Nature of Desire 8 - Divine solace

by Hill, Joey W.

  Only one person was allowed to go with her, and she chose Marguerite, because she sensed she needed the person with her who was most like Lyda. As they were buzzed in and Marguerite rolled her down the hall, Gen could barely keep herself in her chair. She could empathize with Noah. But she also knew enough about him to know why it was different as well. Tyler had expected her to understand the situation without excess explanation and she did. She accepted that as a privilege, not an obligation.

  His door was open. While there was a protective mesh on the window, it did allow sunlight into the room, making it more cheerful. A TV was on, low volume. She paid no attention to it. She had only one focus.

  Why did everyone look so pale in the hospital? He was a sailor, a man who worked for a nursery out in the Florida sun, and he looked pallid. And hospital gowns always made everyone look so horribly fragile. His hands were bandaged, and his face had a multitude of cuts. Someone had brushed his hair and clipped it out of his face, but right now the usually appealing look just made him look thin and strained.

  Brendan rose from the guest chair as Marguerite rolled her in. “Hey there,” he said with effusive warmth. “Noah, you have a visitor.”

  Noah’s eyes blinked open. From his disorientation, she could tell he’d been drugged. Suddenly she was so angry she could barely speak. Why didn’t they understand? They could have set him up in Gen’s room, if Lyda was too injured. That was all he needed. Of course, as Tyler said, Noah had to have a bed for his injuries, and the rooms were private singles. There was probably some kind of hospital policy that couldn’t be circumvented, even by two formidable forces like Marguerite and Tyler. They’d made sure he wasn’t alone, though, that he’d had Brendan.

  Her freaking out wasn’t going to help Noah in the slightest. Marguerite had wheeled her up to his bedside. When she closed her hand over his, his grip turned, bandaged fingers clamped around hers. They’d been torn up by glass and rocks, isn’t that what they’d said? Holding onto her so tightly must hurt, but he didn’t ease up in the least. A metal clank drew her gaze down to his wrist.

  Though the three-inch-wide cuff appeared to be a comfortable fleece-lined leather, hooked to a manacle on the bed rails, it still twisted something hard in her gut to see him restrained by them. “So I see you figured out a way to get a nurse to slap cuffs on you,” she said in an unsteady voice. “Lyda is going to be pretty pissed about that.”

  Struggling through that drugged fog, he reached out with the other hand, only to find it brought up short by the cuff that held it to the opposite rail. When he yanked against it, confused frustration filling his face, she was pushing herself out of the chair. Fuck the hospital. She unbuckled the cuffs. His thrashing had dislodged the blankets and shown her his ankles were cuffed as well, but right now she ignored those and leaned over him. As Brendan steadied her swaying body, she focused on making sure Noah didn’t try to rise toward her. The gown was pulled to the side enough she could see the bandaged ribs.

  She pressed against him, holding him. “You asshole,” she muttered against his temple. “You knew the damn car was going to fall.”

  His arms slid around her, clumsy, uncoordinated but tight as a vise. When he spoke against her ear, a mere whisper, she choked on a sob.

  “I know you’d do anything for us. I know that.” She pressed her palm against his face, her forehead now against his as she gazed into his brown eyes. “You’re going to have to do something for us now, okay? I hate this. I hate seeing you like this. You’re going to let the nurse move you to a normal room.”

  Her voice strengthened. She channeled that inner Domme Lyda had helped her discover. It felt quite natural, fueled by the strength of her emotions. And even better, she saw it penetrate that haze on Noah’s senses like nothing else would, except a command from Lyda herself.

  “We’re going to try to get you as close to my room as we can. But you have to stay in your bed, listen to all the nurses the way you listen to Lyda. Because that’s how we need you to take care of us right now. I’ve only got a concussion and some scrapes, so I’ll come be with you as much as possible, and we’ll get phones and text one another so you’ll feel like I’m right there with you. Okay? We have to pull it together so we can take care of Lyda. She’s going to need us to take care of her, and you know how much she’s going to hate that. She’s going to be a pain in the ass. We’re going to wish we pushed her off that mountain. Tell me you understand.”

