Dr. Lefkowitz wore a lab coat, he had a stethoscope and gentle hands, but he also had long, thick, curly hair pulled back in a ponytail, a beard which needed a trim, and I saw a hint of a tattoo on his neck.
So, I decided, Dr. Lefkowitz was either a member of the Club or a supporter.
He’d also examined me, gave me an ice pack for my face, cleaned me up, X-rayed my head and chest and gave me some pain pills.
Now, I was semi-reclining on an exam table wearing a hospital gown and covered with a thin blanket, and my torn, bloody clothes had disappeared since coming back from the X-ray area.
“Can I have my clothes back?” I asked Driver as he walked to me.
“How’re you feelin’?” Driver asked back as a reply.
“Like I’d like my clothes.”
Driver smiled then stated, “Let’s see what Lefty has to say. He’s lookin’ at your pictures now.”
I turned my head away.
As I did, I thought for perhaps the seven thousandth time that I needed to call Tia, as in really needed to call her.
Because I obviously wasn’t going to make our rendezvous and I wasn’t going to do it because her husband just beat the heck out of me and was so angry that I’d spent the night with West “Buck” Hardy at the Aces High Dive (this, apparently, how everyone referred to their clubhouse), it could be described as being on a rampage.
And Tia needed to know when Enrique Esposito was on a rampage.
I looked back at Driver and asked, “Can I use your phone?”
He started to answer when the door opened.
His eyes went to it and so did mine.
At what I saw, I pulled in a deep breath that, incidentally, hurt.
Buck stood there wearing a tight, black T-shirt, faded blue jeans and black motorcycle boots.
He was also wearing a scowl.
Lastly, I realized that his ex-wife Kristy had it right.
Yesterday, I did not meet a man who I thought could strike in anger.
But the man standing in the doorway staring at me now definitely could.
Hard.
To the point he shouldn’t be called Buck.
He should be called Striker.
He walked to me while I watched, and braced (which also kind of hurt), and Dr. Lefkowitz followed him.
“West, I—”
“Quiet,” he whispered in a way that I closed my mouth.
Oh dear.
Yes.
I totally saw it.
Restrained.
Coiled to strike.
Restrained or not, his fury still held immense heat to the point I figured his fangs didn’t shoot poison.
They shot fire.
“The good news, Ms. Delaney, is that, miraculously, you’ve got no fractures,” Dr. Lefkowitz spoke.
Since I was Ms. Delaney, I tore my eyes from Buck to look at Dr. Lefkowitz who’d come to stand where Driver was on the opposite side of the exam table. I also saw that Driver had stepped back.
“Ribs are just bruised, no breaks and no facial fractures,” he carried on. “The bad news is that you’re gonna hurt like a mother for a while, and that swelling in your face means no beauty pageants in your near future.”
He smiled down at me in a kind albeit badass way.
I didn’t return his smile, but I did say, “Thanks.”
“Those pills kickin’ in?” he asked.
I nodded.
They were. The pain was dulling, and I was beginning to feel drowsy.
The pain dulling was very good.
Feeling drowsy when my situation was uncertain with a clearly furious Buck on my hands and the fact that I needed to talk to Tia was very bad.
“I have to call my friend,” I told him.
“You gotta get to a bed,” Dr. Lefkowitz told me. “Rest as much as you can and go gentle with yourself. In a coupla days, you’ll feel better. In a week, you’ll be near as good as new.” He looked across me to Buck. “I’ll give you some pills. She needs ’em, she can take ’em for two, most, three days. Then move her to aspirin, Tylenol or ibuprofen.”
“Right,” Buck replied, and I looked to him to see he was leaning toward me.
“I need to call Tia,” I told him as one of his arms went under my knees and his other slid around my waist.
“Later,” he replied, lifting me.
I flinched, the pain dull but not gone, and then I fought the flinch when I saw him staring down at me, his face so hard it looked carved from granite.
“No, Buck, really, I need to call her,” I braved saying.
“Later,” he repeated, turned, but glanced over his shoulder at Dr. Lefkowitz and stated, “On our tab.”
He said this while walking, and when I looked where we were going, I saw Driver had the door open.
I turned at Buck as he carried me through.
“You don’t understand.” I said urgently, “We were—”
“Clara, shut your trap.”
“But Tia is—”
“Babe,” he bit off, looking down at me and still walking but not to the waiting area, toward a back door. “God’s honest truth, I’m hangin’ on by a thread here.”