Whisky Throttle (Throttle Series, #1)

fifteen

Calla

"I have to say," Doctor Earle says, adjusting her glasses. "This is some of the best stitching work I've seen in years. It should hardly scar as long as you take care of your arm." She slides the alcohol-soaked cotton ball over the stitches. It's cold and I feel a slight stinging sensation from the smaller gravel scratches I got when I fell. Aside from the little scratches and the bruising, I'm not in too much pain. Doctor Earle looks at me. "Where did you say you got your stitches done again?"

I didn't say. I don't think Maddox would want me to blab to anyone about him fixing my arm up – it might just blow his cover. And that's the last thing I want to happen. He's having a good time up at the campground. He's happy.

"I wiped out on my dirt bike and was driven down to Kelowna General Hospital. The doctor in the emergency ward did it as soon as my friend dropped me off." The corner of my mouth pulls to one side. "I got blood all over the white tiles in the entryway – I don't think the janitor was too pleased with me." I pause and shift my weight on the tissue paper covering beneath my butt. It rustles and I hear a tearing noise. To be honest, I've never really understood why they use tissue paper in a doctor's office. Why not just take the time to spray down the examination table with disinfectant? It would be much more suitable for the environment. "The doc told me to come and get them checked out a couple of days later just to make sure I didn't get any infections. The area I wiped out in was really muddy – and you never know what's in mud up in the bush."

She eyes me carefully through her glasses but doesn't say anything. I think she can tell that my stitches were just done yesterday. I stare back at her and raise my eyebrows, hoping she takes the hint that even if she can tell I'm lying my face off, I'm still not going to tell her the truth. Maddox's happiness could potentially depend on keeping my mouth shut.

"Well," she sighs, releasing my arm. She tosses the cotton ball in a nearby trashcan. "There's no infection, which is good news. Still, I would keep an eye on the surrounding scratches, as well as the bruising. If it gets worse over the next couple of days, come back here and we'll assess the damage. Sometimes, when the cut is deep enough it can affect tendons, muscles, and ligaments. I highly doubt that, though. How do the stitches feel?"

I pull the sleeve of my sweater down and cross my arms. "They're throbbing a little," I admit. "But if I take an Advil, the pain usually goes away."

Doctor Earle nods, her head of silvery hair bobbing in a very animated-looking way. "That's normal, so don't worry about it too much. I can prescribe you some stronger medication if you'd like."

I shake my head. "I'm okay. Thank you, though." I think, after Maddox stitched me up, I can handle a bit of pain. How I got through it without some heavy painkillers or a stronger numbing cream, I'll never know. It was excruciatingly painful, but I think I was too focused on not looking at my own blood to care about reacting.

"Very well, then," the doc sighs. She turns around and gathers up her clipboard and a pen from beside the sink. The room we're in is very stuffy; the walls are painted a dark brown and there are too many pieces of furniture: the examination table, a desk and a chair, and then the small vanity set. Cupboards also line the walls above the sink. I glance around, wishing they would have painted this place white or a nice cream-colour instead. A little bit of paint can go a long way. "I'm going to schedule you in for an appointment ten days from now. The injury seems like it was fairly deep, meaning the stitches are going to need to stay in a for at least eight days. Personally, I like to let them go an extra couple of days just to be safe. Are you okay with that?"