cold," I told him, scooting closer and rearranging the blankets over his bare arms. He shocked me by taking my hand and holding it. "Hey, you okay?"
"Yeah, I just feel…" he looked scarily close to crying. "…I don't know… weird."
"He got kind of emotional too," I whispered. "It's okay." He smiled half-heartedly and tugged gently on my hand still clasped in his. I scooched my chair all the way over to his side and tried to get comfy. His eyes drooped again, but he fought it. "Scott will be here in a few to talk to you. Why don't you close your eyes and rest until he does." He hhmmmed and did as I said, but tightened his grip, bringing me closer still. So much so that I ended up resting my head on the corner of his mattress. I couldn't help but giggle. He was acting so much like my dad did when he woke up from his knee surgery. Two big, tough guys, were just big smushballs after anesthesia. He had my mom attached to his hip for the next two days.
Besides being my client, over the last 11 years Carlos and I had become pretty good friends. Close enough that we'd text and call just to talk about life as much as we'd talk about his career. Even when he was upset that I beat him in fantasy football last year, he still talked to me. For sure, I didn't have any other clients I would sit in the hospital all night for and hold hands with.
I was startled awake sometime later by Scott tapping my shoulder. His eyes settling on our hands still on top of the covers. "He was a little discombobulated," I explained quietly as I extricated my fingers. Carlos stirred as I sat up.
He nodded, not really looking all that convinced.
"You awake? How are you feeling?"
"Weird." He sounded fully awake this time. "Can I get some water?"
"Your throat scratchy?"
Carlos nodded, "Yeah."
"It's from the endotracheal tube. I'll have Maddie bring you some, but just water for now and we'll stick with clear liquids till tomorrow night. I want you to stay at least that long. We'll get you out of bed and on crutches in the morning." Scott pulled the blanket away from the cast so Carlos could see.
He found the button to elevate the head of the bed and took a good look. "Oh, man. I have a cast too?"
"This needs to stay on two to three weeks, until I have to take the stitches out. Hey, at least it goes with your uniform."
"That I guess I won't be wearing for a while?" Carlos asked quietly.
"Definitely not. Your post op films look really good. We have every reason to believe that your recovery will be complete. With the level of damage though, you'll be on crutches for six to eight weeks and then a cane and a boot. I do not want you bearing your full weight unassisted on that leg for at least three months. We'll start PT when I take the cast off. The best thing about the location of the fractures is that they're mid-shaft. Your musculature is very dense and tight around the injury, between that and your stronger than an average person's bones you have excellent blood perfusion so your healing should be relatively quick. We'll know more as we reassess. And, I get that you want to know when you can get back to playing, but for now it's going to be a wait-and-see game. I'm sorry I can't give you more than that." He paused for a beat to let that sink in. "Do you have any questions?"
"Hundreds. Right now, I really need to pee." Scott laughed and left to ask the nurse for help.
"That's my cue," I said, standing and stretching. "You'll be okay if I go?" He didn't say anything, just sat there looking pitiful.
Ack! The guilt!
I cast around for a reason to stay a little longer, checking my watch I saw that it was already 12:30, and, it appeared to be sleeting outside. A very bad combination in Manhattan. The time and weather meant that every cab in the metropolitan area had probably disappeared and taking the subway to my Brooklyn brownstone at this time of night was a very, very unattractive and foolish proposition. "How about this? I go find a cup of tea, and you go to the bathroom and I'll stay for a while?" He perked up significantly and I made an exit as a gloved nurse Maddie approached, portable urinal bottle in hand.
Like I said, Carlos and I were close; just not that close.
By the time I accomplished my mission and returned, Carlos had taken care of what he needed to and was sitting propped up on a ton of pillows. A sweating pitcher of water on his tray table and a cup in his hand. "You seem to have made an impression on the young Maddie."
He chuffed, "I've barely said five words to her!"
I grinned and raised a brow, "Yes, but she's seen pretty much all there is to see, right?"
"Not the backside," he protested. He had me there, football pants don't leave much to the imagination. Jennifer Lopez might have a famous behind, but Carlos' Cuban heritage had blessed him even more in the perfect ass department. Maddie had missed out. "Did you call Jeanne?"
"Ugh, yes. And your parents." I knew he wouldn't like that.
"They were on vacation, Steph!"
"I know, but your mother would've kicked my ass if I hadn't told her. They were booking a flight home as I hung up."
"I really didn't want to bother them. The one time they actually go on vacation." He shook his head. "What about Jeanne?"
