Rico's Recovery (Detroit Heat Book 2)

Copyright © 2015 by Davida Lynn.
 
All rights reserved.
 

Cover design by
Mayhem Cover Creations

This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Also By Davida Lynn:

Detroit Heat:

Book One:
Kade’s Rescue

Book Three:
Jonah’s Return

The Rising Sons Universe:

The Rising Sons Motorcycle Club

Rising Sons - The Virtues Series:

Book One:
Hope
 

Book Two:
Faith

Book Three:
Charity

Standalone Work:

Brutal

Acknowledgements

A big shout out to my writing partner
Rayna Bishop
, my faithful companion in telling stories.
 
She keeps me honest and true.

To Donna, for helping me with all the medical information I needed, and for her unwavering support.

The world was spinning. I didn’t
feel
the pain, but I knew it was there. It filled my senses. I could see, feel, hear, taste, and smell nothing but pain. There were other things going on in the background, but I was oblivious to them all.

Light snapped me out of it. It was the light on the ceiling of the ambulance. It wasn’t quite right; it almost looked like a painting. I could only see out of one eye. The other was swollen shut or injured, I didn’t know which. I tried to turn my head, but it was held fast.
To a backboard
, I thought.

“How bad?” I asked, my jaw barely opening against the C-collar. Now I could hear people talking, sirens wailing, and water shooting from hoses, probably extinguishing the apartment fire. “How bad?” I asked again.

An EMT I didn’t recognize leaned over my body. I felt a needle slip into my arm. Touch; another sense snapping back into place. He didn’t look down at me or even acknowledge what I had asked. No one was responding or talking to me. It was freaking me out.

Taste returned next. The sharp, copper taste of blood filled my mouth, and with each swallow, more took its place. I realized that with a mouthful of blood and maybe broken teeth, I was probably hard to understand.

As the ambulance pulled away, I smelled the sterile, dry air around me. The EMT was sitting beside me watching the 12-lead. I didn’t even remember getting hooked up to it, but there were still flashes that I couldn’t fit into place.

The EMT grabbed his radio and called in to the hospital. “301 to Henry Ford ED. Twenty-three-year-old patient, multiple fractures, possible internal bleeding. Patient fell approximately twenty-five feet. 301 transporting emergent, ETA six minutes.

A crackle came over the radio. “Acknowledged, 301. We’ll prep the OR for arrival.”

It started coming back to me one small piece at a time. I had fallen. We were going to enter a third floor apartment, but the landing gave way, and I fell.

The EMT leaned over so I could see his face clearly, or somewhat clearly through one eye. “You’re one tough son-of-a-bitch. You hang tight. We’re gonna get you all fixed up.”

“How bad?”

He shook his head. “Hey, hey. Take it easy. Just try to stay calm. We’ll be at the hospital soon and they’re going to get you good as new.” I saw him look down my body, and he couldn’t disguise the look on his face. Something wasn't right. Something below the belt just wasn’t right.

I tried to move my legs, and I was rewarded with a searing pain that made me gasp. I would have screamed, but the EMT had placed gauze in my mouth.

“Marty, he’s going downhill, step on it.” The EMT laid a hand on my chest. “I’m going to push some morphine, Rico. It’s going to take the edge off until we get to Ford.”

He was right. It made me forget that my career as a firefighter was probably over.

I woke up fully aware that I was in a hospital. It was a devastating feeling. After all, I was invincible. I was a Detroit firefighter. We were the best of the best, the toughest of the tough.

At twenty-three years old, I’d believed I was invincible. I never would have become a firefighter if I thought anything else. You
have
to be invincible to be on the DFD. It’s tougher than any other department, and tougher than any other job out there. Some might jump up your ass if you say that. “What about FDNY?”

Yeah, yeah, yeah. They’re tough, but we have more fires, more saves, and more dangerous work than they do. They are heroes. Ain’t nobody sayin’ otherwise. We’re just
bigger
heroes.

Well, fuck that shit. I’m not a hero, and I’ll never get my chance. It didn’t take a genius to figure that out after looking down to see one leg splinted, and the other casted from hips to toes.

I didn’t dare move either one. The fragmented memories of my fall all drifted into my head, and the last thing I wanted to do was feel that pain again.

I looked down to see my left hand was bandaged, too. Instinct got the better of me and I tried to wiggle my fingers. White-hot pain sizzled up my arm. I sucked in a breath and tried not to move again.

How many pins in that hand?
I wondered.

Looking past my crippled legs, I saw the chart hanging from the edge of my bed. I knew there was no chance of grabbing it, but I was itching to read it. Actually, I was itching in general. It had been almost fifteen years since I’d broken a bone, and I’d forgotten just how insanely itchy they were.

“Nurse.” My voice was hazy and quieter than I had expected.
Still doped up.
Great.
That meant the pain I felt wasn’t even the full monty, and I’d be experiencing a whole lot more over the next few days.

