After the Fall

through me. “Tsarina. Thank God.” My arms were strapped down— oh, God, I can’t move—so I couldn’t reach up to pet her, but just seeing her calmed me down.
    Cody, the owner of the ranch where I boarded Tsarina, swung himself off the saddle. “Your girl came runnin’ up the driveway without you. Figured something must’ve happened.” He tugged her back a little and took her place beside me. “You okay, kid?”
    “Uh, I’ve had better days.”
    “I see that.” He absently stroked Tsarina’s muzzle. “Well. We’d better let these folks get you to the hospital. I’ll follow you all down.”
    The EMTs kept walking. I couldn’t see Cody, Tsarina, or the biker, but I could hear footsteps, hooves, and the quiet sound of the motorcycle’s tires rolling over the soft ground. All the way down the trail, no one spoke. Occasionally, the medics would stop so one or another could adjust their grip, but otherwise, it was a long, silent trek to the trailhead.
    At the end of the trail, they set me down long enough to get the stretcher out of the waiting ambulance. Then they lifted me again. I’d never imagined I’d be so relieved to find myself on a stretcher, but the minute the guys set me down this time, I swore my blood pressure dropped several notches. No more precariousness. Thank fuck. I still couldn’t move, but this was an improvement. Now I could focus on things like how much my goddamned leg hurt.
    Cody appeared beside me and squeezed my arm. “I’m going to go back to the barn and put Tsarina away, and then I’ll come give you a lift home.”
    “Thanks.”
    He gave a slight nod. To the paramedics, he said, “You boys taking him to Methodist or Memorial?”
    “Memorial,” one said. “Let me get your name, and I’ll make sure they let you in to see him.”
    Cody gave his information to the medic. Then he hoisted himself back onto Tsarina. “See you at the ER, kid. Hang in there.”
    “Will do.”
    He and Tsarina left, and the medics moved the stretcher into the back of the ambulance. The doors slammed behind me, and I closed my eyes. I was still in pain like nobody’s business, but at least my horse was okay. Right then, there wasn’t much more I could ask for.

    If there was one thing I hated about hospitals, it was the endless waiting. Okay, it was better than the alternative; being first in line at an emergency room usually meant a shovel sticking out of your skull or something. But sitting on the hard exam table, both bored out of my mind and nervous about what the doctor would say when he finally came in, was not my favorite way to spend an afternoon.
    I closed my eyes and rubbed my face with the hand that wasn’t fucked up.
    I’d already been down to radiology to have everything X-rayed. There was no way my leg would be good as new after staying off it for a few days and maybe icing it a bit. This was bad. Real bad. And the way my throbbing hand was swelling up and didn’t want to move? That wasn’t promising, either.
    At least I wasn’t tied down to the board anymore. The doc had decided I didn’t have any spinal injuries, which was the biggest concern, so they’d let me off the board and taken off the cervical collar. The damage was done—I was sure I had more spasms happening than I had muscles—but I could move and stretch any body parts that were willing or able to move. I could deal with the stiffness and pain. At least I wasn’t tied down or quite so helpless anymore, which calmed me. Sort of.
    A nurse came in for the umpteenth time to make sure I was doing okay. As she checked my vitals, she glanced at my hand and scowled but didn’t say anything.
    I self-consciously tucked that hand against my side. Not that I could hide it, but that didn’t stop me from trying. Every time someone examined my hand, I was sure they could tell what had happened. As if there were some sort of CSI-style animation playing in their minds, demonstrating how my unscathed fist had collided with the biker's face and done whatever damage now lurked underneath my skin. Or his. I wanted to explain to every one of them that I hadn’t meant to hit him. That was not like me. So not like me!
    What if he presses charges? Could I go to jail for that?
    No wonder all the nurses kept eyeballing my blood pressure and heart monitor. Between the last few shakes of the post-fall crash and my certainty that the cops would be here any minute to haul me away for assault and battery, I was a cardiac