“Shane,” I say. “Why don’t we get that chest X-ray?” “It’s fine,” he mutters. “Don’t bother.” “You just told me you have a broken rib. We at least need to make sure you don’t have a pneumothorax. That could kill you.” “I doubt it. I’m not that lucky.” “Shane…” “I’m allowed to refuse, Brooke,” he says sharply. He drops his voice. “At least give me that.”
