“Why is that?” I retort.
“I don’t know. Why do you think?” he spins the question back toward me.
“I’m drugged, so I don’t know if I can come up with an answer for you. You’re not drugged though, so you should know.”
“Scarlett, I’m going to call the front desk to have Brendan come down here, okay?”
“Okay,” I tell him. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”
He looks at me with sympathy, like he should be sad for me or something. “You didn’t make me uncomfortable.”
Clarity is percolating and I’m having an easier time remembering why I’m here, but not much of the last few minutes. “My mind feels like it’s a blender,” I tell Austin.
“That’s completely normal,” he assures me.
“Austin,” I say as he stands up to reach for the phone.
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
“Just doing my job, darlin’”
“Austin?”
“Yes,” he laughs.
“Don’t tell anyone I said this, but when you call me darling, it makes my heart do a flip. I was just being mean to you yesterday because that’s what girls do when they like a boy, right?”
“I thought that was just something parents tell their kids to make them feel better, but if that’s true, it’d make me think twice next time a girl’s mean to me.” He laughs again, but I’m trying to have a serious conversation with him. Typical guy. He just thinks everything is funny.
“I see you’re coming out of your haze a bit now,” he says.
“What haze?” I ask.
He clears his throat, positioning his fist a couple inches in front of his mouth. He’s trying to hide a smile I can still see by his deep dimples. “Nothing, don’t worry about it.” I don’t understand what he means and now he’s picking up a phone that looks like it’s from the fifties. “Hi, it’s Austin. Can you send a patient’s guest by the name of Brendan … ” He covers the phone with his hand. “What’s Brendan’s last name?”
“Harkins,” I tell him.
“Brendan Harkins,” he repeats. “You can tell him to come on down to room fifteen.” Austin gives me a thumbs up. “Thank you, Miss Daisy.” He hangs up the phone and walks to the sink to wash his hands. After a quick minute, he returns to the seat next to me, grabbing a pair of gloves on the way.
“I’m not dirty,” I tell him.
“What if I am?” he asks. “We don't want none of them germs being passed around here now, do we?”
“You’re not dirty,” I tell him.
He raises a brow. “Darlin’, don’t go around talking about things you know nothing about.”
His words make me feel hot and I suddenly have the urge to tear the sheets off my body, but I thankfully remember that I’m pretty naked under this nearly see-through gown I have on.
“I’m dirty too,” I tell him.
“Dear God, make it stop,” he says, throwing his head back.
“That’s rude,” I tell him.
“You need to watch what you say, Miss Scarlett. You’re going to get yourself into trouble.”
“Maybe I like trouble.”
Austin leans in toward me. “You don’t know what you’re asking for, sweetheart.”
I grab his scrub shirt and pull him in a little closer. “Yes, I do.” When I realize what I’m doing, I release his shirt, watching him pull back with imposed wrinkles creased into the v-cut of his collar. “Sorry,” I say, now coherent enough to be slightly embarrassed.
“I need to go ahead and get your blood pressure reading. Okay?”
“Okay.”
He wraps the cuff around my arm and secures the Velcro. He then places the earbuds of his stethoscope in place and presses the cold, metal part of the thing under the black cuff. He twists his head to look at the dial as he squeezes the bulb quite fast, over and over. While he’s watching the numbers, I’m watching him, and I don’t know why. It feels like I’ve known him longer than I have.
“Scarlett!” Brendan walks in with his hands cupped over his mouth, a bit overdramatic for the situation. “How are you feeling?”
“Okay so far,” I tell him.
“The anesthesia is still in her system so when it wears off completely, we’ll give her some pain meds and send you two on your way.”
“I’m fine,” I tell him.
“Are you in any pain?” he asks.
“Not really. I feel a little sore.”
“I’m going to give you a few more minutes to relax here before we start the discharge papers.”
