Chapter 8

An hour later, I found myself in the orthopedics emergency room of Greenview Hospital. An elderly doctor with white hair and a kind face was gently examining my shoulder. He nodded toward the refined man standing beside him. "It's dislocated." The man responded, "Dr. Johnson, your skills are legendary. Could you help her set it back in place?" Dr. Johnson gave him a meaningful look. "You're always using my favors everywhere, young man." As he carefully rotated my arm, he asked, "Young lady, did this rascal hurt you?" I snuck a glance at the man and quickly shook my head. "No, no. I… I don't even know him." Dr. Johnson chuckled. "Oh, really? If you don't know him, why is he so worried about you?" I was reminded of how I had clung to the man's suit and bawled my eyes out all the way to the hospital, and I looked down awkwardly. Before I could register what happened, there was a loud crack, and the pain in my shoulder instantly vanished. I stood up in surprise and moved my arm. I was shocked to find that it miraculously didn't hurt anymore. Dr. Johnson smiled kindly and said, "Go ahead, move it around. You're fine now." I cautiously stretched out my arm and turned it in a circular motion. Sure enough, there was no pain at all. I quickly thanked him. "Thank you, Dr. Johnson!" I wasn't clueless—I knew this kind, elderly doctor was the city's renowned orthopedics expert. Many high-ranking officials and prominent figures sought him out for orthopedic issues. But Dr. Johnson had a kind heart—he would prioritize most of his appointments every week to the ordinary people. He would charge a dollar for each appointment, adhering to his lifelong principle of treating patients without profiting for over 50 years of his medical service. He had cured tens of thousands of patients with difficult and complicated diseases. From the way he handled his patients, it was almost impossible for anyone to get a consultation from him without making an appointment ahead. As those thoughts ran through my mind, I cast a glance at the handsome man who had been smiling the whole time beside me. He looked about 27 or 28 years old and exuded a calm and mature aura far more composed than Jameson. The black-gray suit he had on looked simple but was perfectly tailored to his body, accentuating his tall and well-proportioned figure. His facial features were undeniably attractive and elegant. He wore half-rim glasses that rested on his tall nose bridge, which gave his eyes a deep, intellectual air. He was chatting with Dr. Johnson in a relaxed and poised manner. I had always thought that Jameson was the most attractive man I had ever seen. He was cold, relentless, and had an intimidating presence. Although the man before me wouldn't lose to Jameson in terms of looks, he was a complete contrast to him. While Jameson was a blade, ready to cut through anything in his way, the man was like a serene painting with the power to embrace and calm the world. If Jameson could freeze the world with a single glance, the man could warm it with a smile. Although I couldn't tell who is more handsome between the two, I found myself appreciating the man's gentle elegance even more. The man glanced at me between words and asked, "Ms. Lambert, are you feeling unwell anywhere else?" I froze and almost shook my head instinctively, but instead, I nodded. Dr. Johnson frowned slightly. "Let me take a look. We can't let a minor issue worsen." I showed him where I had been bumped on my lower back and leg last night and let him examine the back of my head as well. He was thorough with his examination. As Dr. Johnson checked, he shook his head. "You've been through quite a lot. Your waist is almost fractured and slightly misaligned. I'll need to reset it for you. And your leg… thankfully, it's just a sprain." He continued, "But your head…" Dr. Johnson touched the back of my head and suddenly grew furious. "Young lady, you really don't take care of yourself!" I flinched and ended up stammering, "I… I…" He was so upset that he nagged at me while scribbling down a prescription. "You have a skull fracture, and there's some brain swelling. Do you not realize how dangerous that is? "If the swelling isn't treated properly, the increased intracranial pressure could be fatal! And you're still getting into fights and dislocating your arm in this state… You're really something else." Tears welled up in my eyes as I was lectured by Dr. Johnson. I didn't know how badly I was injured because Jameson hadn't visited me even once when I was admitted to the hospital before my memories were lost. His annoying female assistant had even rushed to discharge me from the hospital the moment I recovered just a little. The more I thought about it, the more I felt aggrieved. So I lowered my head like a child who had done something wrong. The man spoke up gently and broke the awkward atmosphere. "Don't be angry, Dr. Johnson. She probably didn't know how serious it was, so she left the hospital without proper treatment. I'm sure it wasn't intentional. No one would intentionally neglect their health like that." Dr. Johnson had finished writing the prescription, and his expression had softened a little. He noticed that I was on the verge of tears and quickly consoled me, "It's alright. Don't cry. Everyone heard you sobbing the whole way here. Don't cry again now, okay?" Then, he glared at the man. "Rascal, take her to get some ointment and physiotherapy! Oh, and she needs to come for another three days. I'll have to give her acupuncture for that waist injury. Otherwise, it'll become serious." "Yes, yes. Got it." The man quickly ushered me to the debridement room. The moment we stepped out of the examination room, we both breathed a sigh of relief. That was scary. I hadn't expected the renowned orthopedics expert to be so fierce when he got angry. I looked at the man apologetically. "I'm sorry… I didn't catch your name." I was so embarrassed that I started nervously picking at my fingernails until they almost peeled off. The man chuckled lightly. "You don't remember me?" I looked up in surprise, feeling even more confused. "I don't. May I ask your name?" He gave a slight smile, and his eyes were gentle. "Your brother, Charles, and I know each other. You used to call me "Tree". Tree? I stood frozen as my childhood memories flooded back. I vaguely recalled there was a time when a tall boy who wore glasses always followed Charles around. He rarely spoke, and even when he did, his voice was always soft. I had been curious about him, but he had always felt too distant for me to approach him. I remembered Charles calling him "Trees" once, so I started calling him "Tree" out of playfulness. I tentatively asked, "Tree… is that really you?" The man smiled warmly and extended his hand. "My name is Tristan Zook. And it's spelled as T-r-i, not T-r-e-e." My face flushed, and I quickly reached to shake his hand. "I'm sorry for earlier…" I wanted to say more, but it was my turn for the treatment. I gave Tristan an apologetic nod before heading inside. After a while, the ointment was fully applied, and my shoulder and arm were wrapped tightly in bandages that hung around my neck. It was a hilarious look. As I took the ointment and left, I spotted Jameson waiting outside. He looked impatient. When he saw my bandaged shoulder, he was stunned for a moment before his expression turned cold. He strode over and reached out to grab me. I took a few steps back, afraid of him. "Don't come any closer." Jameson paused. Then, he tried to hold back his anger as he said, "Wynonna, go and apologize. Natasha agreed not to call the police if you apologize." His tone was laced with irritation. "You're always causing trouble for me. Can't you ever stop?"