| |
“Wake up, sleeping beauty.”
Grunt felt something prod his shoulder and struggled to open his eyes. It felt like he’d been beaten over the head with a baseball bat. He groaned loudly and the noise hurt his ears.
“Are you sure he’s okay?” That sounded like Joe. Where the hell was he? Why were his eyelids so heavy?
“Aye, he’s fine. Some people are like this when they have a head injury. They conk out and wake up when they feel a lot better. It’s not exactly normal, but it’s within parameters. I’m not worried.” The Scottish voice sounded more amused than worried.
“Okay, big guy, you need to get up and put some pants on.”
What the hell? Grunt forced his eyes open. Bright light bit at them. Joe’s grinning mug appeared in front of him.
“You’re in the doc’s office. You’ve got a concussion. Nothing serious. You’d need a brain for it to be serious.”
Grunt grunted, making Joe laugh. Pain in his ass. Grunt struggled to sit. It felt like his head was going to fall off.
“Pain,” said the Scottish guy. “I’ll give you a shot for that.”
Grunt wanted to lie back down and wake up after his day had improved. Instead he let Joe pull him to sitting. He looked down to find he was on a hospital bed, in a fully equipped examination room. He still wore his workout shirt. His shoes were gone and there was a sheet over his lap. He peeked under it.
“Where are my shorts?” His voice sounded like gravel under heavy boots.
Joe’s grin got wider. He folded his arms over a T-shirt that said “Mob Minder”. The guy’s sense of humour was going to get them killed.
“I don’t know how much you remember, buddy,” Joe said. “You went out for a run. Two chicks almost ran into you on a road at the edge of town. You hit your head jumping out of the way of their car. They bandaged you up.” Joe started to laugh. He held up a hand, signalling he was getting it under control. Grunt frowned, but it hurt his head, so he stopped. “They got you into their car and brought you here. Doc fixed you up and watched you overnight.”
“Why didn’t he call you?” His tongue felt furry. Did he eat dirt when he avoided the car?
“Here you go,” said a cheery voice.
Grunt turned towards it and found the red-headed doctor holding a large syringe.
“Hell no,” he croaked.
“Don’t be a big baby,” the guy said.
Before Grunt could stop him, the doc whipped down the back of the sheet and jabbed him in the ass. Grunt yelped and rubbed the spot. It hurt more than it should have. He strained to look over his shoulder to see why. It felt like there were bumps on his skin, cuts maybe. The doc followed his actions.
“Ah, about that. You have a scraped backside from the girls dragging you to their car.”
What the? He looked at Joe, who was trying hard not to laugh and failing miserably.
“Spill,” Grunt ordered.
Joe pinched the bridge of his nose as a grin escaped. “Your shorts slid off when they dragged you. They couldn’t get them up, so they took them off. Along with your shoes.”
Okay. Not great news. A little mortifying, sure, but he could deal. Why was Joe still grinning? Grunt narrowed his eyes. At least that didn’t hurt.
“What else?”
“We didn’t know who you were,” the doc said. “You didn’t have any ID on you.”
Grunt just stared at him. Who carries ID out running? Answer: no one.
“I called the pub to see if you were staying there, but Dougal wasn’t working. The girl covering the bar was new and didn’t know who’d booked in.” The doc paused and looked at Joe.
“The chicks who hit you posted a picture in the bar to see if anyone knew you.”
Grunt waited. There had to be more to it than a mugshot if Joe was straining to keep a lid on his hysterics.
“Show me,” Grunt said.
Joe pulled a folded piece of paper from his back pocket. The doc shuffled away from him. Not a good sign. Grunt prepared himself for the worst. Had they taken a picture of him with his junk hanging out? Nah. Nobody would do that.
Joe unfolded the paper and held it up for Grunt to see. He sucked in a breath, his eyes shooting between Joe and the doc.
The doc held up his hands. “I had nothing to do with it.”
Joe was laughing too hard to talk. Grunt felt his cheeks heat for the first time in memory. There he was in full colour. Out cold. Drooling. A big-assed tartan bow in the middle of his forehead. Women’s products stuck to his head. His knees up to his chest, folded into the car like an oversized pretzel. And someone had used a black marker pen to censor his junk.
There were words printed under the photo: “Do you know this man? He’s currently unconscious at the doctor’s office. If you know him, go get him.”
Joe was wiping tears from his eyes. He was useless.
Grunt turned to the doc. “Who brought me in?”
An image of a blonde angel flashed into his mind. Had he died when he hit his head?
“It was the Donaldson twins.” The doc spoke in the direction of his feet before looking up at Grunt. The bastard was trying not to laugh. “You should know before you look them up that their elder brother is the town police officer. You should also keep in mind that they were trying to help.”
Great. This day just got better. “Where are my shorts?”
The doctor rushed to get them while Joe plopped into a chair, trying to catch his breath.
“I’m framing this,” Joe said.
Grunt frowned at his friend and wondered whom he’d kill first. So many options, so little time.
It was a hard decision.