The Best Next Thing

“I’m sure it’ll be fantastic by the time you have it properly choreographed,” she encouraged them.

“Try it, Mz. Cole,” one of the boys challenged, and Charity laughed again.

“Oh no. I don’t think so.”

They cajoled and pleaded but Charity held firm.

“Hey guys,” Sinclair—he of crotch grabbing infamy—called from the back of the group, clearly not liking it when the attention was off him for too long. “We can add some tricks like this into the routine…”

He climbed onto a wobbly looking chair while he was talking, and Charity’s eyes widened in horror when she understood his intention. She lifted her hand in protest, wanting to physically stop him from doing what she knew he was going to do. But she was too far away from him.

“No don’t—” But her sharp cry fell on deaf ears, and the damned fool boy attempted a backflip off the chair and landed awkwardly on his extended damned fool arm.

He screamed in agony, and Charity winced as she dashed toward him. He was writhing on the floor. His friends already clustered around him watched in helpless, horrified silence as he hugged his arm to his body and tears of pain streamed down his red face.

Charity went into autopilot. She was dimly aware of others rushing toward the injured boy, but she was there first, her eyes assessing the damage with a professionalism she had believed long lost before this moment.

“Sinclair!” She used her firmest voice to get his attention. Probably one Miles would have deemed schoolmarmish. He blinked up at her through his tears, looking shaken and shocked. Charlie was on her knees beside him, and Charity flanked him on the other side, also kneeling next to him.

Charity continued to speak with what she hoped was reassuring authority, keeping her voice calm and level. “Sinclair, I know you’re in pain, but I need you to let me look at it, okay? I promise I won’t hurt you.”

Charlie gently pried his uninjured hand away from his arm and held it in one of hers.

“It’s okay, Sin,” the girl whispered. “Let Mz. Cole look at it. She knows what she’s doing.”

Charlie had no way of knowing if that was true, but the absolute trust in both adolescents’ eyes was staggering and brought a lump to Charity’s throat.

She blinked, telling herself not to be a sentimental ninny and diverted her attention to the boy.

“Can you tell me how you are, sweetheart?” she asked, assessing his ABC’s.

“My arm hurts!” His breathing while fast, was within normal range, and did not appear to be impaired.

She gingerly lifted his right hand, quickly evaluating the temperature and coloration, before checking his radial pulse. It was elevated, probably from the shock and pain, but there did not appear to be any immediate signs of vascular damage or impaired circulation.

“I’m going to have to examine it, to see if it’s broken. I won’t do anything that makes you more uncomfortable, but I have to see if we need to immobilize it before the ambulance gets here.”

That reminded her.

“Hey, did someone call an ambulance?” She looked up and realized that everybody was crowded around them in silent concern. Greyson was clutching a first aid kit, Sam was on his phone, and he nodded in response to her question.

And Miles…Miles was here. Hovering close by and silently watching through narrowed eyes. Why was he here? Shouldn’t he be at puppy school or whatever it was called?

She shook herself, she couldn’t allow herself to be distracted by him right now, the boy needed her.

She ran expert hands over Sinclair’s arm. It had been a while since she had done this, but the steps were comfortingly familiar, and she knew exactly what she was doing. The boy was tense and trembling, and clearly expecting more pain from her touch.

“Can you tell me exactly where it hurts?”

“My sh-shoulder, M-Miss.”

Miss. As if she were one of his teachers. So polite, despite his pain. She wouldn’t have pegged him as a gentleman. Not after the crude first impression he had made. Her hands lightly skimmed up to his shoulder, and she made a soft sound of affirmation beneath her breath, when her touch confirmed what her eyes had already told her. Anterior dislocation of the right shoulder.

“You’ve dislocated it. I don’t think you’ve broken anything and there doesn’t appear to be any nerve damage. Don’t worry, the doctors will manipulate it back into place when you get to the emergency room.”

Ordinarily, Charity would have popped it back herself, but with this many eyes on her, she knew it would raise more questions than she was ready to answer.

“Will it hurt, Miss?” Sinclair’s lovely blue gaze pleaded mutely with her to say it wouldn’t. It was sweet how he had regressed to an insecure little boy, looking for reassurance from someone in perceived authority.