Next to my right hand was the call remote. I decided against the pain management button and just hit the one for assistance.

I could hear the beep outside my hospital room. The haze became more evident as I moved. My neck was stiff, but there was no shooting pain. My right arm had a few scrapes, but nothing that looked life-threatening. One of my eyes was foggy, and I figured I would have had a killer headache if not for the drugs.

I remembered falling, but I’d be damned if I remembered hitting the ground. It was probably for the best. Besides my one hundred and eighty pounds, I’d had another fifty in gear on my back. Two hundred and thirty pounds falling twenty-five feet. That was bound to do some serious damage. From my injuries, I figured that I landed square on my feet. I probably broke both femurs and probably a few bones in my hips.

I was staring down at my useless left hand when the nurse came into my room. “Sorry, Mr. Baggio. We didn’t know you had woken up.” I looked up to see her pulling the chart from the end of my bed.

As she marked down my vitals, she started in on the small talk. “My name is Marnie. I’ll be your nurse for the rest of this shift. It’s good to see you up and awake. It’s been a long day. You’ve been out of surgery for about five hours now.” I looked up at her, feeling the heaviness of my head. She might have given me a new dose of pain meds while she was at it.

“How bad?” I had the vague memory of asking that before, right after the accident.

She looked at me for the first time. I could see deception in her smile. “Well, Mr. Baggio, it looks like you suffered a fractured femur on your right. There’s a few hairline fractures in your pelvic area. You also broke your left tib-fib and a few bones in your feet. Your left radius and ulna broke in twelve different places, but with some hardware, the doctors were able to repair it. You broke two teeth and your nose. You suffered a concussion and you have bruising just about everywhere.”

Her voice was strained. It hurt her to read the whole list out loud. It hurt me, too, just to listen. I forced a smile, “All right, now you can give me the bad news.”

She smiled, but it wasn’t a happy one. “I’m glad you’re in good spirits, Mr. Baggio. I’ll see if I can track down the doctor to give you the details. Excuse me.”

I was shocked, but the swagger of being a firefighter was still alive inside me. “Don’t be gone too long, Nurse Marnie.” I got a genuine smile from her before she left the room.

Looking down at my legs again, I assessed the situation. Like I thought, both legs broken, the left one much worse. That explained the left hand. I must have come down on that side. Concussion was to be expected, and I was damn lucky to come away without any spinal damage.

The nurse left the room, giving me some time to mull it all over. My mind was working slower than usual as I tried to think things through. The meds were making it tricky. My phone wasn’t within reach. I figured that my family knew, but I didn’t see any sign of them. I was thirsty, confused, scared, and alone.

I leaned back against the pillow with nothing to do but wait.

It must have been about ten minutes before the doctor came in. “Rico, I’m Dr. Jolie. It’s good to see you’re awake.” He had my chart in his hand. “Mind if I set this here for a sec?” He laid it next to me and grabbed for a chair. He pulled it to my bedside.

I didn’t have room to talk, but the guy looked a bit too young for his job. I wanted someone with gray hair taking care of me. Ageism. Some of my brothers had taken similar jabs at me when I joined Engine 37.
He’s just a kid
, they’d said.

Dr. Jolie sat down in the chair and looked over my chart a second time. “I assisted in the surgery to reset your broken bones, and I’ll be looking out for you for the next few weeks.”

I extended my good hand across my chest with care. “Glad to meet you, Doc.”

He barely shook it, more aware of my injuries than most. “Please, call me Rob. I hate the formal stuff. We’re gonna see a lot of each other, so we might as well talk like human beings.”

I nodded. “I can respect that. My chart probably says my name is Ricardo, but go ahead and call me Rico.”

Rob smiled thinly. “Will do.”

“As long as we’re busy respecting each other,” I said, “give it to me straight. I’ll never go back to work, will I?”

He let out a sigh, and after marking something on the chart, he dropped a pen into his breast pocket, “It’s not good, Rico. You can see that. Both legs broken, the left one severely. The left hand has a lot of metal in it, too. Your teeth will have to be fixed properly at a later date, but you didn’t lose any of them. That’s the bad news. The less bad news is that you didn’t break your back, and there’s probably not going to be any lingering nerve damage. You are a lucky man.”

I knew he meant well, but I didn’t see it that way. “Lucky? I’m good at one thing, and you’re making it sound like that one thing is gone. I wouldn’t count myself too lucky.”

Dr. Rob didn’t seem interested in my pity party. “Look, I can’t say anything for certain because you have a long road ahead of you, but there’s nothing that says you can’t go back to work. Rehab is a long process, but I’m sure Detroit will stand behind you and your department will welcome you back when you are up to it. I’m sure your family will stand beside you and give you strength, too. Speaking of, I think there are a few people here to see you.”