Ash turns, and I’m expecting some kind of row, but when she finds the source of the voice, she smiles.
“Dr. Templeton,” Ash says and then turns to me. “Mason, this is one of my professors, Dr. Templeton.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say. “I would get up, but I’ve been informed that doing so would be bad for my health.”
I extend a hand. The doctor just looks down at it and gives a face like she just caught a whiff of rotten eggs before she turns back to Ash.
“What brings you to the ER?” the doctor asks.
“I’m here with my boyfriend,” Ash answers. “He got a little knocked around and I just want to make sure he’s all right before I take him home.”
“Did you call the police?” the doctor asks.
Ash and I chuckle. “No,” Ash says, explaining, “it was a competition thing.”
“Ah,” the doctor says, glancing at my trunks. “A person must be pretty stupid to want to go out and get beat up for a living,” Dr. Templeton says.
My eyes go wide, but I don’t say anything. Ash, on the other hand…
“Excuse me?” she asks. “He’s not stupid. The whole thing used to kind of freak me out, too, but a lot of work and skill go into it.”
This seems like one of those times when I should just not say anything. If the doc says something rude about Ash, I’ll join the conversation, but I’d rather not jump on the grenade if I don’t have to.
“Skill?” the very annoying doctor I hope is nowhere near my treatment asks. “How much skill does it take to beat the life out of someone? It’s barbarism and nothing more.”
“It was nice to see you,” Ash says with a sneer. “I’ll be sure to take someone else’s class next semester.”
“Oh, don’t be so sensitive,” the doctor says. “I’m sure you didn’t decide to go out with him for his brains.”
“Start walking,” Ash says and my eyes are wide again. I know that stance. I know the look in Ash’s eyes. I even recognize the breathing pattern as her chest rises and falls.
She’s ready to throw down. If that doctor has any brains in her own head, she’ll take Ash’s advice and start walking.
The doctor opens her mouth, but closes it just as fast. She turns on her heel and walks off.
Ash paces a little in front of me, and I’m chuckling. “That was pretty hot,” I tell her, “just sayin’.”
“Can you believe that?” she asks. “I get that she thinks we can be a little casual because I took her stupid class, but can you believe she’d act that way?”
“Don’t let it ruin your day,” I tell her. “I get that sort of stuff pretty often when I go to hospitals.”
“It just makes me so mad!” Ash announces, still pacing.
The drunk guy next to me is trying to look in as different a direction as possible.
“Hey,” I tell her. “If you ever want to start getting into MMA yourself, I know a lot of good people that’ll help you get on the right track.”
“You’re funny,” Ash says without smiling.
“Ellis!” a nurse calls out from across the room. “Mason Ellis?”
“Right here,” Ash answers for me and we follow the nurse into the little room to take my vitals.
The nurse doesn’t ask anything, she just gives commands. “Tell me what brings you in,” she says. “Get on the scale.”
I’m her dancing bear for a few minutes and we get through the intake process. The nurse leads me back to a room and I lie down on the bed, patting the mattress next to me as I look up at Ash.
To my surprise, she actually climbs onto the bed next to me and lies down.
“You know something?” she asks.
“What’s that?” I return.
“Never mind,” she says.
I look at her. “What’s on your mind?” I ask.
“Oh, now’s not the right time,” she says.
I want to press her more, but the curtain opens in front of me and a middle-aged doctor in blue scrubs comes to the side of the bed.
“Mason, what’s seems to be the trouble today?” the doctor asks looking at his clipboard.
“I do MMA,” I tell him. “I took a shot to the head and we just want to make sure I’m all clear.”
The doctor writes something on his clipboard. He has yet to look at me once.
“We’ve been getting a lot of MMA injuries the last few months,” the doctor says. “Maybe it’s time to find another hobby.”
I give Ash’s shoulder a squeeze, trying to encourage her to just let that sort of thing slide, but it’s no use.
“Excuse me, doctor?” Ash asks.
“Yes?” the doctor answers, still looking over his clipboard.
“It’s difficult to do an exam if you won’t look at or touch the patient, don’t you think?” she asks.
The doctor finally looks up.
“Miss, I’m sorry, but for now I’m going to have to ask you to climb down from the bed—at least until we know what we’re looking at here,” the doctor says.
I tell Ash she’s fine, but she gets up anyway.
The doctor gives me a quick once over, shining his light into my eyes and asking me who’s president and he leaves the room without voicing what he’d found.
“What do you think that means?” I ask.
“I don’t know,” she says. “It could be a sign that something serious is going on, or he might just be acting like he’s so much better than everyone else that he doesn’t have to do his job and tell a patient what’s going on.”
That altercation in the ER waiting room really seems to have sparked some fury for Ash. I try to lighten the mood, asking, “Is it true that doctors and nurses really don’t get along or do they just play that up for television?”
“Screw it,” Ash says and gets back in bed with me, giving my ribcage a good squeeze when she gets comfortable.
“Easy there,” I tell her. “I’m going to be pretty tender for a few days.”
“Right,” she says, pulling away. “I’m sorry. I forgot he got you there.”
I smile and tell her, “It’s all right. I don’t think he broke anything,” though since Ash put pressure on those ribs, I’m not entirely sure I’m right about that last bit.
“You know when I knew?” she asks.
“When you knew what?” I respond.
She looks up at me and then away, not answering my question. “It was that day at the lake,” she says. “You saved me that day.”
“I’m sure you would’ve let go of the boat when it started to pull you under,” I tell her.
“It already was,” she says. “You’re right, though. I’m sure I would have let it go. I’m not going to let myself drown just to save some stupid boat, but that’s not what I’m talking about. That was just incidental.”
“What do you mean, then?” I ask.
She shakes her head a little. “I don’t know. It’s hard to describe. It’s just,” she hesitates, “when we were out there, chasing after the boat, I knew there wasn’t going to be anything we could do about it. I mean, we were in the water: It’s not like we had something solid under us for leverage. Still, though, once my hands touched the rim of that boat, I didn’t want to let go. Everything but that boat felt so utterly hostile,” she says. “That sinking rowboat felt like the only solid thing I had to cling to, but it wasn’t.”