“Yes, like it or not, she’s going to have to get used to accepting help.”
Edric jutted his chin at me. “You hear that, baby?”
“Mmmph.” I grunted.
“And will Lucy be able to get out of bed?” he asked Beverly.
“Yes, we’re going to have Lucy up and walking bit by bit today. And,” she added with a closed-mouth grin, “we’ll have to remove her catheter soon, so she’ll have to get out of bed to use the bathroom.”
I glared at Beverly, giving her my frostiest look, which she duly ignored.
Excuse me, miss? I wanted to yell. There’s no fucking way I’m getting out of this bed today.
Unfortunately, I quickly realized I didn’t have a choice in that matter. Later that afternoon, Dr. Prasad came in to check on me and after that, Beverly took away my catheter.
Ugh, I hate her. This world is full of monsters. Monsters.
Naturally, I had to use the bathroom at some point or other.
“Edric,” I said urgently.
“Yes, baby.” He was by my side in a flash. “What do you need? What can I get for you?”
“The souls of all who have displeased me.” I speared him with a look, my expression so mutinous I was surprised he didn’t even flinch.
I winced in agony. Fuck, I was in so much pain and in a foul mood, ready to lash out at anyone and everyone and Edric, bless his heart, saw right through me. “Do you need help getting up to use the bathroom?”
I gave a bitter laugh. “Yes.”
He swiftly devised a plan of action. “All right, baby, here’s what we’re going to do.” His voice was quiet but firm. “See this magic pain relief button right here?”
My answering sigh was a tired rasp. “Yes.”
“Push that magic button twice and once you feel the morphine kick in, I’ll help you to the bathroom and I promise, I promise you’ll be back in this bed before the pain meds wear off. You got it?”
“Got it.”
By hook or by crook, it worked. With Edric’s help, I was able to hobble my way to the bathroom and empty my bladder without actually dying in the process. And I continued to improve by the hour. Granted, I was still throwing up every thirty minutes but as the anesthesia started to leave my body, I began to feel better, bit by excruciating bit.
And by the end of the day, I felt more human and less Medusa-like as I sat in bed gazing out the window. A white duvet of mist crept through the pine trees and clouds skittered across a full moon. In time, I pulled my gaze away from the world outside and turned it upon the man fast asleep beside me.
Edric was slumped forward in an uncomfortable hospital chair, bathed in silver moonlight. I allowed myself a slight smile as I gazed at this sweet, kind man who had held me as I wept and who had understood when I needed a punching bag.
This man who had listened to me vent about my fears and then validated my feelings.
This man who had called and texted my parents when I couldn’t, when I didn’t have the wherewithal.
This man who had been nothing but solid, always there for me when I needed him.
And I needed him now more than ever, when the axis of my world had shifted sideways. Fuckin’ hell. A searing pain sliced down my sides and I closed my eyes, focused on breathing.
Slow, deep, measured breaths.
You’re okay, you’re okay. Breathe. Breathe.
Panic stole my breath but when I opened my eyes and saw Edric there, I was instantly comforted. I was scared for what lay ahead for me, but I didn’t feel alone, not when I had this man by my side.
OVER THE NEXT TWO DAYS, Edric became my private nurse (nonpaid, of course) and he was the most caring man I’d ever encountered aside from my dad. He washed my face, he brushed my teeth, he brushed my hair and pulled it back in a ponytail for me, and he made me feel human again.
“Baby?” I smiled at the six-foot-four-inch giant of a man, whose heart was larger than his shoe size, sitting at the end of my bed, massaging my feet.
“Yeah?” His voice had a rough, end-of-day quality to it.
“I was so wrong about you.”
“Continue,” he said. “I already know this is going to be good.”
“Gawd, you’re so full of yourself.” I shook my head, my mouth quirking with humor. “When I first met you, I thought you were some dumb athlete with your head shoved so far up your ass you could see out of your belly button.”
