Furious

by R. L. Mathewson

  Always fucking awesome to be able to make that announcement before getting out of the car so that little children could point and scream as their parents tried to get them to be quiet even as they openly stared at him. The best part was when a child started crying and having to listen as the little brat’s parents tried to get the kid to shut up by promising him that he would never have to worry about ending up like Chase.

  Because, unlike Chase, they were sweet kids who deserved to live a full life filled with smiles and love and nothing bad could touch them as long as they were good. Every time he heard some well-intentioned parent sprout that bullshit, he simply shook his head, laughed it off and wished them all the luck in the world. If there was one thing that he knew now, it was that it didn’t matter how good you were or how well you treated people, because in the end, none of that shit fucking mattered.

  It didn’t matter how many doors you held open for women, how many times you remembered to say, “Thank you” and “Please,” or how many times you risked your own ass to save a stranger. None of it fucking mattered and it sure as hell didn’t guarantee you the life that you deserved.

  There were no fucking guarantees in life and he was living proof of that. He hadn’t deserved this, hadn’t deserved to have his entire fucking life ruined because some fucking landlord had cut corners, ignored city ordinances, and hadn’t fixed the fucking stairs so that when Chase was trying to carry two children to safety, the fucking boards gave out and sent him to hell, killing both children in the process.

  Hearing everyone tell him that he should be happy just to be alive was complete bullshit. He would rather have died that day so that he wasn’t forced to relive the memory of lying there in pain, trying to pretend that the two children that he’d risked his life for hadn’t died in his arms while he’d waited for his turn.

  Nine fucking hours it had taken them to dig him out, nine fucking hours he’d laid beside those tiny bodies as he’d waited to be put out of his misery. Instead, the rubble had been removed and he’d been forced to watch as the two children who should have had their whole lives ahead of them were carefully placed in body bags.

  God, of all the things that Chase wished that he could forget, that moment was one of them. He should have died with them, but instead, he’d broken his back, his legs, his right arm, most of his ribs, and a good portion of his face and body had been ripped to shreds. Thanks to his family’s money and reputation, they’d had him in surgery in less than an hour, a plastic surgeon cleaning up the mess once he was stabilized and had him in a chemically induced coma in less than a day, because the idea of poor Chase suffering had been too much for his family to stomach.

  They’d kept him like that for three months.

  Three fucking months of his life had been taken away from him!

  He hadn’t been able to attend the services for the children that he would have given anything to save. He hadn’t been there when their small bodies were laid to rest and he hadn’t been there to wrap his arms around their grieving mother and tell her how goddamn sorry he was and how badly he wished that it had been him instead.

  It should have been him.

  At the very least, they should have left him conscious so that he could grieve for those children. He’d deserved to feel every ounce of pain to remind him of how badly he’d fucked up. They’d robbed him of that, robbed him of his ability to feel every ounce of pain that he had coming to him.

  Instead of letting him work through everything that happened to him, they’d kept him knocked out for months until they were ready to face him. He’d woken up in agony in a fucking sterile room filled with cards, balloons, and medical equipment, alone and drugged out of his fucking mind.

  That’s when they’d decided to tell him everything that he’d missed, absolutely fucking everything. He’d learned in a matter of minutes that those children really had died and that it hadn’t been a horrible fucking nightmare, that he would probably never walk again, his fiancée had been fucking his best friend, and everything good that he’d ever done in his life had been for nothing.

  Now he was nothing more than a pathetic reminder of what he used to be. He was fucking nothing but a useless piece of shit who’d failed at his job. That’s what he was and he fucking hated it!

  “Take me home,” Chase said, in absolutely no fucking mood to play around today.

  Definitely not today.

  “No,” Sloane said as she reached for the keys, but he’d managed to grab them and shove them down his front pocket until they got a few things clear.

  “Listen up, because I don’t plan on repeating myself. I don’t need your fucking help, and more importantly, I don’t want it.”

  Chapter 5

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” her lovely new patient demanded, interrupting what promised to be a very lovely, perhaps not as comfortable as she’d prefer, nap.

  “My job,” Sloane said around a yawn as she rolled over onto her side, giving him her back and deciding that perhaps this new position would clue him into the fact that she wasn’t going to cave every time he snapped at her.

  Sadly, she was wrong.

  “Your job isn’t to sleep in the back of my fucking car!” the highlight of her day snarled angrily as he shifted somewhat violently in his seat, further disrupting her nap.

  Why were men so damn inconsiderate? she had to wonder.

  Sighing, Sloane shook her head, rolled over onto her back and stared out the sunroof, taking in the lovely spring day while her patient battled between his need to throttle her and his need to tell her to get her ass up front and drive, but she couldn’t do that.

  They were at war and they both knew it.

  If she gave in first, he would win and that would be the worst thing that she could do for him. He’d give up in every situation and know that all he had to do was to wait her out to get what he wanted and she wasn’t about to let that happen. Not to a guy like this.

