I choked on the cool water, and it ran down my chin. Peyton hastily put the cup aside and then helped me clean up once I was no longer coughing.
I leaned my head back against the pillow, exhausted.
Peyton’s eyes scanned me. Not just as a nurse but as my friend. She wouldn’t ask what had happened to me. She would keep it professional because I was in a hospital bed, but she was curious. It was written all over her face.
She could speculate. Shewouldspeculate. But I wasn’t going to talk about it.
My neck was cool, and I remembered that Dante had chopped off my hair. I wanted to see the butchering.
“Will you bring me a mirror?” I asked her.
She blanched. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Because you look…”
I raised my brows. “How do I look?”
“Like someone assaulted you,” she blurted out.
“Do I have black eyes?” I asked in curiosity. The areas around my eyes weren’t swollen or tender. No. He hadn’t used fists to beat me into submission. He’d chosen other ways to break me.
“No. No black eyes.” Her somber gaze dropped to my injured hand.
I recognized the look as pity.
I didn’t want pity.
“What happened, Peyton? Why am I not at a hospital in Waco?”
“Mia demanded the EMTs bring you here. You were stable enough for that, thankfully.”
Thankfully.
“Chief Nelson took you into surgery.”
Even though Chief Nelson was one of the best orthopedic surgeons in the country, I refused to bank on hope that my hand would ever be restored.
“It might be time to consider a change in profession,” I said.
Her eyes filled with tears.
“Why are you crying?” I demanded.
“Because you’re talking about no longer being able to be a surgeon—and I know how much that matters to you.”
“C’est la vie, Peyton. C’est la vie.”
I’d once understood the empathy gene. I’d been born with it. Most doctors I knew found a way to either ignore it or compartmentalize it. Not me. My empathy had leaked out whenever I’d dealt with patients.
Their pain had become mine.
But this—Peyton crying overmeand my trauma…I found it annoying. Compassion was one thing. Pity was another.
She hastily turned her head and wiped away her tears. “I saw Boxer leaving your room. He hasn’t left your bedside in hours. We tried to kick him out; he wouldn’t go.”
“Don’t talk to me about Boxer.” I glanced away from her to stare out the window. The blinds were shut, but sunlight peeked through them.