Wake for Me (Life or Death Series)

by Irons, Isobel

  Tears filled Viola’s eyes again, and she hated the fact that she couldn’t raise her hands high enough to brush them away.

  “Miss…him…so…much….”

  “I miss him as well, sweet girl,” Uncle Jack said, in a soft voice. “More than you know. Now, get some rest and I’ll come visit you again, as soon as I can.”

  Viola opened her mouth to struggle out a goodbye, but the call disconnected before she could come up with even a simple ‘au revoir.’

  When she gave in and sniffled, Nurse B. took the phone away. “Don’t cry, baby girl. It’ll all get better soon, you’ll see.”

  At the sound of sympathy in the nurse’s voice, Viola’s tears turned to ice.

  “Not…crying,” she said. “Allergic…to cheap…pillows.”

  “Alright,” Nurse B. said, but her expression clearly read ‘yeah right.’ “I’ll go get you one of those hypoallergenic pillow cases, does that sound good, Miss High-Maintenance?”

  “Yes…” Viola said, challenging her with a stare. “And…water.”

  Throwing up her hands, the nurse left the room.

  As if he’d been waiting just outside the door, Sam slipped into the room a few seconds later. Viola smiled, but this time she wasn’t faking it. Out of all the people she interacted with at the hospital, Sam was the only one who didn’t talk to her like she was some kind of invalid.

  Raising her hand as high as she could, Viola pointed toward the door.

  “You’re...hiding…from her,” she accused.

  “Guilty,” he said, coming around to sit on the chair. He leaned in close, and whispered, “Don’t tell anyone this, but she scares the bejesus out of me.”

  Viola chuckled softly. “She…knows.”

  “Really?” Sam frowned, slumping onto his elbows at the edge of the bed. “Well, that’s humiliating. I really thought we were kind of on equal ground, like arch-nemeses or something.”

  Unable to help herself, she grinned. He really was kind of adorable, for a geek.

  “Secretly…likes you.”

  Sam looked up at her, his face hopeful. “Really? I hope you’re right. I don’t know what it is about her. I just can’t seem to come up with a reply soon enough, you know?”

  Her face deadpan, Viola shook her head. “No…idea.”

  It took him a second, but Sam’s face went bright red. “Oh, God. I’m sorry!”

  His hand flew to hers, covering it. It was meant as a gesture of comfort, Viola knew. But to her, it felt much more intimate.

  “I’m such a jerk,” Sam apologized. “Of course you know what that feels like. But it will get easier, I promise.” He let go of her hand and stood up. “I mean, you’re already doing so much better than any of us could’ve hoped.”

  Viola’s hand felt naked. She flexed it, trying to shake the feeling that it was meant to be doing something more than just sitting there.

  “You…ask?” She raised an eyebrow, trying to distract herself from her problems by reminding Sam about his.

  Sam puttered around the room, stopping at the flowers by her bedside table. They were dead, just like the people who’d brought them, but Viola refused to let the nurses remove them.

  “What?” He looked distracted.

  “Chocolate…Barbie. Did….you ask?”

  Sam turned back toward her, a confused look on his face. Then the lights went on.

  “Oh, about the peripheral neuropathy study?” He glanced at the door again. “No, not yet. It’s been crazy lately, with the conference coming up. I told you about that, right?”

  Viola nodded. He was being evasive, which made her want to shake him. But she could barely stand up, let alone throw around a full-grown man. Especially a man as tall as Sam, with such broad shoulders and nicely toned arms. He could probably throw her around pretty easily, though. Mmm. She blinked, realizing he’d caught her staring. God, what was wrong with her?

  “Well anyway,” he cleared his throat, “I’m thinking of waiting to ask him until the end of the month. When things settle down a little bit.”

  Viola rolled her eyes. Sam had only one flaw, as far as she could tell: he lacked an assertive gene when it came to things he wanted, but thought he didn’t need.

  “Too late,” she told him.

  Sam shook his head. “No, it won’t be too late. He isn’t making a final decision until the end of the month. That gives me plenty of time to prove myself. And then who knows? Maybe he’ll even offer it to me.”