  When she’d first started in this field, she’d been young, naïve, and a bit of a pushover. Clients knew how to play her, break her heart and made sure that everything went their way. The patients loved her, but her employers hated her and had immediately rectified the situation by getting rid of her and hiring someone with more experience and a backbone. It took some time, some trial and error, but eventually, she was able to stop feeling bad for her patients and start helping them.

  They didn’t need her pity. They needed her to do her job and for the past few years, that’s exactly what she’d been doing. She didn’t fall for their sob stories anymore or let herself give in when her patients complained that they were too tired, too sore, or just not feeling it today. She wasn’t a pushover and they quickly learned that just like this guy would.

  Her job was to get them out of bed, out of their house, get them into a routine, show them how to adjust to their new life, learn the skills that they were going to need to make it, and most importantly, her job was to make sure that they stopped feeling sorry for themselves, accept that something incredibly fucked up happened to them, and be there to hold their hands as they fought their way back.

  That meant never giving in first, especially on the first battle, and she already knew that there were going to be many battles ahead with her new patient so that made this standoff crucial. She would not give in and sooner or later, he would figure that out for himself, suck it up and do the one thing that he’d refused to do since he’d found himself in this situation.

  He would ask for help.

  This wasn’t about making him beg or making sure that he knew who the boss was. This was about him learning to ask for help when he needed it instead of letting things get worse. This was about making sure that one day he could lead a full life, but that wouldn’t happen until he learned how to adapt.

  That’s where she came in.

  If she gave in now and did what he wanted, he would give up, plain and simple. She would be doing him a disservice and she sure as hell woul
dn’t be doing her job. She knew plenty of home-healthcare workers who would be more than happy sitting on their asses, playing on their phones, and watching television all day just as long as their paychecks cleared, but that wasn’t her.

  She had a job to do and until the stubborn bastard in the front seat let her do it, she had absolutely no plans on doing anything other than laying back, closing her eyes and getting a little rest for the battle ahead.

  Five minutes later, the battle was on.

  “You’re not being paid to sleep,” the cranky bastard snarled.

  “Yet, I am,” she mumbled sleepily.

  “I’m not fucking playing around!” Chase snapped.

  “Neither am I,” Sloane said around a yawn as she closed her eyes and cuddled in closer to the comfortable leather seat, wondering if he could do her a favor and fume silently until it was time to go in for his appointment so that she could catch up on the sleep she’d lost last night because she’d spent the night double-checking his meds, cleaning the rest of the kitchen, and setting schedules for him.

  “Then drive the fucking car!” he snapped, clearly unwilling to cut her some slack.

  “Can’t do that. You have an appointment in twenty minutes,” she mumbled sleepily, ignoring the way that he’d talked to her.

  For now.

  She knew how to pick her battles and although she fully planned on addressing the way that he spoke to her at some point in the near future, now wasn’t the time. If she didn’t earn his trust, she might as well look for a new job and she had no doubt that his sister would be forced to put him in an assisted living home by the end of the week.

  Sloane didn’t know this guy, really didn’t like him, but she’d hate to see anyone his age put in one of those places. She realized they were necessary evils, but for a guy his age it marked the beginning of the end. Coming back after that would be practically impossible. He’d waste away in a place like that and she just couldn’t let that happen without at least trying to help him.

  She’d seen too many people lose every ounce of hope after going into one of those places. She didn’t know his story, but he was young and still had his whole life ahead of him. He didn’t deserve to end up like that.

  So, she would suck it up, deal with his anger issues, the fact that he annoyed her in a hundred different ways and do her job. By the time that she was done with him, he’d have his life back and maybe, just maybe, he’d be happy.

  That was the hope, at least.

  She wanted that for all her patients, but she knew that his sister wanted that for Chase more than anything. She hadn’t told her much and didn’t seem as though she was planning on sharing anytime soon, but from what his sister had explained to her, he had a lot to be angry about and he absolutely refused to talk about it.

  That was one thing that was going to have to change, whether he opened up to his sister or Sloane was able to convince him to go to a support group, he was going to have to talk about what happened if he was going to have any chance of moving on. Until then, she’d just have to play it by ear.

  “I’m not fucking playing around,” Chase bit out, sounding pissed.

  “I didn’t think that you were,” Sloane said, wondering if she should reschedule this appointment.

  “Do your fucking job!”

  “I am,” she mumbled sleepily, surprised when she felt herself begin to drift off considering how much bitching he was doing.

  “You’re fired.”

  “Sadly, I’m really not,” Sloane mumbled as she continued to drift off.

  “Fuck that. You’re out of here.”

  “Uh-huh,” she said around a yawn, knowing it would piss him off and doing it anyway.

  Some might say that she was being a bitch, and she was fine with that, but they needed to have it out so that he knew that she wasn’t going to just give up and let him struggle.

  “Drive the fucking car!”

  “That doesn’t sound like the magic word to me,” she pointed out, because really, would it kill him to say please?

  There was a moment of silence before he bit out angrily. “I know what you’re doing.”

