Unknown - driven

The orthopaedic surgeon who was trying to treat Dylan looked over at the doctor, eyes wide. “Kelly Norton?”

“That?s m?name.”

“Dear God! It?s an honor to meet you, Doctor. Your papers and lectures on the latest techniques in bone grafting were some of the best I?ve ever read on the subject!”

Norton smiled. “I?m glad you found them informative Doctor?.” Squinting, she peered at his name badge. “Planton.”

“Mike, please,” the young surgeon said, reaching out and grasping Norton?s uninjured hand between both of his own. “This is really an honor. I?ve been a fan of your work for years.”

“Um, yes?well?.” Norton cleared her throat, uncomfortable with the younger man?s blatant fawning. She looked over at Dylan, who gave her a wicked smirk. “How?s the knee?”

Dylan scowled. “Your friend there won?t let me out of here until he does an MRI, and radiology doesn?t open until tomorrow morning. If he can manage to fit me in tomorrow morning. Which is highly in doubt.”

Norton turned back to the doctor, eyebrow raised. The young man threw up his hands. “It?s standard medical practice. Her X-ray doesn?t reveal any damage, but with the work that?s been done on that knee already, I don?t feel that it?s medically advisable to take any chances. We need that MRI. There?s no way around it.”

“And her clinical exam?”

“Gross swelling and ecchymosis over the joint. No crepitus, and it seems stable enough, but I?m not comfortable at all with taking a chance based on my clinical exam alone. Not what that knee and what it?s already been through.”

Norton turned to Dylan. “He?s got a point, my friend.”

“I have my own points,” Dylan retorted. “Point one: We all have a flight to catch in exactly one and a half hours now. Point two: I don?t intend to miss that flight. Point three: If you don?t give me those papers to sign, I?m gonna get down off this stretcher right now, brace or no brace, and I?m gonna be real pissed off when I do.”

“I don?t think we wanna know what point four is,” Norton said dryly.

Dylan shot her a look.

Norton sighed. “Alright. Brace her up and release her to my care. I?ll make sure she gets that MRI right after the game tomorrow, if I have to trank her up to do it.” Lowering her face, she stared directly into Dylan?s flashing eyes. “And don?t think I won?t do exactly that, my friend. I?ve spent too much time and effort on that knee of yours and I?m not about to sit by and let you ruin it. Got me?”

After a moment, Dylan nodded. “Yeah, I got you.”

Norton shot a look at the staring doctor. “Well? Am I talking for my health here? What are you waiting for?”

“This is totally ill-advised, Doctor?.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know all about it. Just do what I ask, Doctor Planton. I?ll take all responsibility for the outcome.”

“But?.”

“Do it.”

“Once again, ladies and gentlemen, I?d like to thank you for choosing Amazon Airlines. Local Los Angeles time is 5:30am, local temperature is a balmy eighty three degrees. Please remain seated until the captain has pulled into the gate and turned off the fasten seatbelts sign. Please see the gate agent for any connecting flight information you might need. It was our pleasure to serve you and we hope to see you again on another Amazon Airlines flight real soon.”

Dylan turned her head as she felt Cat shift next to her. The young woman?s head was bruised around the cut, which had taken several sutures to close, and she looked tired and miserable. “Hey,” the coach said softly.

“Hey,” Cat replied, shifting again. “Remind me never to get sick again, will you? It feels like a mule kicked me where they gave me those damn shots.”

“Did they make you feel any better?” Dylan asked, giving into her impulse to brush a stray lock of hair away from Cat?s sweaty cheek.

Sighing softly, Cat leaned into the gentle touch, her eyelids fluttering closed. “Yeah. The steroids have got me a little buzzed, though.”

“We?ll be at the hotel in about an hour. Maybe the effect will have petered off by then.”

Cat yawned and stretched. “God, I hope so. If I don?t get some sleep soon, I think I?m going to explode.” Opening her eyes, Cat swung her head, eyes alighting on Dylan?s heavily braced leg which was propped awkwardly in the aisle. “How ?bout you?”

“Leg?s pretty numb,” Dylan replied. Which was, she admitted privately, a damn sight better than the jagged, broken glass pains she?d been experiencing before. “But otherwise?not bad.”

“Considering,” Cat said with a wan smile.

“True,” Dylan pondered, stroking her bottom lip. “We could be Horace Johnson.”

Cat?s lips thinned in a grimace of distaste. “No, thanks.”

Johnson was currently taking up space in a CCU in Denver, waiting to get strong enough to actually survive the surgery they had planned for him. Cat wondered how many Hail Marys she?d be expected to say if she confessed to the sin of?just for a split second, mind you?wishing the surgeon?s knife would slip just a fraction of an inch one way or the other.

Too many, she decided, and dropped the thought in favor of one involving a nice, soft bed, nice warm covers, and sleep.

Lots of it.

Mac stood outside the gate looking like a puppy that had just gotten caught piddling on the carpet. An egg-suck grin was on his face as he shrugged his broad shoulders, empty hands raised to the air in a gesture of futility.

The reason for the expression was soon obvious as the small group came down the jetway.

Even airport security couldn?t keep back the crowds of people?mostly reporters?who pushed, jostled, shouted and snapped picture after picture, almost blinding the deplaning passengers. Dylan, saddled with her brace and a pair of already detested crutches, shot Mac a glowering look before hobbling into the terminal proper.

“Ms. Lambert, could you—?”

“Ms. Lambert, how was—?”

“Ms. Lambert, what did—?”

Fetching a deep sigh, Dylan hobbled over to the nearest microphone and yanked it from the hands of a startled reporter. “The plane crashed, we survived, and now we?re here. Have a good day, everyone.”

The security guards strained to keep back the crush of reporters, then split in the middle, forming two parallel lines; a gauntlet of sorts that the members of the Badgers walked through and which ended at an electric people mover cart captained by a smiling skycap.

Cat sat down on the padded bench with a grateful sigh, then blinked several times to clear the white flashes from her eyes. “Jesus.”

“Sorry about that,” Mac said, voice contrite. “They were here when I got here.”

“It?s alright,” Dylan said, rolling her neck and shoulders to get the kinks out, which was pretty much an exercise in futility. Grunting softly, she gave up and simply concentrated on not falling out of the cart as the skycap hotdogged it down the mostly quiet corridors of the terminal.

She turned her head as she felt a warm hand settle on her shoulder. Mac smiled slightly, tears brimming in his eyes. “Thank god you?re okay,” he whispered. “Just?thank God.”

Dylan returned the smile and lifted her hand to cover his larger one, squeezing gently.

The rest of the ride was silent.

They left through a private exit and were immediately escorted into a waiting SUV limo, and from there to a large, well-appointed hotel a little less than an hour away.

The crowd that greeted them in the hotel wasn?t the press, but rather the coaches and players of the Badgers, cheering when their fallen heroes walked safely through the doors.

After touching Dylan almost reverently, as if she were the very goddess her name inspired, the players crowded around Cat, hugging her tightly and teasing her mercilessly?their way of whistling past the graveyard.