“What the hell? What do you mean they’re discharging her? No, she should stay at least another day.”
“Then you get your ass down here and help me,” he said, trying to keep Abbey from overhearing him where he stood by the window. “She wants to go home.”
“Shit. I’ll be right there.”
When Tilly showed up thirty minutes later, she couldn’t dissuade the doctor or Abbey.
Tilly pulled John out into the hall to talk. “Probably the goddamned insurance,” she said. “They shuttle people out as fast as they can to save money. That, and they’re full up and trying to clear beds.”
“What do we do?”
“We take her home. I suspect come tomorrow morning she’s going to wish she still had that morphine pump. Unless she asks to be kept in and is complaining of pain, she’s out the door.”
* * * *
John was less than happy about the discharge, but Tilly stayed with them, helping him get Abbey dressed and into the wheelchair a nurse brought for her. Tilly waited with Abbey by the front door while John went to get his car.
They had to pick up prescriptions for her on the way home. Tilly followed them, helping John get Abbey out of the car and into bed.
“I’ll come by at six to check on her,” Tilly said as John walked her out.
“Thanks.”
She gave him another hug at the front door. “Thank you.”
With that, she left.
He closed the door behind her. If he’d managed to get onto Tilly’s good side, he wouldn’t do anything to fuck that up.
After Tilly left following the six o’clock check on her, Abbey wanted to move out to the couch.
“Why?”
“Because I want to see George. Bring him in and let him wander around the living room, please.”
John got her situated and comfortable on the couch, the TV remote on the coffee table where she could easily reach it without stretching, ditto a bottle of water. After bringing George in and putting him on the floor where she could see him, a few pieces of romaine in front of him to keep the tortoise there and busy, John settled onto the floor next to the couch.
“You don’t have to sit down there,” she said, her voice sounding weak and pained and still a little hoarse from the surgery.
“I know I don’t,” he said. “But this way we can talk without having to ask each other to repeat what we just said.” He offered her a smile he hoped hid his thoughts and feelings. He didn’t want her stressed out by his issues, didn’t want her to feel any pressure.
That was the last thing he wanted to do to her. He wanted her to relax, to heal, to let go and let him handle things. It wasn’t a case of her having to be a Dominant, or being dominant in any form. It was a matter of him wanting to serve her, take care of her. If someone else wanted to call that submissive, well, it didn’t matter.
“That’s not going to be very comfortable for you,” she said.
“Comfort is a relative term. Remember, I’ll take my masochism however I can get it.”
He leaned his back against the couch, well aware of her presence inches from him.
As the movie started, she rested one hand on his shoulder. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. I can’t begin to tell you how much I appreciate it. I meant what I said. I love you.”
He turned his head so he could kiss the back of her hand. Then he placed his hand on top of hers, tipping his head to the side to rest his cheek against her arm. “I love you, too.”
Closing his eyes, he listened to the movie, not really caring about it.
He could sit here all night, even if she was asleep and the TV turned off, just to be here, to be helpful. Appreciated.
No stranger to play or pain, he couldn’t remember anything that had ever left him feeling as fulfilled and satisfied as he did at that moment.
He waited until nearly midnight to corral George, making sure to wipe up the floor and wash his hands thoroughly before waking Abbey to move her back to the bedroom. After helping her to the bathroom, he got her situated in bed, on her side so he could spoon against her.
She laced her fingers through his. “Thank you, Sir,” she sleepily said. He wasn’t sure how awake she really was, the pain killers no doubt still hitting her heavy.
He kissed the nape of her neck. “Sweet dreams, My beautiful girl,” he whispered.
Closing his eyes, he knew he, for one, would sleep well that night.
Chapter Fifteen
The next morning, John prepared Abbey’s meds and her breakfast before he took it in to her. He knelt next to her side of the bed, watching her sleep and grateful for the opportunity to be there for her.
“Good morning, sweetheart.”
She mumbled at him.
“Time to wake up.”
She finally opened her eyes. “I don’t feel good.”
“I know, sweetie. I have your meds, and some breakfast. You need to take them or I’ll call Tilly.”
“That’s playing dirty.”
“I know, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”
He helped her sit up, freezing in place while she breathed through the pain before she gave him a nod to keep going. Once she was on her feet, he helped her into the bathroom, staying with her while she took care of things and washed her hands before she headed back to bed.
With her sitting on the edge of the bed, and him standing there, his leg braced against the edge of the bed for her to hold onto if she lost her balance, he got her to take her medicine—antibiotics and painkillers—and swallow them down with some orange juice. She ate a whole container of yogurt for him before he helped her back into bed.
He turned the TV on, but she was already asleep in less than ten minutes. So he grabbed his laptop and work phone and started combing through his work e-mail. Tilly would come over later in the morning to check on her. George could wait for his morning cleaning until then. John didn’t want to leave Abbey alone if he didn’t have to, not her first morning back home.
He had to wake her up at lunchtime for her to take her next round of meds, and to eat something. Tilly had already come and gone without Abbey waking up.