I looked away, not wanting to see the hurt on his face. "She, uh, she said she'll be back on the 9th."
"Thank god," he blurted, relief evident in his voice. My eyes back snapped to his in astonishment. "I didn't want her to come back, but if you hadn't called then she would've freaked out and tried to make it her crisis. Be all pissed off that she wasn't notified immediately"
"She was going miss the game?" I asked as gently as possible.
"She doesn't distinguish between a regular game and the super bowl, Steph. She only goes to the ones when there's a chance that there'll be publicity directed her way and that's not going to happen at the super bowl."
Bolstered by the intimacy of the hour and the privacy of the room, I finally blurted the question I'd been dying to ask for months now. "Why are you with her? I try not to judge too harshly before I really get to know someone, but from what she's shown me, she's a despicable narcissist and doesn't deserve you."
"Oof, don't hold back, Steph." He went silent for a beat. "I don't know why really, she can be charming when she wants to." He shrugged his shoulders tiredly. "I was going to end it when she got back here anyhow."
He grew more serious. "What am I going to do? If this doesn't heal right, I mean?"
"Hey," I moved closer again. "I told you, there's at least 5 different GM's that have hinted that they'd love to have you on their coaching staff. I know you though, you wanted that last year. You heard Scott, he has every reason to believe that you'll recover." I only hoped he didn't hear the uncertainty in my voice. I knew only too well the delicacy of negotiating injuries in a career in as tough a sport as football. Quite a few of my clients had had to retire far earlier than their talent had dictated because of concussions and other nagging injuries that just wouldn't heal correctly. But he needed positivity right now. We'd deal with whatever happened as it came at us. "Right now, rest, concentrate on getting well."
He rolled his eyes and snorted, "Yes, boss!" He looked at me for a second, mulling something over. "I don't want to seem clingy here, but would you mind staying here tonight? I don't know why, I'm just really shaky yet. And, I don't want you going all the way to that shitty neighborhood alone this late."
"Now you're just being ridiculous. My neighborhood is very safe." It was the intervening areas that weren't. Not that I'd say that to him. "If you want me to stay I will." He was far too pleased at his manipulative skills and I was just way too tired to launch a counter-argument.
Have you ever tried to sleep in a hospital? Do they come up with stuff to do with the patients specifically to keep them from resting, so they don't heal and have to stay longer? Carlos was poked and prodded at various intervals designed just long enough for him to fall asleep, only to be shaken awake again, throughout the night. I managed to save him from two such invasions, but only because I summoned up my super-bitch glare as the various interlopers reached for the light switch without so much as a thought to their patient's well-being. I mean, did he really need to have blood drawn twice in one night? He wasn't even sick! If they were looking to take pictures of Carlos covertly or trying to score an autograph, they were going about it in the worst possible way and I would make sure they would be fired for it. Thankfully he wouldn't be here long.
After a fitful few hours of dozing, I gave up on sleep altogether and dragged my tired ass down to the cafeteria for some breakfast. By the time I finally looked at my phone, it had 5% battery left and hundreds of missed calls and texts. Everyone that was the least bit affiliated with football, it seemed, was trying to get a line on how Carlos was doing. Scott had notified the team last night, though I'm sure they had their contingency plan activated before the ambulance doors had slammed shut behind us at the practice facility. His family was aware of his condition, so I shot a text to my assistant to confer with the team before releasing any information to the press; which I hope she got before the stupid thing died completely. Checking the time, I decided to drop in on a good friend.
Having organized countless promotional events with Nike, I knew that the store was just a few blocks away and if I timed it right, I could catch Lula as she arrived for the day. Lula was without a doubt one of the coolest people I had the privilege to call friend. She was a regional manager for their retail division, but kept her office above the nearby factory store. I caught up with her as she stepped from a cab.
"Lu!" She turned and squinted into the harsh, freezing wind, caught sight of me and broke into a toothy grin.
She pulled me into a comforting hug. "I heard on the news this morning. Is he okay?" Of course she knew. "My poor boyfriend," she joked, "and here I was just about to dump my Tank for him."
I rolled my eyes. Lu and her hubby, Pierre, better known as Tank, had been married for ever and were disgustingly happy together. She loved to rib me about Carlos, always thought that I had a thing for him. Never mind that I was seven years older and way too professionally driven to get involved with a client, and perhaps more importantly, he was most definitely not interested in that with me.
