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his left shoulder. “All right, your pulse is officially rapid. You’re in pain, and something is fucked up. That’s my doctor’s assessment. Now, asshole, tell me what hurts.”

    “My shoulder, and my side. My ribs on the left side.”

    “What about that nasty gash on your forehead?” I touch my hand to his head and turn his face to get a better look. The cut is down to the bone in one place, but the blood is already thickening, forming a scab.  

    “That’s fine. Seriously.”

    “It needs stitches, so we’ll tend to that… when we tend to it.” I shake my head, silently chastising myself for even keeping a civil tone with him, let alone offering to give him stitches. He’ll live without stitches, and he’ll see the light of day tomorrow even if I kick him out now. But that part of me that needs to help is stronger than anything else. What made me strong all the way through nursing school—and through med school, too—it’s the same thing that’s always made me weak with Josh.  

    “At the clinic?” The pain is evident in his voice, but I ignore him. I’ll have to see what his condition is before I make any idiotic decisions. Well, any more idiotic decisions. Letting Josh in was probably the first one of the bunch.  

    “I’m going to move over to your left side and look at whatever horrendous damage you caused there.” I walk over and sit down next to him. His eyes follow my body and rest on my face as I sit. “It could hurt,” I add. He nods.

    I’ve got a bad feeling I know just what he’s done, and I’ve got an even worse feeling that he probably should have gone to the hospital right away—but that he didn’t because he’s an idiot and because his boss is an evil dick. Placing my hands on his ribs, I feel for evidence of swelling. There is some, and the bruise has darkened even in the time since he’s arrived. I move my hand to his shoulder and feel around the joint. Nausea hits me.

    “Dislocated,” he says and sucks in a quick sharp breath.

    “Ya think? God, how the fuck did you get here? Don’t tell me the Camaro is idling outside.” I’m taken back in time just thinking about that thing, how impressed I was when he bought it, how excited I was when he took me for my first ride. But back then I was easier to impress. If I ignore the tight, chiseled muscles, the high cheekbones and somehow sexily broken and re-broken nose… I wouldn’t be impressed at all right now.  

    “Ash. My trainer. He brought me over from the club.” The club. The goddamn club. Ever since Josh turned sixteen, he’s been fighting at that gym. At first, I thought it was good, thought he was focusing some of his anger, some of his brain’s penchant for destruction. But it was clear, even then, that Frank’s gym was anything but a clean operation.  

    “Well, I hope you tipped. Dammit, Josh. We’re going to need to get this back into joint. I’ll take you to the E.R.” Even as I say it, I know he’s going to resist. “I probably shouldn’t even be driving after this shift, but—”

    “No, no, not the hospital. Please, not the hospital. Frank says—”

    “I don’t give a shit what Frank says. You’re twenty-six. You’re a grown-ass man. Or at least you should be.”  

    “You don’t understand.” Moving fast, I reach for his right hand and ease him up. I catch a glimpse of the network of tattoos over his shoulders—some tribal, some numbers and dates I don’t understand. They accent his muscles, make him look hard and far older than he is. I suppress a shiver and bite my lip, looking down so he doesn’t see me checking him out.

    “Good thing you landed on your right shoulder when you pushed the door open, you idiot.” Working with patients all day has made me stronger—maybe not strong enough to get Josh’s shoulder back into place, but I’m going to try anyway. It’s here or at the hospital, and doing it here will make the car ride in a rain storm a fuck of a lot