by Laura Iding
Serena moved as if to pull away, but Grant grew extremely agitated, tightening his grip. Serena looked down into his achingly familiar smoky gray eyes, wishing she could ease his distress.
"Grant, I promise I won't leave you alone. I just want to call Cheryl. She's very worried about you. Give me two minutes and I swear I'll be right back."
This time Grant relaxed against the pillow and Serena squeezed his hand reassuringly before letting go. She hurried to make the call. Cheryl promised to be in shortly and Serena returned to Grant's bedside to find that he was still awake, gazing at the variety of equipment that hung around his bed.
But when his gaze met hers she read the reproach in his eyes, as if he were upset with the fact she was taking care of him. Her enthusiasm faded fast.
What had she done?
Serena was his nurse. How had that happened? She'd avoided trauma patients since Eric's death. Dammit, she shouldn't be here. He'd let her walk away, hadn't he? Just to spare her seeing him busted up like this. To find that hers was the voice that had pulled him from the black hole of pain was a cruel, cruel joke. Why had fate chosen to throw them together now, after all this time?
The tension in Grant's room suffocated Serena to the point where she couldn't take a normal breath. Why on earth had she offered to work these extra shifts? Had she lost her mind? She'd thought she was doing a good thing by taking care of Grant, but obviously his feelings toward her hadn't changed in the past eighteen months. Somehow she hadn't anticipated Grant's negative reaction to seeing her again.
Straightening her shoulders, Serena inwardly swallowed her ire. Heck, it wasn't her fault that she'd been pulled down to the trauma room the night he'd happened to get himself shot. Given her druthers, she'd have chosen to swim naked in a pool of piranhas over the task she'd been assigned.
Besides, if this situation was anyone's fault, it was Grant's. He shouldn't have gone to a dangerous crime scene without wearing his flak jacket. The leg wound had been bad, but not compared to his chest wound. Trinity was the only level-one trauma center in the city. All trauma victims were brought there.
Cheryl must have noticed the stiffness between them, but didn't comment. Using his sister as a buffer, Serena encouraged Cheryl to spend as much time as possible with Grant. Her shift dragged by slowly. She almost asked Dana to switch patients, but that would have given rise to more questions than she cared to answer. Clearly Grant still resented her for walking away from their engagement. So what? She resented him for not loving her enough to change his career. Especially after Eric's death.
As her shift wore on Grant grew more agitated. Serena suspected he was too awake for that breathing tube and knew he wanted it out. Unfortunately, he needed to wait until the doctor made rounds.
Finally, she had no choice but to give him more morphine to calm him down. If he continued to struggle like that, he'd rip open the sutures or disconnect his IV. Giving him additional pain medication was walking a fine line, especially if he wanted that breathing tube out. He needed to be awake and cooperative when the doctors arrived.
When Dr. Hardy came in shortly thereafter, Serena was relieved to find that Grant was more comfortable but not completely zonked.
"I see our patient is awake." Dr. Hardy had a bad habit of talking over the patient, addressing the nurse as if the patient was too stupid to understand. Serena saw Grant's gaze narrow with irritation and quickly tried to intervene.
"Yes, and I happen to have his weaning parameters right here." She handed him the clipboard. "They look pretty good. I'm sure Detective Sullivan would like to get that breathing tube out."
"Hmm..." Dr. Hardy looked over the clipboard and then granted his permission. "OK, go ahead. Just make sure he keeps up the breathing treatments. I don't want him to crash with pneumonia."
Serena tried not to wince at the cardiothoracic surgeon's blunt words, especially since Grant was looking right at her, gauging her facial expressions.
She called in the respiratory therapist to assist. She gave Grant a few brief instructions, then, on the count of three, they pulled the tube out and instantly covered Grant's mouth and nose with an oxygen mask.
"Water..." Grant tried to speak, but his throat felt as if it were on fire. Luckily Serena knew exactly what he wanted and she reached for a plastic cup on his bedside table.
"Ice chips," she corrected. "No water until Dr. Hardy gives permission."