  In response, he pressed his forehead harder against hers. “Sorry.” His tongue was thick, but she shook her head, tears dropping onto his face.

  “There is utterly nothing to be sorry about it. You saved our lives, Noah. But if you’d gone down with that car”—her eyes locked with his—”you would have killed us. We love you, you moron. You’re special to us. One of a kind. Irreplaceable.”

  Did he understand what that meant? How much it meant?

  His lips curved, but there was pain in his gaze, such tiredness. She nuzzled his face, pressed her lips to his, tasting him, savoring him, trying not to press too hard because his bottom lip had a cut on it. He didn’t care, shifting his hand to the back of her head, holding her fast, making the kiss fierce, needy. She refused to think it would have meant the same to him, whether he’d saved them or Elias or any faceless Domme who claimed him. She didn’t want to think about the fact he didn’t know how to choose anyone, which might mean he didn’t know how to love anyone.

  No. That was wrong. He knew how to love. Even if it wasn’t the way that normal people loved, that didn’t matter.

  In such a situation, things like that became a lot less important. Just like Dot had said.

  * * * * *

  Marguerite and Tyler hadn’t known Dorothy’s contact info in Gatlinburg. Once Gen provided that, Chloe called her, glad to tell her Noah was okay in the same sentence she had to tell her he’d been in a car accident. As soon as he took care of getting Noah moved, Tyler went to retrieve her so she could come see her grandson.

  Gen wouldn’t be surprised if he’d contacted the trustees personally, or donated a new wing. Regardless of how he did it, the staff was convinced Noah could now be trusted not to escape his bed. When Dot arrived, he was no longer in the psych wing.

  Marguerite accompanied her into the ICU the first time she saw Lyda. The sight made Gen cry all over again. They’d shaved her beautiful flame-colored hair and she had a terrifying line of staples for one head wound. She had bruising on her arms and more cuts, some of which had been stitched. Her left leg had a compound fracture and her right arm had also been broken. But the nurse was reassuring.

  “She’s a hell of a fighter. The brain swelling is going down way faster than we expected.”

  Gen swallowed. “Is that…” She nodded to a tube that ran into Lyda’s head, with a metal attachment piece that made Gen’s skin crawl just looking at it.

  “Yes.” The nurse put a hand on her shoulder. “That’s an intracranial pressure monitor. That’s how we know how well she’s doing, and it helped drain off excess fluid from the trauma. I know it looks scary, but it’s one of the good guys. It’s helping her.”

  Gen tried to smile, couldn’t. “Her vitals are strong,” the nurse said. “The surgeon said her heart is one of the healthiest he’s ever seen in his life.”

  “She’s a fitness nut,” Gen managed. “She does those insanity workout type of things. Eats horrible, healthy things. She treats sugar and pizza like toxic waste.”

  The nurse squeezed her shoulder again before crossing her arms over her smock and giving the unconscious Lyda a satisfied look. “She’s a miracle, that’s for sure. But then, from what I hear, you all are. Somebody’s going to be knocking on your door to tell your story to one of those true confession magazines.”

  Gen didn’t care about any of that. She lifted a hand, stopped. “Can I…touch her?”

  “Sure you can. Just be real careful of all the things attached to her.” The nurse stepped back, giving them a semblance
of privacy.

  Gen closed her hand over Lyda’s, pale and limp on the bed. The mere contact with the slim fingers choked Gen with tears. God. Oh God. Lyda, look at you.

  What had the doctor said? That concussions could come with emotional outbursts, mood swings? Like being in a terrible car crash couldn’t do that all by itself, right?

  She rose out of her chair, Marguerite moving close for support as Gen leaned over to carefully touch Lyda’s cheek, her cracked lips. It almost broke her down all the way then, being so close to that beloved visage, seeing it so slack and unaware.

  Don’t be such a girl.

  She could hear Lyda saying it, imagine the glint in her silver eyes.

  “Noah’s okay,” Gen said, clearing her throat with determined effort. “I know you want a full report. I can take care of him and me until you can, so you don’t need to worry about that. Tyler or Brendan will be with him when I’m not. Brendan’s barely left his side. I didn’t realize they were such good friends. I don’t know anywhere near all the things that I want to know about both of you.”

