Page 97 of Heal Me, Love Me

I pulled my phone out, expecting Keaton, but it was Mason:

Don’t freak out

Call me

Keaton got hurt

17

Keaton

The emergency roomdoctor studied the X-ray images on his computer screen for a few more seconds before turning toward me. “I don’t see any fractures.”

I leaned forward to get a better look at what he was seeing, and I immediately regretted it when pain shot through my shoulder. The medication they’d given me had taken the edge off, but it hadn’t done nearly enough to make me forget that something was seriously wrong.

“Okay,” I replied impatiently, waiting for more information.

“Your shoulder also appears to be back where it belongs, which is good news.”

“If you say so,” I muttered, looking down at the sling holding my arm. “So what happens now?”

“Unfortunately, X-rays only tell part of the story.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Given how the injury occurred and the instability you’re describing, I’m concerned there may be soft tissue damage.”

How it happened had to be the stupidest way I’d ever gotten hurt. It wasn’t during an official fight or some cool highlight-reel moment that would make a good story later. Instead, I’d gotten lazy during a wrestling round, tried to brace myself with my arm, and ended up in the emergency room because of a mistake Coach Luis had probably corrected a hundred times.

“Soft tissue damage,” I repeated. “What does that mean?”

“Your shoulder contains ligaments and cartilage that don’t show up well on standard X-rays. You may have tears we can’t see, so we need additional imaging to be sure. An MRI would give us a much clearer picture.”

Ligament and cartilage damage didn’t sound promising for a professional fighter.

I dragged my good hand through my hair. “Could I need surgery?”

“That’s one possibility.”

My stomach dropped, but he continued before I could spiral too far.

“It could also be something much less serious. Right now, we don’t have enough information to make that determination.”

I hated that I couldn’t get concrete answers right then, but they could only do so much in the ER when someone’s life wasn’t in danger.

“I’m referring you to an orthopedic specialist,” he added. “They’ll evaluate your shoulder and determine what additional imaging you need.”

“How long will that take?”

“That depends on how booked they are. Hopefully, you can get an appointment within a week or two. I’d avoid training until then.”

“Seriously?”

The look he gave me made it clear he wasn’t joking. “Unless you want to risk permanent damage, you need to take it easy.”

He left, and a little while later, a nurse handed me discharge paperwork, instructions on icing my shoulder, a prescription for anti-inflammatory medication, and a list of things to avoid.

No training.

No lifting.

No reaching.