Grant frowned but took the few ice chips she offered him. He hated the fact that he had to be fed, resented even more that Serena was the one feeding him.
Pain washed over him with every breath he took, engulfing his brain in a dense fog. He supposed part of the haze could be due to the effect of whatever medicine Serena had given him. Either way, he didn't like struggling with the effort of putting a sentence together. He was relieved the tube was out but there were still dozens of wires and tubes holding him hostage.
With a scowl he leaned back against the pillows. Serena hovered near his bedside and he was tempted to ask her to leave. He knew she was as uncomfortable with the situation as he was. Lifting the cup of ice chips by himself took an almost monumental effort. On his first try he dribbled a few down his front and inwardly swore when the ice instantly melted on his skin. The second attempt went better and he managed to get a few more into his mouth. Except that they slid down his raw throat too quickly.
He coughed. A red-hot branding iron of pain seared his chest. Instinctively he grabbed at his incision, but Serena's hands were already there, applying pressure.
"Easy now." By holding pressure against the incision, it amazingly helped ease his pain. "Coughing is good for your lungs, but choking on ice chips is definitely not."
Her hands were awfully small under his, yet he'd felt their strength as they'd cared for him. He still couldn't believe that Serena was the angel who had pulled him out of the darkness. When he'd first seen her bending over him, he'd wondered if his imagination was playing tricks on him. She'd often haunted his dreams. But when she'd continued to smile down at him, he'd known she was real.
He'd always known that Serena was more than capable in her chosen profession, but he resented the fact that she was taking care of him while he lay helpless. Any minute he expected her to start in again on the dangers of his career, rubbing in how she'd been right all along.
The wound in his thigh throbbed painfully. Grant glanced down at the skimpy hospital gown barely covering the lower half of his body. Hell. They didn't even let you wear boxer shorts in this place.
"Why you?" he asked when he could breathe again with less discomfort. For a long moment she hesitated, then shrugged, dropping her gaze.
"I was on call the night they brought you in. Do you remember being shot?"
Grant closed his eyes. He vaguely remembered lights flashing. A body lying in the road. Moving shadows. A gun. Piercing pain.
Damn. He'd have given anything to spare Serena the harsh truth. He knew only too well how this was her worst nightmare. Given the same set of circumstances, though, he figured he'd make the same decision again. Any cop on the force would have done the same for him.
"I didn't recognize you at first, there was so much blood," she continued, when he couldn't speak. "When I realized who you were, I had no choice but to treat you like any other patient. We almost lost you, but somehow Dr. Hardy worked miracles in the operating room." She flashed him a lopsided grin. "That's why we put up with his obnoxious bedside manner."
He couldn't hold onto his resentment, one corner of his mouth kicking up in a weary grin. What did it matter that Serena was here? He had more important things to worry about. The gang activity had reached a new level of danger. He wanted to talk to the captain, as much as he could with his sore throat.
"Ted Reichert." His voice was so hoarse he barely recognized it.
Serena looked puzzled for a moment, then her brow cleared. "Oh, you mean the captain? I think he's planning to stop by later this morning, or did you want me to call h
im for you?''
"Call—please."
"It's only six-thirty," she warned.
He nodded. Serena did as he'd asked, returning after a few minutes. "OK, he's on his way in. Although I have to tell you he doesn't exactly sound like a morning person."
Grant merely shook his head, saving what was left of his voice. No, the captain wasn't a morning person. Hell, he wasn't an afternoon or a night person. Despite his gruff manner, though, Reichert cared about the officers under his command.
"Do you want me to call Cheryl back in?" Serena broke the silence that stretched between them.
He nodded his agreement. Serena had asked his sister to leave while they took out the tube.
Cheryl greeted him with a watery smile, leaning over the rail to give him a brief hug. "Thank God, Grant. Thank God you're all right."
Grant awkwardly patted her on the back, his arm hampered by the IV tubing in his forearm. "Cherrie. Where's David? The kids?"