  “Then you know what I’m waiting for,” Sloane said, having absolutely no doubt that he knew exactly what she was waiting for. It was also the reason that she knew that there was no way in hell that he was going to give it to her without a fight.

  “You’re going to be waiting a long fucking time then.”

  “We’ll see,” Sloane said because she knew without a doubt that she would be winning the first battle.

  Chapter 6

  “Fucking bitch,” Chase mouthed as he discreetly texted Melissa, demanding that she fire the psycho bitch and come get him.

  “She’s not going to answer you,” the psychotic bitch that his sister had obviously hired straight out of a mental institution said from where she lounged in the backseat.

  “You don’t know shit,” he said, but something told him that she knew a lot more than he did at the moment.

  “She hired me to do a job and as long as I’m doing it, she’s not going to interfere,” Sloane explained.

  “You’re not doing your fucking job,” Chase bit out, sending his sister another text, telling her that she had better move her fucking ass and come get him now.

  When another minute went by and she didn’t respond, he realized how fucking screwed he was. She’d truly fucked him over.

  There was a heavy sigh from behind him and then a, “Believe it or not, I am doing my job.”

  “By making me sit here until I fucking beg?” Chase snapped in disbelief as he sent his sister another text message, this one threatening to call the cops if she didn’t move her fucking ass and come get him.

  “No,” Sloane said softly, “I’m waiting for you to ask for my help.”

  He laughed harshly at that because he didn’t need her fucking help. Shaking his head, he looked down at his phone just in time to see his sister finally get off her ass and respond back. Grinding his teeth, Chase read her message and then re-read it because there was no fucking way that she could be serious.

  Make it work, Chase. This is your last chance.

  “Fucking bitch,” he snapped, opening his car door and chucking the useless device across the parking lot, not giving a flying fuck where it landed.

  Once he heard the satisfying sound of plastic breaking, he slammed his door shut, closed his eyes and dropped his head back against the seat, telling himself that this wasn’t fucking happening. His life was not about to get fucking worse. It wasn’t humanly possible.

  Man, was he fucking wrong.

  “Drive the fucking car,” Chase demanded, grinding his jaw, determined to win this little battle of theirs.

  “No,” she said, sighing softly, “you need to keep this appointment.”

  “Drive the fucking car!” he shouted, opening his eyes to glare at her through the rearview mirror only to find her lying on the bench seat as though she didn’t have a single fucking care in the world while he sat there pretending that he wasn’t seconds away from pissing his pants or that his back and legs weren’t on fire.

  “Not happening, Chase,” she said softly as he closed his eyes and tried to breathe through the pain, but holy fuck did it hurt.

  God, he was so fucking close to breaking down and begging her to take him home so that he could take his medicine, curl up into a ball and wonder what the fuck he’d done to deserve all of this. God, he couldn’t fucking take this, Chase realized as he broke out in a sweat and his body began to tremble.

  He was going to do it, Chase realized, feeling sick to his fucking stomach. He was going to fucking beg her to take him home and probably beg for his pain medication, praying that she gave it to him before he started screaming when the pain became too much for him to handle and he got to the point where he would beg her to put a fucking bullet in his head and put him out of his

  A startled gasp escaped his lips when he felt the telltale pinch of a n
eedle piercing his bicep. Seconds later, he felt the warmth that would kill the pain spreading through his body and he could take a breath without wanting to scream.

  “It’s okay, Chase. This should kick in pretty quickly,” the psychotic bitch said, sounding almost sorry.

  She wasn’t fucking sorry and they both knew it, but right now, he was too fucking out of it to point that out to her, so he settled for giving into the medicine and letting it pull him into a deep, painless sleep, but once he woke up, they were going to settle a few things, starting with her fucking attitude.

  *-*-*-*

  “You’re fired,” her new favorite patient announced as she carefully helped him into bed.

  “I’ll be sure to remember that later,” Sloane said absently as she pulled off his shoes and yanked the quilt she’d folded at the end of the bed over him and tucked him in.

  “I’m not kidding,” Chase muttered.

  “Yeah, I figured that,” Sloane said, sighing as she helped him raise his head and placed a bottle of water to his lips, giving him the choice to take a sip or stay like that. With a grumble that sounded oddly offensive, he reluctantly took a sip, licked his lips and laid his head back down on his pillow. In seconds, he was fast asleep and she was feeling like the bitch that he kept accusing her of being.

  She shouldn’t have counted on him to tell her when he was in pain.

  Not yet, at least.

  It was a rookie mistake and he was paying for it. And now there was no question in her mind, she was definitely a bitch. Double-checking on him one more time to make sure that he was okay, she placed a clean urinal by his bed, opened her mouth to tell him how sorry she was, but instead shook her head and left him in peace.

  For the next hour, Sloane focused on putting the rest of the groceries that they’d bought this morning away and started dinner. She threw together beef stew in a pot, grabbed her iPad, found her grandmother’s recipe for double-fudge brownies and set to work.