Letters to Nowhere(71)

“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 f*cking 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.