Chapter 5: The Bruise

Rhys knocked at two that afternoon with a bag of ice in one hand and a black duffel in the other.

Hattie opened the door before I could.

"You're the bag guy," she said.

"I'm the bag guy," he agreed. "I'm also a paramedic, and her arm has been bothering me since last night."

"Her arm has been bothering her too," Hattie said, and stepped aside.

I sat on the only chair in my own living room, with the dust sheet Hattie had pulled off the piano over my knees.

The house still smelled of wine.

Rhys knelt in front of me and set the duffel on the floor.

"Can I see the shoulder?"

I pushed the collar of my sweater aside.

The bruise had come up overnight, a dark band across the back of the joint with four fingers' shape pressed into it.

Rhys went quiet.

"Raise it for me. Slowly."

I raised it as far as it would go.

"Stop. Does that hurt more than the rest?"

"It all hurts."

His fingers settled on my shoulder blade, warm and dry, and moved along the edge of the bone.

He pressed once, and I hissed.

"Not dislocated," he said. "Strained ligament, maybe a small tear. Ice twenty minutes on and twenty off, and nothing heavy for a week."

His thumb had moved up to my collarbone to check the other side.

It stopped there.

It stayed there for a few seconds longer than the exam needed.

I felt my pulse in the spot where he touched me.

Then he took his hand away and typed a note on his phone.

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