“Thank Gawd. I thought you were about to say I had my head shoved so far up my ass I could taste my food again on its way down.”
“Gross.”
“Carry on. You were saying?”
“But I was wrong.” I was emphatic about this. “You’re not just some dumb athlete turned VC. No. You’re so much more than that. You’re smart and kind and the sweetest and most gentle lump of skin on this side of the Mississippi.”
“The sweetest and most gentle lump of skin?” He scrunched up his face, looking mighty put off.
“Yes, and I will stick by those words until the day I die. You’re a good egg, Edric. A mighty good egg.”
“Why can’t I just be a dumb athlete?”
“You can’t.”
“And why only this side of the Mississippi?”
“My dad’s on the other side.”
“Oh.” He took my foot in both his hands and walked his thumbs along the arch of my instep. “Does that feel good?” he asked, gently applying pressure.
“It does. Thanks for being on foot-rubbing duty. And thanks... for everything, really.”
“Hey.” He simply shrugged off my words. “There’s very little I wouldn’t do for you. Besides, taking care of my girl is not a pastime or a choice, but a duty. Being the hot male nurse is a responsibility I take very seriously.”
“I can tell,” I said earnestly. “Thank you for putting up with me.”
“Someone had to.” He chuckled. “Besides, I had to nurse your wrath to keep it away from Beverly and the other sweet nurses on duty.”
“Oh, God.” I recoiled. “I was a bitch, wasn’t I?”
“Of course you were,” he said in a playful voice. “It’s one of your many charms.”
I made my eyes wide and innocent. “Was I really a bitch?”
“Yeah, you kind of were, but you get a hall pass from me, baby. I understand you’re going through a lot right now.”
“I feel horrible.” I sniffed.
“Hey.” His gaze softened. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. That surgery you just had, it was not small potatoes.”
“I know.” I sniffed again. “It was big potatoes.”
“You’re absolutely right. It wasn’t a simple surgery, so no one expects you to have simple emotions.”
“Simple emotions?” I gave a humorless laugh. “That’s a nice way of putting it. More like a raging tsunami of emotions.”
“I’m your Rock of Gibraltar, baby.” He stood and spread his arms out wide. “Let your waves crash and pound against me.”
“Oh, man.” I winced in agony. “Please don’t make me laugh. My stitches—they hurt like a bitch.”
“All right, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’ll stop.” Then he crossed the room, held his palms under the hand sanitizer dispenser and rubbed them together. “You ready to go home soon?”
“Hell, yeah. I can’t wait to get out of this place and see my Gouda. How’s my boy doing?”
“Great.” There was some hesitation before he spoke again. “I’ve been meaning to tell you something, but I wanted to wait until you were feeling better.”
I held my breath, waiting.
“I hired a stable hand to take care of Gouda and she’s really experienced with horses. A lot more experienced than I am.” Exhaling hard, he shoved a hand through his hair. “I’ll be taking care of you round the clock and I don’t want Gouda to be neglected in any way.”
“No, no,” I said at once. “I get that.”
Relief seemed to sigh through his body. “And I promise you, Gouda is i
n excellent hands. You’ll see for yourself once we get you home.”
“I trust you.” I took a slow breath before continuing. “Let’s get out of here. I want to go home.”
“Say no more.”
And so he began zipping around the room, packing up all my things while Nurse Beverly prepped me for discharge.
“Beverly,” I said with radiant sincerity. “I’m sorry I was such a pain. I didn’t mean to be so difficult.”
“It’s okay, my dear. Water under the bridge. Edric made our jobs easy; he was such a delight. All of us here enjoyed having him around. In fact, he’s so amazing that I told my boss she’d be foolish not to hire him. He would be a great addition to our staff. Truly, he’s a gem. The most caring and efficient man I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.”
Edric stood taller, squaring his shoulders and lifting his chin up high like a ballerina standing in first position, about to do a goddamn plié.
“Perfect first position,” I complimented him on his posture. “If you were in a ballet class you’d get top notch.”