John worried about that, about how much Abbey was sleeping. Tilly assured him that since it was her first full day home, she likely would sleep. Catching up from the hospital, in addition to the pain meds.
But by that evening, it was even harder for him to wake Abbey for dinner and her medication.
“I don’t feel good,” she said after he got her to the bathroom and back to bed.
She didn’t look good, either. Relatively speaking. And her skin felt a little warm, even though the thermostat was turned down and the house felt comfortable to him. “Do you want me to call Tilly?”
“No. When is my doctor appointment Monday?”
“Ten.”
“Okay.”
She would only eat a few bites of her dinner. Then she went straight back to sleep.
By ten o’clock, he reached over and laid the back of his hand against her forehead. She felt like a blast furnace. He gently stroked her shoulder, trying to wake her. “Abbey, do you want something to drink?”
She didn’t stir at first. He tried again. When she woke up and tried to get up by herself, he hurried over to her side of the bed.
“I feel sick,” she said. Her voice sounded slurred, thick.
He had just enough time to grab the garbage can from next to the bed before she threw up. After she’d emptied what little was in her stomach, he got a wet washcloth and cup of water for her, but he didn’t like how hot she felt. “I’m calling Tilly.”
“No, I’m okay,” she weakly said.
“You’re not okay.” He reached across the bed and grabbed his phone.
Tilly arrived ten minutes later, complete with a bag of gear. When she felt Abbey’s forehead with the back of her hand, she shot John a glare. “How long’s she been running a fever?” She dug a digital thermometer out of her bag and pressed it against Abbey
’s ear.
“She’s been warm for a while.”
The thermometer beeped, Tilly’s face going flat when she read it. After taking Abbey’s pulse and blood pressure and listening to her heart, breath, and bowel sounds with a stethoscope, Tilly said, “Abbey, sweetie, I need to look at your back.”
“The doctor said not to take the dressing off.”
“I know, honey. I’m not going to. I just need to look.”
John helped get Abbey into position. When Tilly lifted Abbey’s T-shirt and peeked down the top of the bandage, using a penlight to see underneath it, John didn’t like the expression that crossed her face.
“Okay, that’s real good, sweetie. I need to make a phone call.” She bolted off the bed, her cell phone in hand as she headed for the hall.
John raced after her once he was sure Abbey was comfortable. He reached the living room in time to hear Tilly apparently talking to an ambulance dispatcher and giving them John’s address.
“What the—”
Tilly held up a hand to silence him until she finished the call. “Go get dressed, and get your shit ready. Get her purse and wallet and stuff. The ambulance will be here in about five minutes. You’re riding with her.”
“But—”
“She’s got an infection. There’s something seriously wrong, and we need to get her to the hospital right now. I’ll lock the house up and follow you there with Cris and Landry. Go!”
He went, changing clothes and grabbing stuff, ready just as he heard the ambulance pull up in front of the house. He assumed Tilly would let them in, and she did. He was waiting and ready in the bedroom when the crew brought a gurney in, following Tilly to the master bedroom.
Helpless, John stood back and watched while Tilly and the paramedics got Abbey positioned and transferred to the gurney.
“What’s going on?” Abbey weakly asked.
He felt like he’d failed her. He had one job, one goddamned job, to take care of her, and he’d fucked that up miserably.
“Honey,” Tilly said, “you’ve got an infection. We’re going to get you back to the hospital right now and they’re going to get you some better medicine. Probably IV.”
“But…drive me.”
“We don’t want to put the pressure on your back. Let these hunks load you up and carry your ass.”
“John—”
“Is going with you. He’s right here and he’ll be with you.”
Another paramedic walked in with a clipboard, taking notes as Tilly gave him Abbey’s vitals and the details about what she suspected.
He turned to John. “And you are, sir?”
“Her boyfriend,” Tilly said, meeting John’s gaze. “He’s riding with you to the hospital.”
* * * *
Everything happened in a blur from that point. John was sitting in the ER waiting room, where a nurse had parked him, when Tilly and her guys arrived fifteen minutes later.
“Where is she?” Tilly asked.
“They said they had to take her back for treatment,” he said.
“But they put her in an ER bed, right?”
“They moved her.” It had all happened so fast, he was trying to process it. A doctor on duty had been immediately summoned when a nurse carefully peeled up a corner of Abbey’s surgical dressing and looked at it. “They said they’d come get me.”
They’d rushed Abbey out of the room on a gurney, looks of professional concern on their faces, expressions he knew couldn’t bode well.
That wasn’t good enough for Tilly. She marched up to the desk. “I need to check on a patient. Abbegail Rockland. I’m her sister…”
He tuned it out.
Tilly returned a minute later looking stunned.
“What?” he asked.
“They didn’t take her for treatment. They took her back for emergency surgery.”
* * * *
Five minutes later a surgical nurse came for them, leading them to the surgical waiting area. The short version was it looked like Abbey’s incision had either ripped open, or the infection had caused it to open, they didn’t know. They’d had to get Abbey into surgery immediately, to clean out and close the wound, and get her pumped full of heavy-duty antibiotics to kill whatever was causing the infection.
