Page 62 of After We Fall

“But I’m feeling better this morning.” My statement is untrue on only a few levels.

The doctor starts to speak, pauses, and studies me. “The quickest way to achieve total healing with a head injury is to be completely honest about the symptoms. If you lie to yourself about what you’re dealing with, you will most certainly cause discomfort and prolong your recovery.”

I feel more exposed emotionally than I do physically in this hospital gown.

“We’ll be measuring and monitoring your tolerance to stimuli through weekly follow-up appointments. Things like nausea, blurred vision, lack of balance, headaches. You’ll start off in a dark room, no electronics. Once you can tolerate more, we’ll add back activities. Depending on your progress and how you feel, we might supplement with medication therapies or neurofeedback. For some concussion patients, rehabilitation takes weeks. Others take several months to make a full recovery.”

Weeks. Months.

Months?

“The most important thing I need you to hear today is this: Head injuries are tricky. If you acquire a third concussion, there’s a possibility you’ll have irreversible symptoms. And if you reinjure yourself before you’ve healed, there could be grave consequences.”

Remembering my audience, I flick my gaze around the room. Each face wears a varying degree of concern accented by a touch of pity. I stare over the shoulder of the doctor and whisper to no one, “But I can’t miss work.”

“Work’s not the focus now, Penelope,” Harlan says. “You are.”

I clutch the top of the hospital blanket, dragging it to my waist and gripping it close to my body. I am? I am the focus?

I can’t think of anything worse.

“Let’s do one step at a time here. First, we need to make sure the hematoma is under control. Then we’ll talk about releasing you.” Dr. Gallo picks up his iPad, offers a short farewell to everyone in the room, and exits.

My emotional exposure multiplies in the silent room, morphing into its own entity that I want to shove under my hospital blanket.

Meredith steps toward my bed. “Penelope, we’ll figure out all the details.”

“But—”

She puts her hand on mine, her thumb brushing over my skin. “You just have to rest.”

“It’s about time for you to take some time off,” Harlan adds. He turns to Luke to explain. “She’s always on the job. We had to add a mandatory vacation clause to her contract.”

Sometimes Harlan’s more of a big brother than a boss. Case in point—the vacation clause.

But the doctor wasn’t talking about vacation. This would be me sitting in a dark room with nothing to do but wait. Pure torture.

I don’t want time off. I have to fix this. I have to find Finley. Second to that, I need to show the Holcombes I’m a solid candidate for the new job at the ranch.

None of which I can accomplish from the darkness of a room.

“I have to fix this. I made a mistake, Meredith,” I whisper. Heat hits my face and fierce tears sting the backs of my eyes. “This is all my fault. I upset Finley. I handled the situation completely wrong. She left—”

“I know.” She gently squeezes my hand.

“No. You don’t. I said some things to Marcus and he reported it all to Finley, but he misconstrued everything. She became very angry and left the ranch. I tried to reach out to her, but this”—I break the connection at our hands and sweep my arm down my body, indicating the hospital bed—“is the result. I mismanaged every aspect of the situation.”

Meredith crosses her arms over her chest and hitches out a hip. She clears her throat. “Did you kick Finley out of the house?”

Shocked by her question, I sit up straighter. “What? No.”

“Did you yell at her?”

“No. Do you think I would actually—”

“Did you insult her?”

“No.”