"Yeah, well, your boyfriend needs some clothes to go home later in. All he's got till he gets there is a hospital gown."
Her eyes widened comically, "Oooooh! Is it one that opens in the back? Did he flash that ass at you going to the bathroom?"
I snorted, "No, he hasn't been out of the bed yet. I have to hurry back though. Can you help me out?"
"Only if you promise to send me a picture when he does get up." She cackled and led the way into the darkened store. She grabbed everything I listed plus a change of clothes for me, refused my credit card saying my money was no good there, and I was back at the hospital in pretty short order.
Carlos was sitting up in bed sipping some delicious, plain chicken broth when I arrived, bags in hand. "They have a Nike store in the cafeteria?"
"No, Lula hooked us up. New clothes for us both and I scored you a fuzzy sock to cover your toes for now. I ordered you this thing from amazon, to keep them warm when you go out, but that won't arrive for a day or two yet." He took the bag I handed him and scoffed at the shirt she had put in the bag. Carlos was a big guy, broad shoulders, very muscly, the shirt she had given him was two sizes too small at least. At least Lu had never hidden the fact that she objectified him at every available opportunity.
"She wants a picture of your behind." I told him as I plugged my phone into the wall. "When you get up to go to the bathroom. Payment for the stuff."
He laughed again. "I'd actually be scared of her if you weren't there to protect me."
"You should be," I told him as I dug out his new socks, "she'd totally molest you given the chance."
"I know," he muttered. He looked up at the still attached IVs, "I can't wait for them to disconnect these so I can take this stupid thing off." He plucked at the hospital gown disgustedly. He wasn't being snobbish, Carlos' wardrobe rarely varied. When it wasn't freezing out he wore t-shirts and baggy shorts, when it was he wore t-shirts, some type of sweatpants and a hoodie. That was it unless he was going out with Jeanne and then I'm pretty sure she picked his outfit.
"How does your leg feel today?" He was way grumpier than usual so I was guessing it wasn't feeling great.
"It hurts a little. I told them I don't want the narcotics so they're just giving me Tylenol."
"Carlos! You can't do this kind of injury without pain meds!"
"They make me feel all… I don't know, weird. I don't like it." He had that stubborn face on.
"That was probably just the anesthesia, though." He opened his mouth to retort when we were interrupted by Maddie's morning shift replacement and Scott carrying crutches.
"Good morning," he said holding them up, "Ready to try these?"
Carlos flipped the blankets off. "Hell yeah."
"Okay, Steph, can you help out here too?" Scott handed me the crutches. "Stand right here so you can hand him those when he gets up. Amy's going to stand to this side and I've got the other."
It took way more maneuvering than I would've thought to get him standing that first time. And, I might have gotten an eyeful as he shuffled to the edge of the bed and his gown rode up. Apparently his physical impressiveness was distributed evenly among all his parts.
Every single one of them.
He did pretty well once his initial dizziness on finally standing passed, but I never did get that picture Lula wanted. My phone was still too dead.
"Hey, I have a missed call from your mom." I told him as he slowly made his way back to bed. I couldn't help but notice how much that exertion seemed to have done him in. We helped him sit back down and I pulled the blankets back over him.
"Yeah, she called here while you were out." Their flight is delayed in LA. There's some huge blizzard in the middle of the country and everything is a mess. They won't get back until tomorrow night at the earliest.
"What about your brothers, can one of them come and get you?" Scott asked.
We both laughed at that. Carlos and his brothers all loved each other, but they could not be trusted with him in this shape. Not even for a second. He'd be back in here with the leg re-damaged in no time.
"I'll take him home and get him settled." I told Scott. He raised an eyebrow, but wisely didn't comment. "When can he go?"
"I'll discharge him around 3:00 so you can head home before traffic picks up. The team sent your bag to your apartment when they knew you were going home today. It is important that you're not alone for the next few days though. The anesthesia can still affect you for 48 hours or so." He looked at me as he said that.
I replied without thinking. "I can do that."
"Steph, you don't have to." Carlos objected.
"I don't mind, okay? I'll stay till your mom gets here."
He shook his head. "I can hire a nurse."
"Seriously? No! I can do it. I want to." Carlos looked grateful.
"Great," Scott said, "But be warned, he's elected not to take the pain meds I've prescribed. He already seems kind of cranky."
Carlos grunted disgustedly. "I am not cranky. I'm just tired."
"Yeah, okay." The esteemed doctor said to his patient. I'll give you discharge instructions in a little while. Amy is going to remove your IVs now."