CATARINATwo days later, the doctor finally cleared me for discharge."Strict bed rest," he said for what felt like the hundredth time. "No strenuous activity. Keep the arm elevated. Follow up in one week.""I understand," I said, resisting the urge to roll my eye—the one that could actually open.The other was still swollen shut, a lovely shade of purple-black that made me look like I'd gone ten rounds with a heavyweight champion.And lost.When the nurse wheeled me out to the hospital entrance, I was greeted by what looked like an entire mafia convention.My parents stood near the curb, my mother wringing her hands, my father looking like he'd aged a decade in the past few days. Marco was there too, his expression carefully neutral but his eyes sharp, assessing. Brendan Connelly stood beside Jameson, both men looking far too serious for a simple hospital pickup."Jesus Chri
Ler mais