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“If you keep jerking away, I’m going to tie you to this gurney,” Hen grumbled, trying for the fifth time to shine her penlight into Buck’s eyes. For his part, he proceeded to do the same thing again.
Buck wasn’t consciously trying to wince away from the light. But his head hurt and the light hurt and he didn’t want any part of it. He was already sure he had some sort of concussion from that stupid bowling ball. Hen’s insistence of doing her own concussion checks wasn’t going to help.
“Already hurts,” he grumbled, trying and failing to focus on her, as well as what was going on around them.
“Focus on me, Buck.” Hen’s hand cupped his cheek, drawing his attention back to her and away from the sound of the rest of the 118 making. If Buck’s thoughts were in order, he would have understood Bobby and Chimney making alternative plans for entering the house to get to the injured hoarder. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
The part of Buck’s mind that was still able to focus mentally rolled his eyes, while the rest of him just stared at her hand. Was it three fingers? Four?
“Bobby, we’re taking him in. That bowling ball did more damage than what I initially thought.”
He’d be hearing about this for weeks after this.