I lean back into the bed and try to get more comfortable. I’m not ready to be discharged. I just want to lie here and relax. Brendan comes around to my side, opposite of where Austin is and runs his fingers through my hair. “I’m so glad this is over and done with,” he says.
“Me too,” I tell him.
“The only real maintenance you’re gonna need to keep in mind is remembering to take your antibiotics and not getting the cast wet, and you’ll need to take it easy for a couple of days until the pain subsides. Like I said, we’re going to send you home with some pain meds, but you won’t be able to do much while you’re taking them. You’ll feel a bit sleepy and out of it, but it will help you manage the pain.”
Austin keeps talking and giving me instructions, but all I can think about is the growing burn running from my elbow down to my fingertips. It feels like my bone has been snapped in half and punctured my skin. “I’m in pain,” I say frantically.
“Did she just realize this?” Brendan asks. “What’s going on?”
“The anesthesia sort of turns on and off like a light switch in a lot of people, which means the pain will reappear out of nowhere.”
Austin stands up and walks across the room to a tray placed on the counter next to the sink where he picks up two small cups and brings them over to me. “I’m going to give you a couple doses of Percocet to relieve the pain while you transition home. It will only take a few minutes to start working. I’ll recheck on your pain level after they have had a chance to take effect.”
I take the first cup from his hand and toss the pills into my mouth, then switch the cups for the water to wash them down. “It really hurts,” I tell him.
“Scarlett, you’re worrying me,” Brendan says, pacing back and forth.
“Bud, she’s going to be okay. It’s just pain. It can be managed.”
“I know. I just hate seeing her in pain like this.”
“She’s okay,” Austin assures him, though I’m not so sure of that. I’m not okay. I’m in a lot of pain. Does anyone care how I feel about it?
“Why don’t you close your eyes for a few minutes and let the meds kick in? I’ll go start working on your discharge papers, and we’ll get you on your way. As soon as you’re in your clothes and out of this bed, you’ll start to feel better too.”
I don’t think I can believe him now. I don’t see how getting out of bed and getting dressed is going to take this pain away, but I do as he suggested and close my eyes.
“Are you going to be okay with taking care of her?” I hear Austin ask Brendan.
“Yea—yeah, I’ll be fine. I just gotta pull myself together,” Brendan says.
“Come over here,” Austin tells him.
I peek out of one eye to see what’s going on, and they’re chatting in the corner by the counter. Austin hands Brendan a piece of paper, and then they turn back to me, so I re-close my eye.
I don’t like the conspiring going on between the two of them and I really want to know what they were just talking about, I think to myself as I drift back off.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Austin
A WEEK LATER
“Mornin’, Miss Daisy,” I wave as I rush by the front desk.
“Did Waldo get out again this morning?” she asks.
“Of course.”
“Maybe you should lock your front door?”
“Thank you, Daisy.
”
I change my clothes quickly and head out to the waiting area, but just as I get there, Clara takes in the last patient waiting. “Good morning, Austin,” she says while walking by.
“Mornin’,” I respond.
I head over to the front desk and slump over the counter. “What’s new in Miss Daisy’s world?” I ask, flicking the pom-pom on top of her pen.
“You mean besides enjoying tea and crumpets?” she snickers.
“I haven’t said that to you in ages,” I rebut.
“Whatever happened with Boston girl?” she asks. “I mean after she called you her luvah.” Daisy falls into a fit of giggles, and I can’t help but laugh along with her because it’s becoming one of my most memorable moments at this hospital.
“That was something else.” I slap my hand against the side of my face. “I have no clue how’s she doing, though,” I tell her. “She didn’t call me, and neither did her buddy. I offered help if they needed it, but I guess she’s okay.”
“Well, that’s just as irritating as a rock. I’m sorry,” she says.
“What are you sorry about?”
“I saw your face after she left last week,” Daisy says, with a raised brow.
“What are you talkin’ about?” I huff. I didn’t look like anything of the sort when she left last week. I have the best poker face out of anyone I know.
“Austin Trace, you were as red as a ripe tomato.”
