Page 57 of Real Dirty
Oh. My. God.
I just fell down a flight of stairs. I could have died.
But I didn’t.
I’m okay.
Maybe I don’t have the world’s worst luck.
“Oh God. Ripley! Are you okay?”
It’s Law, already on his way down the stairs as I stumble to my feet, my head swimming.
“I’m fine. It’s okay.”
I take one dizzy step forward, but when my ankle rolls and pain shoots up my leg, my stomach drops. I instantly take the weight off my leg as tears spring to my eyes.
No. No. No. This can’t happen.
Law rushes toward me, skidding to a stop. “Shit. Are you okay?” He pats me down for injuries, not noticing that I’m holding the railing to avoid putting my weight on both feet.
I grit my teeth. “Fine. Totally fine.”
“Are you sure? That was a hell of a fall.”
I look up the stairs to see if anyone else noticed, but no one else is rushing to the rescue.
“I’m fine. I gotta get that keg to Brian and get back to work.”
He reaches out a hand. “Let me help you up the stairs. Seriously, that looked really bad. You’re lucky you didn’t hurt yourself.”
I bite down on my lip to stop myself from groaning as I take the first step up the stairs. Law is too busy talking about how bad my fall looked to realize that I’m seconds from crying.
Breathing through the pain, I hobble my way up and stop next to the keg at the top, sweat beading on my forehead from the effort.
“You sure you don’t need help?”
“Positive. I gotta get back to work.”
Without waiting for him to respond, I heft the keg into my arms again, screaming inwardly as a shaft of pain stabs at my ankle.
I thought I was lucky? Not a chance.
I manage to get the keg behind the bar and swap it out. Brian gives me a nod of approval, which helps restore a bit of my pride but doesn’t do a thing to help my ankle. Hope returns and tosses another tank to me, and I catch it in midair.
“Go change. I’ll cover you for a few. Rudy is coming in too. It’s almost ten, so this place is gonna be hoppin’ in a bit.”
The bar is already packed, so I can only imagine how crazy it’s going to get.
I take the new uniform shirt and slowly make my way to the break room and employee bathrooms, hoping no one notices that I’m hobbling like an old lady.
If it’s broken, I’m screwed. To work behind a bar like this one, you have to be on your toes, bouncing from end to end, making sure the customers keep drinking and handing over tips.
Stop it, Ripley. No more looking at the negative. It’s not broken. Everything will be fine after you put some ice on it tonight.
As soon as I reach the break room, I drop onto the couch and survey my already bruising skin. I poke gingerly at it and wince at the sharp pain.
It probably isn’t broken, butdamn,does it hurt. It’s swelling, and an entire night working on it is the worst thing I can possibly do. But what choice do I have?
