moves them behind her back, subconsciously preparing to be cuffed. “Just an accident. Not intentional.”
Her panic is palpable, and I start to feel a little bad.
“It was an accident,” I confirm, and Birdie’s shoulders visibly settle from their previous spot up around her ears.
The doctor looks like he doesn’t quite know what to do with us. I can’t blame him. We’re a weird mix of foreplay and conflict. I’ve been around us for at least two hours total, and I still haven’t figured out our dynamic. Professionalism wins out, though, and somehow, he keeps his composure and starts to assess my injury. With the ice pack removed, he prods and pokes at my nose with his fingers.
“How bad is it, Doc?” I ask. “Am I going to need surgery?”
I don’t miss the way Birdie’s face morphs into shock when I mention the word surgery.
“Oh my God, he’s not going to need surgery, is he?” she asks, another rambling apology already apparent in her voice. Give her one more minute of silence, and she’ll be full steam ahead with more adorable apologies.
But the doctor is quick to dismiss her fears. “No surgery. X-rays showed it was a fairly clean break that only needs some minor interventions.”
Birdie’s sigh of relief is so loud it could be heard outside the hospital.
“But I am going to have to set the break, Mr. Watson,” Dr. Collins instructs. “Would you like some pain medicine before we do it?” His nurse Lucille steps into the room with a vial and a needle, and I start to feel light-headed. In many ways, I’m a tough guy, but I have to admit, needles have blurred the edges of my consciousness a time or two.
I shake my head. “Nah, Doc. I’m good.”
“You sure?” he questions. “Most people like a little something to take the edge off.”
“Don’t need it. I’ll be fine,” I assert, pointedly leaving out the fact that I’m a needle wussie.
The good doctor slips on some gloves while the nurse lowers my bed flat. With two gloved hands on my nose, Dr. Collins does exactly what he said. He pushes my nose back into place with a quick, abrupt movement of his wrists.
It hurts—it motherfucking hurts—but this isn’t the first time I’ve had a broken bone that’s needed to be set, and I doubt it’ll be the last. When you’re an actor who prefers to do his own stunts, you find yourself incurring a few injuries over the years.
“Okay, you’re just going to need to keep icing it for the next forty-eight hours, and besides some bruising and swelling that will last for a week or so, it should heal nicely.”
The nurse eases me back up to sitting, and I find Birdie at the foot of my bed, her pretty brown eyes narrowed into little slits again. I wonder if she’s always this suspicious of people. I, of course, deserve it, but still…I wonder how she got so jaded.
“Lucille will get all your discharge paperwork and instructions together, and we’ll have you out of here shortly,” Dr. Collins says, and I nod.
“Thanks, Doc. I appreciate it.”
Once Lucille and Dr. Collins leave the room, Birdie starts in on me.
“Did you just let them set your broken nose without any pain medicine?”
I shrug. “Yeah, I guess I did.”
“And you didn’t even flinch. Didn’t groan. Didn’t do any of the shit you’ve been doing since…”
“Since you elbowed me in the face?” I remind her, and she glares.
“You’ve been playing me this whole time.”
“Playing you?” I repeat. “I wouldn’t say I was playing you…”
“Are you kidding me?” Both of her hands fly up into the air. “You’ve been acting like you were in agony since the moment we left the restaurant!”
“Well, not the whole time. I spent a fair amount of time teasing you too.”
“Ugh!” She squeals as she stomps across the room and snatches her purse off the chair.. “I should’ve known it wasn’t possible for you to act like a grown fucking man.”
She heads for the door immediately, grabbing the knob with brute force—force I’m almost certain she’d like to be inflicting on me.
“You’re leaving?” I ask. “But they haven’t discharged me yet.”
“I think you and I both know you’re going to be just fine, you big fat liar,” she snaps back.
“But you drove me here, in my car, and the keys of said car are in my pocket,” I challenge. “How are you going to get home?”
“I’d rather hitchhike than spend another minute here dealing with your pretend bullshit.”