“On it,” Mom goes to Dante with Jill and Linda.
Expertly, Mom gets all introductions done with the appropriate amount of raving before announcing it’s time to go.
Dante entertains Maya to their floor and hugs her extra tight before she leaves the elevator. When Jill, Warren, and Maya leave, his entire demeanor changes.
“Evin—”
“Let’s get to the room.”
The second we get into the hotel room, I explode to Dante. “What the hell happened?”
“In that last number, I felt it. She was off, and she’s never off. It all happened so fast, a pop and she was in the air, then another pop. No way she could come down with weight. I got to her as soon as I could.”
“What the fuck does ‘pop’ mean?”
His lips form a tight line, his eyes gloss over, and he swallows hard before answering. “It could mean anything, but in this case, it looks bad. I’m guessing from the way she reacted when pressure was applied, it’s a torn ligament in her knee.”
My vision goes spotty and I sink to the arm of the sofa, dropping her bag. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“Honey, people recover from knee injuries all the time. Let’s not jump to conclusions.” Mom’s optimism isn’t shared.
My gaze cuts to Dante. He’s thinking the same thing. “Mom, a knee injury for a dancer can be career-ending.”
She sucks in a deep breath, and Lynda puts an arm around her shoulders.
I haul myself up, haphazardly throwing a few things into Poppy’s bag. “Dad, take the keys to the rental. I’ll contact you when we know more.”
“Evin, we’ll follow you. All of us want to be there.”
I scan the troubled faces of Mom, Dad, Lynda, and Ray, knowing their hearts are in the right place, but I can’t deal with them.
“I’ll call. Right now, my first and only priority is getting to Poppy and making sure she’s okay.”
“She needs a mother right now!”
“She needs me right now!” I roar, unable to stop the rage.
Dad yanks me to his him. “Go, I’ll take care of this. Never in my life felt the way I did when Annie fell off that horse. Go be with your wife.” He shoves me toward the door.
Dante gives a quick wave and we’re out.
“Would you like coffee?” Ryanne whispers.
“Yeah, and a tea for Poppy when she wakes.”
“She still looks like my gypsy goddess, even in her drug-induced sleep.” Dante stares from the foot of the bed.
“She always looks like a goddess to me.” My lips trace over her forehead.
Ryanne squeezes my shoulder and they leave, giving me the first time alone with Poppy since last night. When we arrived, they had already taken her for an MRI. During his exam, the orthopedic specialist assessed surgery is needed. He just didn’t know exactly what he was working with.
Not being able to see her before they took her, coupled with not knowing this hospital and staff, drove me into a state of madness.
After two in the morning, they wheeled her into her room, dazed and confused. They had to give her anxiety medication for the MRI and then a high-dose pain pill afterward. I got her into the bed, and Dante shared the sofa with Ryanne.
None of us were leaving.
I dozed on and off but mostly watched Poppy sleep. Every time my eyes would close, the agonizing cry, the terror and torment written on her face, the hot tears on my skin rolled through my head. The only comfort was watching her sleep peacefully. I dread the moment she wakes and the reality of the situation hits her.
“Mr. Graham?”
An older man in a lab coat walks in carrying a clipboard and eyeing me over the rim of his glasses. Typical doctor cliché, but his greying hair and deep laugh lines reinforce his age. Which gives me hope for his experience. Then I catch the Chief of Orthopedic Surgery stitched on his coat and hope turns into alarm.
Poppy doesn’t stir as I get up and signal to him to give me a minute, excusing myself to the bathroom. The splash of cold water helps, but the lead in my stomach is a weight that doesn’t ease.
He’s at the end of Poppy’s bed, looking between her and his notes when I join him and follow to the hallway.
“Evin Graham.”
He takes my hand. “Dr. Rexwell, Chief of Orthopedic Surgery and Reconstruction.”
“Is it common for the Chief to take over a tendon tear?”
“Not normally, but my colleague last night contacted me immediately when the MRI results were available. This is much more than a tendon tear.”
My heart sinks and I force myself to remain still. “What do you know?”
The elevators open, Dante and Ryanne coming straight to us.
“They’re family,” I explain.
“Well, let’s get to it. Like I mentioned, my colleague contacted me with the MRI results, and I’ve consulted with the Cirque doctor. These scans don’t pinpoint an origin of where this happened.” He pulls out the images and secures them on the screen in front of us. “This shows slight inflammation in her calf. This next shows her knee, which has significant damage with obvious tendon tear away.”
Phantom pains crawl down my leg.
“But down here,” he lasers in on her foot, “this indicates a ruptured Achilles.”
Dante sways and Ryanne goes white. Bile rises in my throat.
“Do we know what happened?” Dr. Rexwell glances around.
“I think Poppy will have to answer that. None of us could get anything out of her last night.”
“I’ll need to talk to her before consulting on surgery.”
“Are you doing the surgery?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Are you the best?”
“Considered top three in the country on sports injuries.”
“I’ll be checking that out.” I pin him, not backing down. “If it’s not to my liking, she gets the best.”
His lips curve, and he stares hard. “I’ve taken on bigger challenges, now’s the time to be frank.”
“That’s expected.”
“You need to know she may never dance again on a professional stage. The recuperation period is long and hard. Her body is strong, but she’s facing an uphill battle.”
A shriek comes from Poppy’s room, and I’m moving, Dante and Ryanne on my heels.
She’s sitting up, the sheet tossed to the side, staring at her leg. Her eyes are wide and panicked. “It wasn’t a nightmare?”
“Baby, you’re going to be fine. This is a top doctor in the country in injuries.” I slide in carefully beside her as Rexwell comes close and introduces himself.
He asks questions, and she fills in the blanks of her night and when the pain started.
“Anything happen to make your ankle vulnerable?” he asks, and her gaze darts to mine, filling with anguish.
It hits her at the same time a fiery rage explodes inside.
Fucking Tasha. Her trip was perfectly planned. Dante picks up on it, his fury fueling.
“Pips?” he grinds out.
“I tripped over a woman’s foot,” Poppy answers mournfully.
Dr. Rexwell nods, making notes and asking about the rest of the night.
“My educated guess is you tripped, aggravating your ankle, but no apparent discomfort. The internal irritation picked up while you danced. It began in the ankle, moved to the heel and Achilles. You kept going, and your muscles tried but couldn’t support it.”