"I'll do it." Stevie whipped out her phone and headed for the hall.
The doctor seemed satisfied with this answer and started poking at Jordan's cut. Eventually he squeezed water over it. "This is a big one, probably sixteen or seventeen stitches I'd guess. Want to tell me how it happened?"
Tony held up his phone. "I got a video!"
I must have channeled the ghost of my lawyer father right then, because I grabbed Tony's hand, the one with the phone, and leaned close to whisper, "Delete that video, now."
"Never mind," Tony said.
Jordan looked up at the doctor and forced a grin. "Just a minor backyard accident."
I watched the doctor pull out a giant needle and I squeezed Jordan's hand tighter. He gave me a weary smile but didn't even flinch. Probably because he was drunk. "I can't believe I was so stupid," he said. "I'm proving my dad's theory right. A hundred bucks says he tells me that within five minutes of his arrival."
"You were right to be mad, Jordan," I said. "He's shutting you out, and it doesn't make any sense."
"I just wanted to drink a little, calm myself down, and then I was going to let it go, head back home and tell him I'm sorry and to forget about it." He shook his head. "I'm not sure why it set me off. Maybe because talking about parent issues is our thing. Me and you. And then he was telling you stuff..."
"How long were you listening?"
"A while." He looked at me again, his face weary. "I'm sorry. I'm not really like this. If I hadn't nearly bled to death, I would have just slept it off and come home after school tomorrow and you'd never know the difference."
I leaned forward and hugged him around the waist, pressing my face into his shirt. "I know what you're like—"
"Oh God," Tony moaned.
I let go of Jordan and turned around to look at Tony. He was swaying back and forth, color draining from his face.
"Dude?" Jordan said. "What's wrong with you?"
"That's a big fucking needle," Tony managed to say.
The doctor barely glanced over at us. "You'd better have him sit down before he passes out."
Me? Tony could crush me with one leg. He blinked rapidly, like he was trying to hold on to consciousness. I grabbed a metal chair and slid it under him and poked him in the chest with one finger. That was all it took to make him fall into the seat.
"Have him put his head between his knees," the doctor said.
I pressed on the back of Tony's neck until his upper body slumped over. "I don't feel so good," he moaned.
All I could think to do was pat his back awkwardly. Fifteen minutes later, after Jordan was good and numbed up in preparation for the stitches he needed, Stevie returned with Bentley behind her. He stomped right in and scanned the room, taking everything in.
"Mr. Bentley?" the doctor asked. "Your son is going to be just fine. A few stitches and he'll be good as new. We see this kind of shenanigans all the time. Nothing to worry about, unless it happens again, of course."
Bentley's eyes zoomed in on Jordan's left arm, and he moved closer and picked it up.
"Ow!" Jordan said. "Shit!"
Bentley yanked up his sleeve and I immediately slapped my hands over my eyes. "Oh my God," I said into my fingers.
The doctor jumped back. "Whoa! Well, I can safely say that's dislocated."
"Yeah, it is," Bentley snapped. "Glad you gave him a thorough examination."
Tony started to raise his head. "What's going on?"
I uncovered my face and pressed a hand on Tony's back again. "Keep your head down for a while. Trust me."
The doctor dropped his tools into the plastic bin and backed up toward the door. "I'll get someone from orthopedics."
"Get a plastic surgeon, too," Bentley said. "I'm not letting an intern stitch up my kid's head."
This guy's an intern? How could he tell?
Stevie and I were both too curious to not get a closer look at Jordan's deformed arm. Bentley ran his fingers along Jordan's forearm and then his face scrunched up in concentration. Before anyone realized what he was doing, he grasped Jordan's upper arm and yanked his wrist at the same time.
"Jesus Christ!" Jordan practically leapt off the bed, then he flipped his hand over and opened and closed it several times. "Damn...that's much better."
"Better now than when you're sobered up." Bentley rolled Jordan's sleeve up the rest of the way. Then he backed away, allowing Stevie and me to move in closer.
"It's straight again," Stevie said, picking up his hand. "How did you do that, Coach?"
"My elbow used to pop out of place all the time. Something with the bone or the cartilage. My daughter's elbow did the same thing, and I taught myself how to fix it after a few trips to the emergency room. Genetics, I guess. Six hundred dollars in the emergency room practically broke the bank for us. Then they'd send an intern in for about twenty seconds and bill us for it."
My eyes locked with Jordan's. He was as surprised as I was that Bentley had just mentioned his sister so casually.
"Can you do shoulders, too?" Stevie asked.
"Haven't tried." Bentley gave her a tiny smile. "We'll give Jordan a couple more drinks and maybe he'll dislocate something else."
"Can I look now?" Tony said. "I'm getting a headache."
Bentley gave Tony a pat on the back. "All clear. Why don't you take off?" He turned to me and Stevie. "You girls should head home, too. I'm sure it'll be a while before we can get a plastic surgeon in here and get those stitches taken care of."
"Oh God," Tony groaned. "Sorry, Jordy, I'm so out of here."
I glanced at Jordan, who looked like the last thing he wanted was to be left here with his dad, but I didn't really have a choice. Plus, Bentley was obviously doing a better job with this emergency room thing than we were. We would have taken Jordan home with a funky elbow.
"Well, that was educational," Stevie said when we got back in the car.
"Yeah, totally."
"Think he's going to be in a lot of trouble?" Stevie asked.
"I don't know. Jordan looked worried, but I think he just doesn't want to disappoint his dad. He'd probably never admit that, though."
Stevie laughed. "Probably not."
When I got into bed later, Bentley and Jordan were still gone. I fell asleep with my light on and a book in my hand and woke up when I felt someone sliding the paperback out from under me.
"Jordan," I whispered. He had clean clothes on and was dirt-free and smelled like his aftershave. "Are you okay?"
He lifted his left arm, revealing a removable splint. "Yeah, gotta wear this for a couple weeks." He squatted down in front of the bed and pushed my hair off my face. Then he broke our very important rules and kissed my cheek. "Just this once."
I reached up and touched his head, where the cut had been. "Did you get a plastic surgeon?"
He smiled. "I did. And now my scalp won't be ugly."
"That's very important."
His hand moved through my hair. "What did I miss in the life of Karen Campbell while I was at school and then crazy drunk?"
"I did a bunch of Amanar vaults, but Stevie's were better. I scared a little girl by screaming at her when I thought her basketball was my dad's head rolling around in the gym and probably a whole bunch of preschool parents have now announced my insanity on Twitter. I haven't checked today. That drama led me to go looking for obituaries in the garage, and then you know the rest."
"A day in the life of an elite athlete," Jordan said. "I'm skipping school tomorrow. Want to go somewhere after practice?"
"If you can help me with my Catcher in the Rye essay? I kind of slacked on my schoolwork today."
"I can do that." He walked toward the door and flipped the light off. "Night, Karen."
"Night, Jordan."
I sighed to myself after he walked away. I wished I could tell if he was really okay or just pretending to be because he thought I had too much to deal with already.
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