"Back in Denver." Cheryl sniffled loudly. "I didn't think they would allow kids in here and I didn't have time to make elaborate arrangements. They didn't sound too confident that you were going to make it."
"I'm fine." He dismissed his various wounds. "Go home to your family."
"I'll go when I'm sure you're safely on your way out of here." She glanced over to where Serena sat outside the door, scribbling in his chart. "Serena, do you have any idea how much longer he'll stay in Intensive Care?"
Just then they were interrupted by a loud commotion next door.
"Who's that?" Grant frowned as two cops began to argue over whether the patient in the bed needed to be chained to the bed with ankle bracelets. Each officer had a different opinion, their raised voices carrying through to his room.
"That's Jason, the kid who shot you." Cheryl's eyes were grim.
Grant raised his eyebrows and turned his head to look through the glass wall of his room. A mixed-race adolescent boy sat up in the bed, which had been loaded up with supplies as if he was going on a trip. He expressed his opinion in a loud voice, not that anyone paid a bit of attention to him.
Fortunately the captain arrived on the scene to bring an end to the debate. "Cuff him."
Grant continued to stare, searching his memory. The kid didn't look familiar, but obviously he must have exchanged shots with him. He couldn't remember anything that might give him a clue as to which gang he belonged to, if any. Grant barely remembered the events surrounding the shooting, and he desperately wanted to find out what had happened.
"Hey, Sullivan, you look like hell." The captain greeted him with his usual cheerful disposition.
"Thanks." Grant took a few more ice chips to wet his parched throat. Already his strength was fading fast. "Fill me in."
Ted Reichert dropped his heavy bulk into a chair next to Grant's bed, one hand unconsciously rubbing the center of his chest. "You tell me. Our guys arrived on the scene to find you bleeding and a rookie named Joe Vine dead. Then, of course, we found that punk Jason, wounded from your gunfire."
"Joe's partner?" He pushed the question past his throat.
The captain rubbed his jaw. "He showed up ten minutes later, out of breath. Said he chased another guy with a gun but lost him."
Grant wrinkled his brow in an effort to concentrate. "So what is all this? Increased gang activity? Dammit, when did they stop shooting each other?"
Ted Reichert shrugged. "I don't know. But if this is their new trend, we need to put a plug in their plan, and quick. I have several officers working on this already. We'll get them. You don't have anything to worry about."
His job always brought worry but clearly others were doing the legwork for him. Grant momentarily closed his eyes, fighting exhaustion. He wished he could help in some way. But, dammit, he didn't have the strength of a gnat.
"We'll take care of this." The captain spoke with resounding conviction. "Your job is only to get yourself healthy enough to be sprung from this joint. We need you, Sullivan. You're one of the best detectives we have."
Grant caught Serena's gaze, noting her face had grown somber as the captain spoke. He knew his boss was only reaffirming her worst fears. His job was important. Her fears were understandable, but also irrational. He forced himself to keep his tone light. "Yeah. Getting out of here is top priority."
Ted nodded brusquely, then turned to Serena. "I appreciate your support the other night, but I must admit you have your work cut out for you. He won't be a co-operative patient."
"I'm already aware of that," Serena responded tartly. She glanced pointedly at her watch and turned to Grant. "I have to give a report to the next shift. Is there anything else I can get you before I go?''
"A large glass of water."
Serena picked up the small plastic cup. "A small cup of ice chips coming right up."
Grant scowled at her retreating back, enjoying the sight of her slightly swaying backside a little too much. Despite the pain, he experienced the familiar stirrings of attraction. Serena's baggy blue scrubs hid her figure and he wondered if she'd changed over the last year and a half. She'd worked hard during the night, but still managed to look as fresh as if she had just started her shift. He could sit here for hours, listening to the melody of her voice.
He remembered how he'd loved to loosen the elastic band from Serena's red-gold curls, allowing them to tumble over her shoulders. Her hair would feel like spun silk against his skin. He'd lean down and bury his face in the fragrant mass, kissing her nape.