  Slowly and carefully, Viola turned her hand palm-up and raised it a few inches in the air. She crooked a finger at him, beckoning him closer. It was a skill she’d been practicing with the physical therapist, and she was very proud of it.

  “Come…close.” Sam looked slightly afraid, and she laughed. “Such…a wuss. Twice…my size.”

  “Fair enough,” Sam said, coming back to sit on the chair. He leaned toward her, putting his elbows on the bedside railing.

  “Closer.”

  With a labored sigh, he leaned forward until his face was about six inches away from hers. Viola could count his individual eyelashes, and smell that weirdly familiar hint of chlorine on his skin.

  “Man…up,” she told him. “Nothing…good…ever came…free.”

  Sam broke into a grin, and leaned back in the chair with his hands in the air.

  “Oh, come on! That’s easy for you to say. You’re like a millionaire, or something.”

  Actually, Viola’s current net worth was hovering somewhere around fifteen million dollars, and that was before she turned twenty-one and gained access to her trust fund. But she wasn’t going to tell him. That would’ve been tacky. Instead, she smiled sadly and held his gaze, Sam’s warmth giving her the courage to admit the utter truth:

  “Trust…me. I’m…paying. Now.”

  Sam’s smile died, and Viola kicked herself for making him feel sorry for her when she’d meant to make him see that, really, she wasn’t all that different than him. Everyone had to pay their dues, at one point or another. Even heiresses.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “C’est…la vie.” Sometimes, the French came easier than the English, and vice versa. “Don’t…be sorry. Be…courage.” She wrinkled her forehead, trying and failing to find the right word. “Be…assuré.” Damn. Close, but still wrong. Terri, her lumpy sweater-wearing speech therapist, had cautioned against tiring her speech center out with too many long conversations.

  “I get it.” Sam took her hand again, this time with an encouraging smile. “You’re saying I should ask for the things I want. I shouldn’t wait until it’s too late.”

  “Yes,” Viola said, relieved. “Or…Brady says…grab life…by the balls.”

  Sam laughed, and Viola smiled, feeling victorious. She liked making him laugh. For some reason, it almost made her feel like her old self again. Maybe it was because his responses were so easy to predict.

  Suddenly, she had the oddest urge to run her fingers through his soft, shaggy hair.

  From the doorway, Nurse Bouchard cleared her throat. She was holding two new pillows, a bag of steaming microwave popcorn, a pitcher of water, and was struggling to balance a plastic cup on top of everything.

  “I don’t s’pose one of you feel like helping me with this?”

  Sam stood up and crossed the room, awkwardly taking the pitcher out of the nurse’s hand.

  “Sorry, Nurse Bouchard,” he said. “I didn’t realize you were changing the sheets. Would you like some help?”

  Nurse B. glared up at Sam, probably wondering if he was out of his damn mind for offering to do something no full-fledged doctor would ever offer to do.

  Viola laughed at Sam, shaking her head. She gestured toward the clock.

  “Not…bed,” she said. “Three…thirty. Almost…time…for stories.”

  Sam looked confused, while Nurse B. just looked scandalized.

  “Oh, I see how it is,” she groused. “I thought we were partners in crime, but now I see you’r
e willing to nark me out for a pretty face.”

  Viola shook her head, searching for just the right way to phrase a very complex joke.

  “Not just…face. Nice…body. Too.”

  Sam immediately blushed, and Nurse B. laughed out loud, exactly as Viola had intended.

  “You better watch out for this one,” the elderly nurse told Sam, with a devious expression. “She’s only at half speed, and already you looking like a dog who don’t know what done bit him. God help you if she ever gets up out of that bed.” She looked at Viola, and her face softened. “Sorry, baby. I meant to say when you get up out of that bed. Not if.”

  Viola raised her hand in a futile gesture of dismissal, as Sam smiled sympathetically and put the pitcher down on the table at the foot of her bed. She could tell he was seconds away from apologizing. Again.

  “Alright,” she told them both. “Still rich…and pretty.”