John sat there feeling worthless, useless. “I failed her,” he said.
Tilly slung an arm around his shoulders. “Hey, stop that. I was there earlier today. I thought she felt a little warm, but I didn’t take her temp. I should have. I’m the nurse, not you. It’s not your fault.”
“I should have called you sooner. All day she said she hasn’t felt well.”
“Yeah, well, she’d just had surgery. Hey, Sir Fussypants here popped a blood vessel and vomited blood and scared the crap out of me and Cris. Shit happens. Even when you do everything right. And you did everything right.”
“I wish you wouldn’t call me that,” Landry said.
“If the shoe fits,” Tilly shot back.
“If I had done everything right,” John said, “she wouldn’t be in surgery again.”
“Cris, help me out,” Tilly said.
“She’s right. As an experienced caregiver, trust me when I say you can’t prepare for everything.”
“If I’m not blaming you,” Tilly said, “then you can’t blame yourself. The incision could have ripped open when she vomited from the infection. Or it could have been the source of the infection. Until the doctor tells us what’s going on, it’s all conjecture and you can stop beating yourself up over it.”
“How’d you feel when Landry got sick?”
“Apples and hand grenades,” she immediately countered. “Besides, we’re talking about you, not me. If you want me to beat you up, I will. Later. For now, stay focused on her. Hell, if the stupid insurance company hadn’t dictated only a one-day stay in the hospital, maybe they would have caught this. If anyone’s to blame, it’s the goddamned bean counters.”
It was another hour before they got an update. Abbey’s blood pressure had plummeted during the procedure, but they got it back up after pumping more fluids into her. They’d be closing her incision shortly and she’d go straight into surgical ICU.
“What kind of infection is it?” Tilly asked. “And what caused it?”
“We’re still waiting on blood work to come back,” the weary-looking nurse said. “As soon as we know, we’ll pass it along.”
“I’m guessing they won’t kick her out the door again tomorrow,” John bitterly said.
Tilly patted him on the back. “Not if we have anything to say about it.”
It was nearly five a.m. before they allowed John and Tilly back into the ICU to see Abbey. She was still sedated and would likely not be conscious until later that morning. They’d isolated the type of infection she had and adjusted her IV meds accordingly.
Now, it was just wait and see.
When John said he’d wait in the waiting room, Tilly, with the help of Landry and Cris, overruled him and steered him out to their car.
“It’s no use for you to stay here right now,” Tilly said. “You need sleep. She’d want you to get some sleep. The staff said they’d call you if there were any changes.”
“I need to call her family.”
“Nope. Not yet,” Tilly said. “You know how she feels about that. The last thing she needs is the aggravation of them swooping in and bugging the crap out of her and squabbling with each other in the process. I’m sure she’ll be conscious later today and she’ll tell us what she wants us to do.”
* * * *
Abbey felt like she was caught in a nightmare she couldn’t escape. That she was being tortured. Beeps, noises, people moving her, and searing pain from her back, worse than anything before.
John.
She wanted to cry out for him, reach out to him, but the world went dark.
When she finally forced her eyes open again, she wasn’t home, in their bed. The walls couldn’t be anything but a hospital room.
&
nbsp; It took too much energy to keep her eyes open, so she closed them and tried to speak. Even her throat hurt, worse than it had before.
“Sir.” She said it blindly, praying he was there, somewhere. That she wasn’t alone.
A hand laced fingers with her, warm, comforting, gently squeezing. “I’m right here,” he said.
Tears slipped down her cheeks as he stroked her forehead.
“What happened?” Speaking was agony, shards of glass grinding along her windpipe.
“You’re in the surgical ICU. You got an infection. Your incision opened up. They had to close it and pump you full of antibiotics.” She felt him brush the tears from her cheeks before his hand rested on top of her head again, gently stroking her hair.
She squeezed the hand holding his. “Please take me home, Sir.”
“Sweetheart, I can’t. You have to stay here until your body fights off the infection.”
She heard a strange woman’s voice, speaking to John. Felt someone touch her left arm, taking her pulse. A blood pressure cuff squeezed her upper left arm, then the other presence faded.
Abbey tried again to open her eyes and found herself staring into John’s face. His expression looked haggard, drawn.
Scared.
Her eyes fell closed again. She also noted it looked like he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days, which couldn’t be right. “What day is it?”
“It’s Sunday morning, sweetheart. Do you remember the ambulance ride Friday night?”
She remembered…something. But it was all a pain-filled blur. “Tilly?”
“She’ll be back in a little while. They don’t want a lot of people in here at the same time. Your last blood work showed you’re improving. They might move you to a regular room tonight. Then I can stay with you.”
She heard someone else enter the room again. “Ms. Rockland? I’m Dr. Kaulfell. Can you tell me what your pain level is?”
“Bad.”
“Okay. Now that you’re awake, we’re going to get you a pump for your pain. You can hit the button when you need it. For now, I’ll have the nurses give you another dose to make you comfortable.”
A Lovely Shade of Ouch [Suncoast Society] (Siren Publishing Sensations) Page 13
