Below the Belt(69)

Tressler stood, hands fisted at his side, his face a white sheet of pure anger. “You promised you’d handle it.”

“I promised I’d help. And making sure he gets the right treatment is helping.” The young man vibrated with frustration, and she could understand. But there was a responsibility to the man still propped up against her kitchen cabinets, moaning quietly, that overrode his friend’s loyalty. “I’m sorry, but a concussion is not something to mess around with. Plus, there’s no way to check for additional internal injuries. He’s probably fine,” she said quickly when Tressler’s eyes widened in concern. “Probably okay. But it’s better to play it safe.”

Brad stayed suspiciously quiet the entire time.

Tressler folded his arms over his chest, his body positioning still defiant. “We can drive him there ourselves, can’t we? Just take him over to the hospital, get him checked out and take him back home? We don’t need an ambulance or anything?”

“I don’t see why you wouldn’t be able to just drive him over and walk him into the ER. They’ll be able to do a CT and maybe some X-rays, just to rule out everything.” After a moment’s hesitation, she left it at that. There was no point in telling him they’d likely admit Tibbs overnight for observation with what was, to her, a clear and undeniable concussion.

Brad exchanged a look with Tressler. “Naval hospital is closer, by far.”

“Closer is better. Tomorrow’s Sunday, so we’re off.” With a relaxed breath, the young man sighed and let his arms drop. “Okay, can he walk downstairs?”

“Half walk, half drag is more likely.” She went back to kneel by Tibbs’ side. “Tibbs.” When he didn’t open his eyes right away, she snapped her fingers in front of his nose. His eyelids shot open. “Tibbs, where are you?”

“Hell,” he muttered, then blinked rapidly and gave her a loopy grin. “Hey, it’s the trainer. And it’s my group leader,” he added when Brad crouched beside her. “Did that * Chalfant knock me out?”

Brad gave her a look that clearly asked, Is that normal? She gave a short shake of her head and then smiled gently at Tibbs. “C’mon, big boy. Up and at ’em. Let’s walk down to the car.”

He grumbled, but stood when Tressler and Brad wedged their shoulders beneath his armpits and rose. The man outweighed both of them, but they bore up under the weight well enough.

“Let’s go, buddy.” Tressler helped guide him through her living room and out the door. She followed, after grabbing her purse and locking her own door. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, she ran back inside and threw a sweatshirt on over her shirt. She wasn’t wearing a bra again, but the loose, thick fabric of the hoodie concealed it well enough. Plus, it wasn’t like she was trying to make a fashion statement.

They’d reached the bottom of the stairs when she arrived, and they got him into Tressler’s backseat without much problem. She pointed to her own car. “I’ll follow. You keep him talking, even if it doesn’t make much sense, okay? Keep him talking.” Brad gave her a curt nod, then sat in the passenger seat while Tressler took the driver’s position.

She followed them on base and to the hospital, considering herself lucky they hit very little traffic due to the hour. Parking her car, she raced to the front just as they eased Tibbs into a wheelchair at the ER’s front doors. A woman in mint-green scrubs smiled at her. She probably looked like hell, with her hair in a now-falling-down ponytail and a sweatshirt she had grabbed from the dirty laundry pile over the top of her faded pajama bottoms.

“Are you with this guy?” the nurse asked.

“Sort of. Friend,” she clarified when the nurse arched a brunette brow. “He’s got a broken nose and I’m about ninety-seven percent sure he’s got a concussion.”

Tibbs took that moment to roll his head back and look up at the nurse upside down. He grinned, and leered, as much as a guy with bloody gauze and a half-swollen-shut eye could leer. “Heeeeeeey, pretty lady. Did you come to watch me box?”

The nurse muffled a laugh, then winked at Marianne. “I think your ninety-seven percent was conservative. Let’s go,” she added to Tibbs as she competently wheeled him through the doors. “There are plenty of pretty ladies in here for you to charm.”

Though he was probably double her weight, she had no problems wheeling the chair with ease. Tressler tossed Brad the keys to his SUV and followed, giving the nurse the description of the crash.

Marianne started to walk in after them, but Brad caught her arm.

“Are you going to ruin this for him?”

“Ruin what, his CT scan? I don’t think that’s possible.” She watched as frustration rolled over his features. “Oh, I see. You mean, am I going to play tattletale and call the coaches this instant about this? No, I’m not.”

His relief was palpable as he let go of a long breath.

“I’m waiting until Monday. Brad,” she said, cutting him off when he got ready to argue. “You can’t possibly think I’d let a Marine who just had a concussion step into a boxing ring, do you? I’m not bound by the ‘first do no harm’ oath like a doctor, but I’m still a decent person. That’s insanity.”

“Don’t you have patient confidentiality?” he argued. “What about Tibbs’ right to privacy?”