Read Online Pride (Bareknuckle Boxing Brotherhood Book 3) by Cara Nelson - Free Book Online Page B

car, he followed numbly, knowing he didn’t want to hear whatever the doctor had to say. He waited at triage for about five seconds and they rushed him in to be examined. That alone alarmed him. If it hadn’t looked serious, they would have made him sit out there in the waiting area with the vomiting children and the lady who said her neck hurt. This is bad, was all he could think, this is fucking terrible. He wished that he’d brought the bottle of whiskey with him.
    Efficient people in surgical uniforms examined his hand, cleaned his wound with something that stung like a fistful of hornets, made him bend and flex his fingers. One of them, his ring finger, wouldn’t respond, wouldn’t bend at all and the pain ran across his palm down into his wrist.
    In the fog of whiskey and icy fear, he took in the fragments he overheard—severed flexor tendon, surgery, physiotherapy, splint, months. He shook his head. He didn’t have months to be out of commission, helpless. He had a tournament to win, a family name to uphold. Slinking away with an injury wasn’t part of his plan.
    After an x-ray, Bronny found himself struggling to focus while a surgeon detailed what was going to happen.
    “Mr. Dolan, you’ll be having surgery on that hand in about an hour. We’ll reattach the flexor tendon that was cut when your palm was slashed. You’ll wear a bent plastic splint during recovery to protect the area and do intensive physiotherapy starting the day after tomorrow. I’ll keep you here tomorrow night so you can have the good painkillers post-operatively. I know that you’re an athletic sort but you’ll find your training must focus solely on rehabilitating this injury. If you don’t care for it just so, you’ll have lifelong problems with use of that hand and the possibility of more operations.” The doctor said perfunctorily.
    “Can my son fight again? He comes from a proud line of prizefighters. This isn’t—it isn’t a career ending wound is it?” His father asked hesitantly, his voice thick.
    “I’m afraid it is, sir. It would destroy your son’s hand if he did something so foolish as punching anyone with that right hand. In six months of proper care he may regain full use of the hand, everyday use that is, not a boxer’s use.” The doctor said, his voice stern.
    As soon as the physician left the room to make arrangements for the operation, Bronny’s dad turned to him.
    “You’re not to let that man’s advice stop you,” he said. “You’re going to be just fine, Bronny.”
    Bronny nodded. He couldn’t tell if his dad was reassuring his son or himself. His family had never put too much store by medical science anyhow. If the tendon in his hand had to be stuck back together, it would have to be done fast so he could get back to training.
    “Don’t worry, dad. I’m sure they can patch me back together,” he said awkwardly.
     

Chapter Eight
Bronny
     
    The next thing Bronny remembered, right hand was bandaged in great pale strips of tape and held immobile. His head was foggy, his mouth was dry and Camila Saunders was crying beside his bed. He tried to raise his left hand to pat her tangled hair consolingly but he couldn’t make his body obey his commands. Her hectic sobs shook his bed as she leaned against it. He finally managed to make a noise, something that was meant to be a soothing, ‘it’s okay’ but came out more of a grunt.
    “You’re awake. Thank God.” She choked.
    He nodded dumbly in response.
    “How do you feel? I mean, you look like total shit but considering you got stabbed and just came out of surgery, that’s probably normal,” she said. “I can’t believe how bad he could have hurt you. How did that fucking Carney get in the ring with a knife? I mean, he wore boots. No legit sportsman wears boots to play anything. I should’ve known he was up to something, should have had him searched or something—God, Bronny, he might’ve slashed your throat!” She started sobbing