Page 15 of Top Shelf

“Right.” I nod, remembering. “Yes. I’m professional like that.”

“You sent me a photo of your car tire and the words, ‘I’m trying not to die.’”

I close my eyes. “Less professional.”

“I edited before passing it on.”

“Bless you.”

Sloane turns back to her keyboard, and I finish my water, wincing slightly as I place the cup back down.

“You got a headache?”

“Not from the crash.”

Her eyes flick to mine.

“I’m fine,” I repeat, softer this time.

“I know you want to be.” She glances toward the hallway. “But you know Carina will want to check you herself.”

I sigh loudly. “She’s already interrogated me by phone.”

“Dr. Grant.”

My head snaps toward the hallway. Speak of the devil. Carina Park walks toward me in long strides, as though summoned by stress. Which, to be fair, she probably has been. She’s wearing navy scrubs under her white coat, her dark hair clipped back, eyes sharply scanning over me.

“Good,” she says. “You got on Viktor’s bike and didn’t die.”

“Yes. I’m very brave.”

“It’s either bravery or a head injury.” Her gaze drops from my forehead to my sleeve, then my folder. “Did the airbag deploy?”

“Nope.”

“Any neck pain?”

“No.”

“Head strike?”

“Carina.”

“Dizziness, nausea, vision changes?”

“No, no, and no.”

“Seatbelt pain?”

“Some.”

“Where?”

I tap beneath my collarbone and watch as Carina’s mouth tightens. “I want to look before your first patient.”

“I told you, I’m fine.”

“I heard you the first time.” She reaches out and cups my chin lightly, which might appear affectionate to a passerby, until she pulls a penlight from her pocket and shines it into one eye, then the other. “But I’m checking anyway.”