“What?” He began strutting around and preening ostentatiously.
“Edric!” I cried. “Are you preening right now?”
“Who’s preening?”
“Oh, my God, you are!” I said with unsuppressed mirth. “You’re like a peacock preening in the sun.”
“Behold the majestic disco chicken,” he said with bravado, swanning about like a peacock with a look on his face that screamed, Look at my pretty plumage. LOOK AT MY PLUMAGE!
Beverly stared at him with amused eyes. “He likes to show off his feathers, but that’s quite all right. Edric, you can show off your feathers here any day.” Then she sent him a sidelong glance, that of a woman who liked what she saw.
Humph. I frowned. Edric probably sees that look all the time and surely expects it.
“Erm, ladies.” He cleared his throat. “My eyes are up here.”
Beverly gave a bark of laughter. “Lucy,” she managed to say after catching her breath. “I’ve been married for twenty years now and let me tell you, you have yourself a keeper right here.”
“You think so?”
“I do. He reminds me so much of my husband, Todd.”
“How so?”
“Todd makes me laugh every day. The kind of laugh that makes my nose snort and my belly hurt. The embarrassing, healing kind of laughs.”
“Those are the best kind.” I smiled and was further amused to catch Edric smiling at me with pure devotion in his eyes.
“The best,” he said effusively while mouthing the words, You’re the best, baby girl.
Chapter Twenty-One
Lucy
HOME. AHHH, SWEET, sweet paradiso.
I was so happy and relieved to be home, the surgery behind me. I was ready to rest, heal, and relax in my own bed (well, Edric’s bed to be precise, but it felt like my own).
Edric had set up my command central around the bed, complete with everything I’d need. All my prescriptions and vitamin supplements were within reach and every bottle was unscrewed and uncapped since I couldn’t even open a simple pill bottle.
I didn’t have the strength or the wherewithal.
And since I could only sleep on my back, propped slightly upward with armrests to keep the pressure off my chest, Edric had bought a whole assortment of pillows: a wedge pillow, a U-shaped pregnancy pillow, a back and belly contour pillow, and little bolsters to go under my arms.
So. Many. Pillows.
But those pillows became my saving grace and allowed me to get some much-needed rest. And for the next several days, I got plenty of that. I’d doze off in the middle of the day and it seemed as if every time I woke up, there was another gorgeous flower arrangement and handwritten note placed atop the table right in front of me.
Oh, Edric, I gushed inwardly, reaching for the slip of paper and unfolding it.
I bit back a smile as I stared at his note. It was written in his signature neat, cursive writing and it said: Holy Bamboni! You’re a Hottie McThottie :)
“You like that one?” Edric sauntered into the room with a mason jar in each hand.
“I do. It’s a lot sweeter than your last note.”
“Which one?” he asked.
“‘10/10 I would bang.’”
He chuckled. “Which one’s your favorite, though?”
“‘Are you McDonald’s? Coz I’m lovin’ it.’”
“That’s a good one, eh?” He sent me a lazy grin.
“Uh-huh.” I gazed at him fondly. “Actually, I think I like the one that was a dad joke and love note all rolled into one.”
“Which one is that?” He scratched his chin. “I’ve written so many.”
“The one about you trying to catch some fog but you—”
“Mist,” he finished.
“Nice pun, by the way.” I smiled. “And that you’d ‘mist’ because you were too busy staring at me.”
“Of course, baby! Just look at you! I’m constantly distracted by your sexy body.”
“Thank you, Edric, for all the sweet notes. Texts are nice and all, but there’s nothing like receiving handwritten notes. Oh, and can we talk about your handwriting?”
“What about it?”
“You write like a fifteen-year-old high school girl,” I said with a teasing note in my voice. “Very beautiful, loopy, curly handwriting. Very neat and tidy, too, I might add.”
“Humph.” He gave me the side-eye. “Are you throwing shade at my handwriting?”