He shifted and a shaft of pain shattered his fantasy. He had no business thinking of Serena in an intimate way. She didn't belong to him. She had her life and he had his.
With a guilty start he remembered Loren. Rubbing a hand over the stubble on his cheeks, he wondered if he should ask someone to give Loren a call. Loren DuWayne was a fellow cop, his partner's widow. He'd kept in touch with Loren and her son Ben after Rick had died a few years ago.
They'd always been friends, although since his break-up with Serena he'd seen her more frequently. Recently, Loren had subtly made it clear that she was ready for more. He enjoyed spending time with Loren and her son, but something had held him back from taking that next step in their relationship. At first she'd been a sounding board after Serena had called off their engagement. In many ways, Loren was perfect for him. She was as dedicated to her job as he was to his. In spite of losing her husband to the risks of their career, she wouldn't make unreasonable demands like Serena had.
But seeing Serena again, having his body respond to her slightest touch, reinforced the truth. He wasn't immune to her, even after all this time. He couldn't in good conscience get involved with anyone else. Especially not a woman with a son that might grow dependent on him.
Serena stopped by his room one last time before she left. "Just thought I'd say goodbye. I'm working tonight, but you might convince Dr. Hardy to let you out of here before then."
"I'll try. First he has to talk to me like a person." Grant didn't bother to hide his distaste of the arrogant surgeon. "You'll be here tonight?"
Serena nodded. "I'm off after this weekend." With a polite smile she turned away.
"Serena?" Grant called out before she could leave.
She paused in the doorway, shooting an expectant glance over her shoulder.
"Thanks. Thanks for everything."
Serena acknowledged his thanks with another smile, but surprise was also clearly reflected on her features. Obviously she hadn't expected any appreciation from him. Grant felt another flash of guilt at making his displeasure so clear. He watched her walk away, wondering exactly why he wanted to beg her to stay.
The rest of the day passed tediously. He wasn't strong enough to do much and grew irritated at how he dozed off when he least expected it. The day shift nurse agreed to his request and called Loren, informing him that she'd be in later that afternoon. He should have looked forward to her visit, but instead he wished she wouldn't make the trip.
Grant tried to send Cheryl home ag
ain, but she stubbornly refused. The infamous Dr. Hardy didn't bother to show his face either, so Grant didn't have anyone on whom to take out his bad temper.
A few of the guys from the precinct showed up, which helped relieve his boredom for a while. They joked around and filled him in on the latest gossip. They relaxed their hospital vigilance in the waiting room once it became apparent that he was going to survive. But as they left, they informed him that the funeral for the dead rookie was going to be held the next evening. Grant became annoyed all over again when he realized he couldn't attend.
Loren stopped in to see him as promised. She hesitantly approached his bed, in awe of all the equipment that surrounded him. She leaned over the bed rail to brush his forehead with a friendly kiss. "Grant. I can't believe you're really all right."
Grant gave her his best reassuring grin, which came out more like a grimace. "I'm fine. They'll let me go in a few days."
Loren shot him a skeptical look. "Yeah, sure. I had to hog-tie Ben to his grandmother in the waiting room to keep him from following me."
Grant smiled. Ben was a great kid. "Oh, yeah?"
"He wants to see that you're alive with his own eyes." Loren dropped her gaze from his, toying with the zipper of her jacket. "I think he's afraid you're just going to disappear one day, like his dad did."
Grant's heart clenched at the thought of the little boy worrying about him. Both Loren and Ben had suffered enough, struggling to make it on their own. Poor kid. Grant knew things hadn't been easy for them. "Sneak him in here. I don't care what the hospital rules are. See if one of the guys can help cover."
Loren looked doubtful for a moment, then gave in. "Are you sure you don't mind?"
"I'll mind if you don't," Grant countered. "I want to see him, too."
A few minutes later, Loren tiptoed through the unit, using one of their fellow officers to shield Ben. In his room, she set the boy on his feet. Grant knew that Ben looked up to him like a father figure, especially since his father had died while he'd just been a baby. The kid practically hung on his every word.