  Taking a shaky breath, she touched her Mistress’s jaw, felt the reassuring pulse. “That car hit us where you would take the most damage. No one’s going to tell me that was dumb luck. You’re so damn heroic, just like him. I want you both to work on that. Would it kill either of you to be Joe and Jane Average? Like me. Nothing wrong with the occasional pizza or being afraid of heights. It would be a lot easier on my nerves if the two of you realized that. I can’t lose you. Not now or ever. I know you think it’s the stress talking, but I’m in love with you both. Maybe we’re only at the beginning of what that means, but it doesn’t make it less true.”

  She baptized Lyda with a few more tears, wiping them off her face gently. Then she kissed her cheek, holding the pressure there a long, yearning moment. “I have to go now, because they only let us visit for a little while, but you wake up soon, okay? We both need you. That’s the way this works. Maybe Noah and I can visit together next shift. I know you won’t feel all right until you see him. He really is okay. As beautiful as ever. The nurses are already fighting to give him a sponge bath. He’ll be the cleanest patient in the whole hospital.”

  Marguerite made a meaningful noise. Gen lifted her head. M gestured to the nurse, who was tapping her watch with kind but firm purpose. “Okay.” Gen glanced back down at Lyda. “You rest and get all better. The world can’t run without you.”

  She leaned down once more, pressed her lips to Lyda’s mouth. “I love you,” she whispered. “Just wake up, so you can tell me and Noah if you want to love us back. Either way, we need you to wake up.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Lyda woke up two days later. When Gen and Noah were discharged, they stayed at the Gatlinburg guesthouse. Dot’s friend had cleared its schedule and made it available to them as long as they needed it. As soon as Lyda was moved out of the ICU, one or both of them was always in Lyda’s room, taking shifts to help care for her as she got stronger. Three weeks later, after endless tests, the neurosurgeon confirmed there’d been no permanent brain damage and Lyda was cleared to return home, transferred to the care of a Tampa area physician during her recuperation.

  As Gen had predicted, Lyda was a horrible patient. Irritable and unpredictable as a wounded cat, Lyda was on the hit list of every nurse on the floor by the time she was discharged. Gen suspected they threw a party when Lyda was wheeled out the door, even though she and Noah had done their best to smooth over her prickly moments.

  It was ironic that a woman who made Gen and Noah do things large and small when she was at full strength was so impatient having things done for her when she was helpless to do them for herself. But Gen understood it, and not just because she valued her own independence, or because she’d seen the same qualities in Marguerite. When Lyda told Noah to bring her coffee, or had Gen prepare her dinner, that was a mutual pleasure. Lyda enjoying her powers as a Domme also satisfied Noah’s craving to be submissive, and encouraged Gen’s fascination with exploring how far it all went for her. Having to actually rely on someone for help? An entirely different matter.

  Throughout all of it, Noah was predictably tolerant, enduring any tantrum or the sharpest cut from Lyda’s tongue, for that was his way. But Gen wasn’t built of the same stuff, and the time came when she’d had enough.

  It happened the day Lyda refused to take any pain medication, despite the fact she was in such distress she was trembling, her limbs jerking in a way even their formidable Mistress couldn’t control.

  A red haze crossed Gen’s gaze, and before she could stop herself, she slammed the bottled water down on a table. “I get it. You’re the World’s Most Invincible Bitch. But could you pull your head out of your egocentric ass long enough to realize how much it hurts us to see you in pain?”

  Lyda was on a day bed they’d set up on the outside porch, so she could enjoy the landscaping of her backyard instead of staring at the four walls or enduring hours of daytime television on the couch. Gen stabbed a finger toward the nursery, where she knew Noah was supervising the other employees, tending the stock.

  “The guy that doesn’t sleep because of his own demons has done nothing but bust his ass for you since you woke up. Oh, after saving your life, by the way. And just because you know he’ll take any level of shit from you does not give you the right to shovel it on his head because you can’t spring up like goddamn Lazarus from the dead. What difference is there between Elias kicking him physically and you doing it emotionally, just because both of you know he’ll take it?”