“Not at all. I’m quite impressed by it, actually. And again, these handwritten notes are lovely. They made my day, Edric. Like they say, the pen is mightier, right?”
“Than the cock?”
“Than the sword.” I stifled a laugh. “The sword.”
“Well, the cock is like a weapon of sorts. Ever heard of crossing swords?”
“Oh, Edric.” I clutched my sides. “You are too much sometimes. Quit making me laugh. It hurts.”
“Here,” he said, holding out a mason jar filled to the brim with green liquid. “I made you a smoothie.”
“But I don’t want a green smoothie.” I eyed the other mason jar. It had some sort of amber liquid in it. “I want what you have.”
“I’m just drinking juice.”
“Really?” I lifted a skeptical brow.
“Yeah.” He repaid my cynical gesture with an arched brow of his own. “Why? You don’t believe me?”
“Let me smell it.”
“Here.” He brought his mason jar to my nose and I gave a little sniff.
“That’s not juice,” I said.
“It is,” he insisted. “This is just some corn, rye, and barley juice that’s been fermenting in an oak barrel for too long.”
“You’re drinking whiskey?” I frowned. “Not fair.”
“Drink your smoothie, baby. You need your daily dose of Vitamin C. It’ll help speed up your recovery, so drink up.”
“I’d rather not.”
“I’ll get you McDonald’s later if you drink your smoothie.”
“Deal.” I took a huge gulp. “And a cheese platter?”
“And a cheese platter.” The mattress dipped as he sat at the edge of the bed. “I need to take care of your drains now.”
“Aye, those pesky drains.” I expelled a heavy sigh and set my mason jar on the table. “Drains, drains, go away!”
All in all, I had six surgical drains to manage—these long rubber tubes that drooped from my incision site. Edric took it upon himself to keep my drains clean, removing the fluid that collected in the siphon bulbs every day. And he did this three to four times a day. He also had to measure the amount each time, log the fluids, and report everything back to my doctor’s office.
“There,” he said when he was finished. “All done now, you sexy waitress.”
A smile touched my lips. While some women pinned their drainage tubes to their shirts, I preferred using a waist apron. The pouches in the front worked p
erfectly for holding my surgical drains. But at this moment, I didn’t feel sexy nor did I feel waitress-y in my apron. I felt like crap and I probably looked like crap.
“Thanks.” I studied my nails for a moment, then bit at the corner of one of them. They were a wreck, much like how I was feeling inside.
I hated feeling like I was inconveniencing Edric. I hated not having the muscle movement to lift my hands to do simple things like reach for a cereal bowl or fill a glass with water. Edric had moved a bunch of things around in the kitchen to a lower shelf so I didn’t have to raise my arms in order to reach them, but there was still so much I couldn’t do for myself.
And I hated that. I was too independent. It was hard to ask for help.
“What’s wrong, Lucy?”
“Everything.” I stared at my lap. “I feel like I’m asking too much. I hate having to ask for the next thing, whether it’s refilling my water, cleaning my drains, helping me off the bed, putting my hair in a ponytail, moving a pillow one way or other, assisting me in the bathroom. And on top of all that, you’re working from home and constantly checking in on Gouda even though you’ve hired a fantastic stable hand. I feel like it’s too much.”
“It’s not.”
“This constant needing help for the everyday things... I feel like a crutch.”
“What’s wrong with that? Crutches help people walk. And you’re helping me walk this journey called life, baby.”
“You’re so cheesy.” I cringed. “And you’re only saying that to make me feel better.”
“Is it working?”
“Kind of.” I took a slow breath. “I just hope you never get a mastectomy because there’s absolutely no way I could ever live up to this level of care.”
“Men can get breast cancer?”
“They can. It’s rare, though. And knowing you, you’ll probably go out and get a vasectomy just so I’m forced to nurse you back to health.”
The corners of his mouth lifted into a half-smile. “I’ve missed your sharp tongue.”
The Good Mistake (Hemsworth Brothers #3) Page 25