“You’re seeing things, darlin’.”
“You’re just in denial,” she argues.
“Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. I’m not chasin’ after a girl who wants nothing to do with me unless she’s high on anesthesia. That’s ridiculous.” I stand up straight and stretch my arms over my head. “Only fools chase people.”
“Actually, Elvis said, ‘Only fools rush in,’” she corrects me, “and it’s been a week, so you’re not a fool, Austin.”
“Daisy, I ain’t chasin’ her. Why are you being so insistent on me spending time with this woman, anyway?”
“I just have a feeling, I don’t know.”
“You have a lot of feelings,” I remind her.
“Don’t fault me for being in touch with my inner thoughts.” I don’t even know what she’s talking about right now. “Want me to call her for you?”
“Um, hell no,” I tell her.
“Well, she has to come back in three weeks to get her arm checked anyway, so until then, we’ll just wait and see,” she says.
“Who is this ‘we’ thing?”
“You and me … hello? I’m your wing-woman.”
“No, you’re not,” I correct her. “You would make the worst wing-woman in the world.”
“That’s rude, Austin.” She slaps her pen down. “How dare you insult my matchmaking skills?”
I cough, “April.”
“What was that?” she asks.
“You heard me,” I tell her.
“Just because April was a germaphobe, claustrophobic, arachnophobic, and agoraphobic doesn’t mean she wasn’t a sweet woman.”
“April couldn’t be in enclosed spaces or in public. It made things slightly challenging. She washed her mouth off with Purell after we kissed.” It was so insane I still laugh about it sometimes. Daisy’s laughing over the memory but tries to hide it behind her hand. “Don’t even try to pretend like that was a match made in heaven. Plus, we won’t even talk about that setup between Kelli and me—you know, Miss Old-Gold-Ball-Digger.”
“Ew, gross. Yeah, I remember Kelli. Okay, fine, Austin, I won’t help you anymore.”
“I never asked you for help,” I remind her.
Clara joins us at the counter. “Late again, Austin.”
“Actually, I was a minute early, Clara. Are you watching the clock to make sure I’m not late?”
“No,” she says. “I just see you running in and assume you’re late.”
“I don’t like to be late, so I run.”
“I know. I’m just teasin’ you,” she says, rolling her eyes at me. “Here, Daisy. The patient I just checked in has records from another hospital that weren’t digitally sent over. Can you scan these in?”
“Sure thing,” Daisy says, taking the folder from Clara.
“Are you guys going to the ice cream festival tonight?” Clara asks. “I want to go but you two are my only friends, sooo … ” She coughs with a “hint, hint,” in the mix.
“You really need to make some new friends,” I joke.
Clara punches me in the shoulder. “Come onnn. It’ll be fun. You need to get out, anyway.”
“I’ll go,” Daisy agrees. “Come on, Austin. Don’t be a stick in the mud. Have some fun for a change.”
“I don’t know,” I tell them. “I have so many things going on right now.”
“Oh really? Like what? Drinking yourself to sleep?” Clara asks, pointedly.
“Ouch, ease up there, boss,” I tell her.
“Then quit being sassy and say you’ll come with us,” she argues.
“Okay, fine, I’ll go. I suppose it’s been a while since I’ve tried some crazy ice cream concoctions.”
“Plus, you’re with the funnest gals in town,” Daisy adds in.
I chuckle. “Whatever you want to tell yourself, darlin’.”
“Don’t be rude, Austin,” she responds. “It’s a privilege to be out with us ladies.”
“Right. Well, thank you for thinking of me. I’ve never been invited anywhere by the ‘funnest gals’ in town,” I say with a grin.
In the last minute, three patients have walked in. I see a whole lot of blood pouring out of a leg, another person covering their eye, and the third person coughing up a storm. “Someone grab a mask for him. I’ll handle the blood,” I tell Clara.
* * *
“They went a little overboard this year, don’t you think?” I ask the ladies as we walk under the twenty-foot banner filled with the words, “Blytheville Ice Cream Festival.”