  Lyda’s face whitened at that. Gen didn’t bother to curse when she saw Noah appear at the opening to the porch, choosing that inopportune moment to check in and see if they needed anything. But she was on a roll. She wasn’t stopping now. Emotions erupted like lava from a volcano, accumulated from the first day Lyda had woken up and it had started to look like she was going to be okay. As long as she cared for herself properly, that is.

  “If you can’t have the decency to do that, then think about this.” Gen leaned over, inches between their two angry faces. “You can’t start moving around the way you want until you’re better. These pills will help with that. Listening to the doctors will help. God forbid, listening to us peons will help. You want to stay in this bed even longer, you want to get worse, ignore them and ignore us and keep doing everything your way. Because it’s all about you anyway, right?”

  Noah laid his hands on her shoulders, but she shrugged him off, stabbed another finger at Lyda. “You don’t care how scared we were of losing you. It never occurs to you that we hover too much because we wake up ten times a night, having a nightmare about you slumped over that goddamn steering wheel, not knowing if you were alive or dead. If any of us were going to live through it.”

  Lyda stared at her. She was still pale, but spots of color were high in her cheeks. Clearing his throat, Noah lifted the bottle of water from the side table. His other hand stayed on Gen’s lower back, fingers stroking, sending a simple message. Easy. It’s okay. She was shaking, tears threatening.

  Lyda pressed her lips together, then she shook her head at Noah. As he lowered the water, she lifted her unbroken arm. “Come here, fierce rabbit.”

  Gen wasn’t sure she was in the mood, but then Lyda’s eyes did that thing they hadn’t done since she’d woken up. She got that Mistress look, and a million things speared through Gen, breaking her to pieces and putting her together at the same time.

  “I said come here.”

  Gen closed the distance, stepped into that armspan. Then she was sitting on the edge of the bed, her upper body curled against Lyda’s, because she’d pulled her down so Gen was lying against her breast. Lyda wrapped her arm around her back, rubbed Gen’s hip. “It’s okay,” Lyda soothed.

  Her chin brushed Gen’s temple as she gestured Noah close as well. When he knelt next to the bed, laying his hand on Gen’s leg, Lyda ran her knuckles along his cheek. He gripped her hand, pressed his lips to it.
Lyda’s eyes became suspiciously bright. “My pets,” she murmured. “My friends.” Her gaze shifted to Gen, back to Noah. “My family. I’m sorry. I’m very bad at this.”

  “Understatement,” Gen said. “Selfish bitch.” Her arms tightened around Lyda as she said it. Lyda pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.

  “I warned you about that at the beginning, didn’t I? Now, you said something about it being time to take my pills.”

  Gen pulled it together, though it took a couple deep breaths. Swiping at her wet cheeks, she rose and retrieved the meds. Noah unscrewed the water bottle. Lyda held out her hand for the pills, as imperious as a queen who’d demanded them all along.

  Gen placed them in her palm. Lyda swallowed them, then opened her mouth wide, as if suggesting Gen would want to verify she’d taken them. Eyes narrowing, Gen made a point to bend down as if she was looking. Lyda snapped her jaw shut, gaze sparking. But Gen saw the haze of weariness take her features. Sitting up for a half hour could still wear her out, so an intense fight like that, short as it was, had drained her. Gen felt a twinge of guilt, but given that it had seemed to clear the air somewhat and her point about Noah had been received loud and clear, she couldn’t really regret it.

  When Lyda slid down gingerly, adjusting her body to accommodate all her aches and pains, Gen arranged the blankets around her, putting pillows where she knew it would help her to be propped.

  “I snore when I’m on my back,” Lyda muttered.

  “Like a freight train,” Gen agreed. “It keeps us from having to use a baby monitor. We can hear you in the kitchen.”

  Lyda shut her eyes, ignoring her. Gen glanced at Noah and stopped, catching a serious look on his face hard to decipher, but unsettling in its intensity. Before she could delve into that, he’d turned and left, headed back to the nursery. Lyda’s hand settled on her arm, squeezed.

  “Fierce rabbit,” their Mistress said. A few moments later, she was asleep.

  * * * * *