Kids These Days

Chapter 31: Finn

Andy, Talia, and Oliver drop us off at the ranch, leaving Becca and I to help Ronan up the driveway -- at least, until he snaps that he was shot in the shoulder, not the legs, and can walk by himself, thank you very much. Which he does, all the way to the house, even though I can tell that every step pains him.

(I don't know how the others plan to ditch the stolen car. Not my problem. When I asked Andy about it, she ominously replied, "I know a place," reminding me to never get on her bad side.)

"Here's an idea," I say to Becca, after she nearly careens into the mailbox, her eyelids fluttering with exhaustion, "if you use the back door, you can sneak into the guest room and crash there for a few hours. I'll tell my family you aren't feeling well."

She yawns in agreement and leaves us on the front step.

We must be due for some karmic retribution, because a few seconds later, Floyd opens the door to let us in. His gaze immediately drops to Ronan's shoulder. I don't know how he caught on so quickly -- Andy loaned Ronan her nylon raincoat, and I'm wearing Talia's flannel over my bloodstained shirt -- but Floyd has always possessed a sixth sense for adolescent mischief.

His eyes narrow. "What happened to your friend? Why is he wearing sunglasses?"

"Skateboarding accident," I say, sticking to the script we devised in the car. I don't know if Ronan skateboards or not, but he wears enough shirts advertising angry rock bands to make the story plausible. "He fell off his board and landed on a piece of metal. It went halfway through his shoulder."

Floyd mutters something under his breath that sounds a lot like good lord. "Alright, unzip the jacket. I need to see what I'm dealing with."

Ronan and I exchange a dubious look, followed by an even more dubious shrug, and then he obliges. At the sight of his ruined Judas Priest shirt, and the bloody entrance wound, Floyd mutters something with a lot more syllables than good lord.

"You need to go to the hospital," he declares. "Like, two hours ago."

"It's only been an hour!" Ronan protests.

"Do you know how long it takes for an infection to set in? We're going to the hospital. Right now. I don't want to be the reason you get sepsis and lose an arm."

"We can't go to the hospital," I say, eager to move the subject away from amputations before Ronan faints on the doorstep. "He, uh, doesn't have health insurance."

"You're telling me the Lockwood heir doesn't have health insurance?"

"My parents cut me off," Ronan says. "It's a long story."

"He wrapped a Cadillac around a telephone pole," I supply.

Floyd pinches the bridge of his nose. "Please stop. I don't want to know. As a matter of fact, I don't want any part in this. I was supposed to go to book club this afternoon, okay? We're halfway through Pride and Prejudice."

"We really need your help," I say. I'm leaning hard into the role of favorite nephew now. I'd feel guilty about it if there wasn't so much at stake. "Didn't you have to swear an oath in med school? Don't harm people?"

"'Do no harm'," Floyd corrects with a long-suffering sigh. "I'm not a doctor, kid. I didn't go to med school. I'm a retired volunteer veterinarian. Emphasis on the word retired. I'm not qualified to patch up human shoulders."

"Can you do stitches?" asks Ronan.

Floyd closes his eyes. Sighs again. Reluctantly, he says, "Yes."

"Then what's the issue?"

"I don't have any anesthesia."

Ronan blanches, but only for a second. He squares his jaw. "Okay."