his tattoos. I was in too much pain to feel embarrassed or apologize, but I did release my death grip. Before I could pull my hand out of his, he adjusted his hold. His tattooed fingers wove through mine, giving me a reassuring squeeze.
And I squeezed the hell out of his.
I was beginning to worry I’d pass out when the doc finally leaned back.
I survived. We’re done.
“You’ve got a few bad cuts on your back,” he said, bursting my bubble.
Stupid crop top.
If my shins hurt, the thin, sensitive skin of my back killed. I’d have cried out, but I didn’t have any air in my lungs to force out.
Thankfully, the torture only lasted a minute before Dr. Pierce moved away.
“Are we done?” Looking up at Maximo as tears trailed down my cheeks, I asked him, “Can I go home now?”
But Maximo didn’t have time to answer before movement stole my attention.
My chest tightened as I watched Dr. Pierce lift a pair of giant tweezers off the tray. “I need to check your knee.”
My hand shot out to grab Maximo’s, my entire body tense as I watched the doctor adjust a light so it was shining on me. The tweezers touched the angry wound, and my shoulders slumped in relief.
This isn’t too bad. Definitely not as bad as the ointment.
But then he began moving them. I was positive half the sharp tweezers were through my leg. Stabbing. Gauging. Digging.
My eyes darted down to reassure myself he wasn’t actually peeling muscle from bone, but at the sight of the open flesh—my open flesh—my head swam and spots floated across my tunneled vision.
I’d grown up in boxing gyms all across the country. I’d seen torn brows, cheeks, and lips. I’d even patched them up.
But it never got easier to see.
I must’ve looked as nauseous as I felt because Maximo put his hand on the back of my head and pushed my face into his side so I couldn’t see anything.
It was a million years—or maybe a few minutes—until the pain finally eased.
Pushing against Maximo’s tight hold, I watched as Doctor Pierce held up the tweezers. A jagged chunk of wood was pinched at the end.
“That was in my leg?” I wheezed, growing lightheaded again.
Something beeped, but my horrified gaze was locked on the wood.
“Perfect timing, your x-ray results are in.” Dr. Pierce typed something into a computer attached to the wall. A medical file loaded, and my eyes landed on my name on the top of the screen.
Dove Black.
Ha. Maybe now that I’m on my own, I’ll change my name.
Be someone other than a worthless McMillon.
With another few clicks, fuzzy black and white images popped up. I studied them as though I had any clue what I was looking at.
“Good news,” the doctor said, solving the mystery for me. “You’ve got a grade two sprain, but no break. Your knees are fine, though.”
“What do I need to do for the ankle?” I asked, knowing too much about wrapping injuries.
“We’ll get you a brace. Stay off it as much as possible for the next two weeks, at least.” He clicked a few buttons. “I’ll print out discharge paperwork with more instructions, things to watch out for, and the name of a lotion for your burns.”
“Thank you,” I said sincerely. Even though he’d caused me insane pain, it would’ve been a million times worse had I left the cuts untreated.
Especially the tree trunk in my knee.
The doctor shook my hand before shaking Maximo’s. “I trust you’ll be purchasing a table at the hospital’s fundraiser next month.”
“I always do,” Maximo said, not bothered by the thinly veiled extortion.
Shit, this has probably cost a fortune and my insurance barely covers a Flintstones vitamin and a prayer.
It wouldn’t be the first bill to go to collection, and I knew it wouldn’t be the last.
After the doctor and nurse left, I didn’t speak and neither did Maximo. My thoughts were on what was to come.
He clearly wasn’t going to kill me. My guess was he’d drop me back at home—likely after he threatened me to stay silent.
Maybe it made me a shit person or a shit daughter—or both—but I wouldn’t go to the cops. It was doubtful they’d even care about Shamus’ death. It wasn’t worth ending up in foster care. Or worse, having them think I was responsible for his death.
A quick interview with some of his buddies would show I had a lot of motive.
My plan was to go back to my house, focus on how to