Shane took a few steps and sank down into the chair next to the bed. He had managed to walk to the nurses' station and back, and now wanted to prove to Marcus that he did not have to spend all of his time in bed.
"So how am I doing?" he asked.
Marcus tilted his head and seemed to scrutinize Shane carefully. "Better," he answered. "You're definitely getting your strength up." He handed Shane a pillow. "Keep that handy in case you cough."
Shane understood. The pain would still hit him if he moved too quickly or twisted in a particular way. And the worst pain came when he coughed, something that Marcus said was typical of a patient who had gone through the procedure Shane had. The force of a cough jarred his still-healing sternum and caused the "breakthrough pain." Marcus said that Shane might be able to minimize the jarring effect if he held a pillow tightly to his chest when he coughed, but Shane suspected the idea was more to distract Shane's focus from the pain than to actually prevent it.
That pain would last awhile. Marcus said the sternum would take at least six to eight weeks to heal, putting Shane's return to normal activities right around Thanksgiving. In the meantime, as Marcus kept reminding him, there would be a lot of physical therapy.
"Stand up if you can," Marcus ordered. "I think we can take away the wrap around your ribs. You'll still feel discomfort, but the x-rays look good enough to make me think they'll stay in place without the bandages."
"And I'll be able to breathe normally?" Shane asked.
Marcus raised an eyebrow. "Better. . . ."
"But not normal," Shane finished. "I know." He felt stupid for his choice of words. Marcus had told him enough times that the lung damage was permanent. Still, anything that took away the pressure around his chest from the tight bandages would be a huge improvement, so as fast as he could, Shane rose to his feet and pulled off his robe. He waited as Marcus took some scissors and cut away at the bandages.
"Nearly there," Marcus said. When he pulled the last of the bandages away, Shane took a breath. He could breathe more deeply than he had since he had regained consciousness, but the pain began to start if he tried to take in too much air. "Careful there," Marcus cautioned. "Those bones are still broken. Now let me take a look at the incision."
Shane winced as Marcus pulled away the tape that was holding the bandage over the front of his chest in place. He pulled it away and Shane saw in the mirror the full length of the dark, red incision line, which was beginning to form into a scar. It ran from just below his clavicle to the middle of his abdomen. Every few centimeters along the scar was a dark piece of stitches, protruding from his skin.
Just a final gift from Cal Winters, he thought silently. One I'll have to look at every day for the rest of my life.
As Marcus looked at the incision, Shane took a moment to remind himself that he was lucky he could complain about a scar. The alternative was a lot worse.
"That looks pretty clean." Marcus looked up from the wound. "You'll have to take care not to get it wet or do anything to break the incision open while you're at home, but I don't think we need to keep the dressings."
Shane did not hear the last part. "While I'm home? Really? How soon can I go?"
"I guess the quality of Alice Horton's TLC must be declining if you're that anxious to get out of here." Marcus began to chuckle. "I'm just kidding. Don't you dare tell Alice I said that." He motioned for Shane to return to the bed, but Shane wanted an answer first.
"So will I be able to leave soon?"
Marcus gave an exasperated roll of the eyes. "Yes . . . . I'll set up the paperwork and, as long as your lungs remain clear, I don't see why you can't go home tomorrow." He motioned for the bed and gave Shane a knowing look. "That still means you need to rest. I don't want you pushing yourself too hard, Shane. You're not going to recover in a couple of days. You have several months of rehab in front of you."
"I got it," Shane said, but all he could think about was being home. With Kim and my family. He settled back into the bed and smiled at the thought that, the day after tomorrow, he would not wake up in a hospital room, but in his bed - with Kim next to him. Their children would be just a few doors away, safe and secure.
Setting that happy thought aside, Shane turned his attention to ensuring that things would stay that way. He had made his decision about pleading guilty, and now he needed a plan to clear his name. Unwittingly, Steve had given Shane some ideas by revealing Tarrington's biggest fear, which meant Shane also had a place to start planning. He just needed to find a way to do what he had to.
The thoughts racing through his brain were interrupted by a knock on the door. He looked up to see Kim just outside the door.
"Can I come in?"
Shane doubted he could smile any wider. "Of course." In that instant, as she walked toward the bed, he felt a sudden wash of relief, which surprised him because he had not realized he was even anxious. "I'm so glad you're here. I was starting to get worried that you had something worse than a cold."
Kim seemed to halt, her smile wavered, and she looked down. After a moment, she said, "No, it's not worse than a cold."
"Good," Shane said, noticing that his stomach felt tight. Kim's eyes still did not meet his. Uneasily, he asked, "Are you sure you're okay?"
Kim sighed and then looked at him. "I'm. . . ." She did not answer the question. "We need to talk."
Her tone told him this would not be a pleasant conversation. Slowly, he said, "Go ahead."
"I wanted to wait until you were better." Kim shifted uncomfortably and looked away again. "I . . . I didn't want to hurt you."
But you're going to do it anyway, he realized. His entire body tensed, both anxious to hear what Kim had to say and dreading the words that might come out.
The silence was palpable as he waited for her to break his heart.
"I . . . I can't do this, Shane," she finally said. "I can't just come back to you."