  Nurse B. snorted. “Don’t forget to add skinny, little Miss Humble.” She turned back to Sam, pointing a finger menacingly at his chest. “Now, I’m going to go get a Coke, and when I come back, you’d better be long gone.”

  “Yes ma’am,” he said.

  This time, when the object of his fear left the room, Sam didn’t come any closer. It made Viola wonder if it really was Nurse Bouchard he was so afraid of, after all. But if there was something to be said, he sure as hell wasn’t going to be the first one to say it.

  Viola sighed, feeling suddenly exhausted. It always came on like that, so quickly, like someone had pulled the plug that powered her thoughts and actions. She let her head fall back against the pillows, too tired to do much more than watch Sam move nervously around the room.

  She couldn’t help herself when he was around. From the first moment she’d woken from the coma, it was like her eyes wanted to follow him wherever he went. She couldn’t control them, any more than she could control the strange and rebellious images that sometimes flashed across her mind when she wasn’t paying attention. Sam’s arms tightening around her, as she ran her lips across his bare chest. Sam’s hand, sliding under her shirt—things she had no business thinking. It was getting to be a problem, especially since they felt less like fantasies, and more like memories.

  Before either of them could say anything else, Nurse B. was back. Sam made some excuse about catching up on his charting, and left without saying goodbye. Viola’s eyes tracked his movement all the way to the door.

  Nurse B. turned on the TV in Viola’s room and planted herself in the chair that Sam had so recently vacated. The Young and Relentless was just starting. Keeping her eyes glued to the screen, the old nurse cleared her throat.

  “How are things with that rock star boyfriend of yours?” she asked. “From what they’re saying on the internet, it sounds like the two of you are getting pretty serious.”

  That was an excellent question—even if it had been meant as a dig.

  Viola flopped her head over to one side, because rolling her eyes would’ve been too much effort. Her eyelids felt so heavy, and they were already starting to close against her will. She still couldn’t control when she fell asleep, and she dreaded it every time.

  Before the darkness crept up and took her, Viola couldn’t resist murmuring a parting shot.

  “Lucinda…eat…your popcorn.”

  The last thing she heard was the sound of Nurse B. chuckling evilly to herself.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “The sexual life of adult women is a ‘dark continent’ for psychology.” –Sigmund Freud

  Sam came in through the hospital’s back entrance, shivering. His hair was still wet from the pool, and the cold air outside had turned it into long, brown icicles that dripped freezing water into the collar of his hooded sweatshirt. Checking to make sure no one was in the area, he leaned over and shook his head like the lead singer of a metal band, splattering the floor and walls with large drops of chlorinated water.

  Man, he thought, instantly feeling instantly guilty about the mess he’d caused. Viola was right. He really did need a haircut. Maybe he’d get one this weekend, when he was home. Barber shops were a lot cheaper upstate than they were in the city. So was everything else, for that matter.

  He walked down the first floor hallway, thinking for the ten-millionth time how much it reminded him of the long, creepy hallway in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest. Especially this early in the morning, when it was completely empty. His footsteps echoed hollowly against the walls as he tried to resist the urge to sprint all the way to the other end. He didn’t really feel like taking the south stairs, but he also couldn’t banish the image of Nurse Ratched appearing from one of the side doors and chasing him with a syringe.

  As a compromise, he walked a little quicker.

  About three-fourths of the way down, the main hallway branched off into a series of smaller hallways, which most hospital employees referred to as the Labyrinth, because of how easy it was to get lost if you didn’t know where you were going. Sam personally thought they were more like capillaries, branching off of a main artery, because of how easily they could become clogged when more than two people walked abreast of each other.

  He passed the first capillary, which led to central distribution and the blood lab. But he stopped right before passing the second, because he could’ve sworn he heard Viola’s voice. There was no reason she should be this far away from her room, even if it wasn’t oh-shit-hundred in the morning. But it was almost more disturbing to think that he hadn’t actually heard her voice; that his mind had simply become so obsessed that it was hallucinating Viola wherever he went.