“It’s been this way for years, Austin. This festival isn’t just for kids anymore. You’ve been missing out for how many years now?” Daisy asks.
“I don’t know. I guess it’s been a while. I just don’t remember it being anything like this,” I tell them. I’ve avoided this festival for years because the last time I came here, I was with Pop, and each year since then, a few beers and TV has sounded like a better way to spend my night.
Daisy grabs a flyer from a stand as we walk by, and she studies it for a moment before I see excitement lighting up her eyes. “There are over fifty different vendors with unique flavors.”
“Now you’re talking. Where’s the ticket booth?” I ask.
“Right over there,” Clara says, placing her hand on my back and pointing off to the corner. Clara doesn’t typically make physical contact with me, not that it means anything, but she’s been careful about ever getting too close. It’s been obvious to the point where I’ve noticed awkwardness here and there. Giving her a hug last week was not the norm for us, but I knew she needed it. Maybe it’s just because we’re outside of work.
I head over to the ticket booth and purchase three all-inclusive tickets for us. When I turn back around, I find the two of them are studying the map layout. “You ladies are serious about this, huh? You got a game plan goin’ on? Let’s just start at the beginning and work our way around,” I tell them.
“Oh, but look! Bacon and Caramel. Oh my gosh, I need that,” Daisy says, running off to one of the booths in the middle of the aisle we’re in. So much for starting at the beginning.
Since there are so many vendors, the lines aren’t so bad, thankfully. We get our small, shot-sized cup of ice cream to try, and I instantly consider purchasing caramel instead of maple syrup next time I decide to make a plate of bacon. Way better combination.
“This is gross,” I hear from behind us.
“How can anything with bacon and caramel be gross? Don’t you like maple syrup with your breakfast?” I question, turning around, feeling the nee
d to defend the poor bacon.
I knew it. Scarlett and Brendan. “Oh my God,” Scarlett says, turning her back toward me.
“I have that effect on people. Don’t worry,” I tell Brendan.
“Scarlett, quit being rude,” Brendan tells her.
“Oh goodness. How are you feeling Scarlett?” Daisy asks.
“I’m good,” Scarlett says, still keeping her back toward us.
Brendan grabs her good hand and spins her around. “Knock it off,” he tells her.
Even under the dim, orange glowing lights, I can see her face is red. “Everything okay?” I ask.
“No,” Brendan says. “Hey, I have an idea, why don’t you two go talk over there. Then maybe Scarlett can quit feeling like a moron after remembering some of the lovely things she said to you after surgery.” Oh, that’s what this is all about. That’s awesome.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Scarlett says.
“Sure it is,” I tell her. “Let’s go see what that honey and gravy ice cream is all about.” She snarls, but I grab her hand and take her away from the others. Someone is clapping furiously behind me, and for some reason, I don’t think it’s either of the girls, which makes me laugh a little.
Scarlett doesn’t say a word until we’re way out of earshot of the others. “I don’t know what I said to you last week, but I know it was completely out of line and out of my control. I’ve had bits and pieces of memories and none of them are good,” she explains, speaking almost faster than I can keep up with.
“First,” I start with, giving her a smile to comfort her. “How is the wrist?”
“It’s feeling much better now,” she says.
“Were you able to start work last week?”
“A couple of days later than expected, but yes.” She sweeps her hair off her forehead. “Look, can I ask you to forget whatever I said to you after I woke up from surgery?”
“You can ask,” I tell her.
She cocks her head to the side. “Seriously, I’m wicked embarrassed by whatever else I said that I may not be recalling.”
“You don’t have to be embarrassed.” I place my hand on her shoulder and squeeze gently. “Honestly, I went home and looked in the mirror to ask myself if I was pretty. Men don’t get called pretty most of the time, so I was questioning things a bit.”
Man Handler (Man Cave - A Standalone Collection Book 3) Page 10