  Following the sound of her laughter, Sam found himself standing a few yards away from the Medical Records desk, staring at Viola’s silk pajama and satin robe-clad form as she leaned against it. Twelve days out of a coma and she was already ambulatory. Another week, and she’d probably be ready to indulge in some light downhill skiing. The thought made him proud, but also sad, because the more independent Viola became, the sooner she would leave the hospital. Who knew if he’d ever see her again, after that?

  “I like cock,” she was saying. “It’s…better…than dick. Dick just sounds like…high school.”

  Sam almost choked on his own tongue. Along with her coordination, Viola’s communication was getting more sophisticated by the day. Yet, he never would’ve expected to hear those words coming from her well-bred lips. Then again, he hadn’t realized she was the type to date rock stars, either. Damn, almost two weeks later, and he still hadn’t managed to get over that particular revelation. He needed to let it go already. So Viola was taken. It was just one more reason on top of a pile of other reasons Sam couldn’t let himself get too close to her.

  “I totally know what you mean,” another voice was saying. Sam craned his neck to see who the voice belonged to, but he couldn’t get a good look without stepping around the last corner and revealing himself to Viola and whoever she was talking to. About dicks vs. cocks, no less.

  “Sometimes, when I read historical romance novels and they’re all ‘Oh, Reginald! Joust your throbbing member into my cavern of love’ or whatever? I’m like ‘No thanks, I’d rather listen to my grandmother operate a phone sex hotline.’ Right?”

  Viola laughed. “I don’t…really…not my area. I prefer…counter…no, contemporary romance.”

  “Well then, you should definitely borrow this one. It’s equal parts steamy and quippy. I think you’ll love it.”

  Viola’s hand disappeared over the desk and came back with a small paperback book, which she tucked into the pocket of her robe.

  “Thanks, Julia. Can’t wait…to pick up…all kinds of tricks.”

  When she turned toward him, Sam froze. He was suddenly left with only two choices: turn and go back down the hall the way he’d come, or get caught eavesdropping on a very scandalous, girls-only conversation. He chose option one. Unfortunately, Viola’s walking speed had progressed much faster than he’d realized.

  “Hi. Sam,” sh
e said, without even a hint of struggle in her voice. “What are you doing?”

  He turned back to face her, positive that his expression would betray him before he even opened his mouth. She had a way of doing that, he’d learned. Making him blush, then making him feel ridiculous for feeling ridiculous.

  “I was just on my way into work,” he said, “and I thought I heard voices, so I came down this hall. But then, I uh…I realized I was going to be late, so I turned around and started going the other way.”

  Even to his ears, the lie sounded pathetic.

  “It’s not even…five,” she said, glancing down at her ever-present designer watch. “You’re not on shift…until six.”

  Sam was impressed, and a little flattered, that she’d memorized his work schedule. Then again, from what he’d seen over the past few weeks, he shouldn’t have been. There wasn’t much about her hospital environment that Viola didn’t seem to know, or find a way to charm someone into telling her. It had only taken her a few days to have Dr. Chakrabarti himself eating from the palm of her hand. That, in itself, was a feat for the record books.

  “Come with me,” she said, holding out her hand. “There’s someone…I want you to meet.”

  Obediently, Sam took her hand and settled it in the crook of his elbow. He knew better than to resist. This wasn’t the first time he’d caught her sneaking out of her room and walking the halls, and sooner or later she would tire out and need to lean on someone. Whether or not she wanted to admit it, Sam knew that Viola’s body was still weak and needed more sleep than she wanted to give it. It had become a serious problem over the past week, since she did everything she could to avoid sleeping, unless they drugged her. He worried about that, about her, more than he cared to admit.

  Leading him back toward Medical Records, Viola stopped in front of the empty desk and pushed the call button.

  After a few seconds, the door behind the desk opened, and a very short, striking-looking young woman poked her head out.

  “Oh. Hey, darling, did you forget something?” The girl’s hair was dyed black, so dark it almost looked blue. She had big, baby-doll eyes ringed with a ton of eyeliner, and dark red lipstick that made her face look almost inhumanly white. Her earrings were gigantic, and at a second glance, Sam realized they were formed in the shape of handcuffs.