by Kristy Marie
“Take small bites. Don’t overload your stomach with too much food at one time.” He nods in understanding.
I grab the trash can as Cade takes a hesitant sip.
I know he must be starved and feel fairly certain he’s about to inhale this food and barf.
Trash can in hand, I approach his bedside and confirm he did inhale the soup. I make a face at him. He shrugs his shoulders as if to say, I can’t help it.
I release a sigh. “Let me know if it’s going to come up.”
He nods and almost instantly his face takes on a green hue. His eyes widen and I know from experience he’s about to puke. Shoving the trash can at him, he heaves and all the soup comes up in one disgusting splat.
“I’ll be back.” I move toward the door as the gorgeous man frowns at me, guilt replacing the green. In my office, I rifle through the labeled drawers, grabbing the essentials to start an IV, starting the warmer for the intravenous fluids. Cade is pretty dehydrated, that much is obvious, but warm fluids will help bring up his core temperature. It serves a dual purpose. I grab the fluids from the warmer last, trying to keep them heated as long as possible.
Back in the guest room, Cade is sitting on the side of the bed shivering. You have got to be kidding me. “Get back in the bed,” I order.
Cade raises his head to look at me. “I need to go. I am so sorry for the trouble I’ve caused you. Thank you for everything.” He starts to rise on his unsteady legs and I die a little inside. He pinches his shirt between his fingers. “I’ll get these back to you.”
When I think he is done with his speech, I pick my heart up off the floor. “Are you done, Gorgeous?”
He blinks at me, confused, but I don’t let him speak. “Good. Now that you got that out of your system, get back to bed.” I nod, indicating the bed, rumpled from his ungainly exit.
Being the stubborn-ass that he is, he doesn’t move.
My eyes roll as I set down my supplies. Without looking back, I repeat, “Get. In. The. Fucking. Bed. Cade.” After a beat, I hear the sheets rustle. Finally. Hard ass.
I’ve situated the supplies when I turn back to him. Cade is resting on the pillows, his lower half covered by the blankets. I plop down beside him and focus all my attention on those beautiful mint eyes.
“You really don’t have to do this.”
“Of course, I do. I’m a doctor. It’s a law or something. You’ll cause me to go to jail if you don’t let me help you.” I quirk my lips, daring him to argue. I don’t think that’s exactly how the law goes. I think it’s: do no harm. The rendering aid thing is probably just giving a fuck and being a decent human.
“Thank you.”
I nod, hoping he will just lay off all this. Readying the IV, I hold up the needle for him to see. “Are you scared of needles?”
His face pulls taught for a moment and his lips turn down in a frown. “No, I wouldn’t say I’m scared, but I don’t care for them.”
I wave off his comment. “No one cares for them.” I pull the IV pole closer to the bed. Cade tracks the movement with his eyes. Before he starts to panic, I pat his arm to reassure him. “I’m going to start an IV in your arm. Do you know what that is?”
He nods his head but still looks wary.
“You’re pretty dehydrated from the look of things.” I rake my eyes over his body and he shifts uncomfortably with my assessment. “These are warm fluids,” I explain. “They will help accelerate warming your core body temp.” He swallows, looking nervous, so I rub his arm in a soothing motion. “Will you trust me, Cade? I know you probably don’t trust many people, but I am asking you to trust me. Let me help you.”
He swallows hard but gives me a quiet “okay.”
Before he changes his mind, I stretch his arm out flat and tie off the tourniquet to feel for a vein. It proves difficult since he’s dehydrated, but being the pro that I am, I find a decent one. I work, cleaning the skin thoroughly with an alcohol wipe before I caution him, “You’re going to feel a pinch, okay? Breathe normally and look away.”
He nods and follows my directions.
“Pinch,” I warn before sliding the needle into the vein. He flinches as the needle pierces the skin but doesn’t shout obscenities, as is Theo’s customary response when I have to stick him.
“All done,” I soothe as I tape everything down.
He looks at my handiwork and mumbles a tired thank you, his eyes red and droopy, his face scrunched in fatigue. He’s about to pass out. Setting the drip rate for the fluids, I instruct him to lay all the way down. He does so without arguing this time.
I pull the blankets up to his chin and tuck them under his hip tight. “Get some rest. I’m across the hall if you need anything.”
He clears his throat. “Thank you.”
I nod and stand to leave. I pull the door closed, leaving it cracked so I can hear him.
I get to work cleaning up the mess in the bathroom, trying to be quiet and not disturb Cade. After wiping down the sink and tub, I gather all the towels to take them to the laundry room and set the washer before ambling into the kitchen to scrounge food for myself. I stand at the fridge for a solid five minutes before giving up and grabbing a pack of crackers. I’m actually tired too. Saving a life is exhausting.
My shabby chic, vintage sofa beckons me toward the living room. I grab the remote and a throw blanket before I flop down and make myself comfy. When I finally find a comfortable position, my phone rings out the Sunday Night Football Jingle. Something Theo doesn’t find funny. Fuck! Somebody better be on fire!
I toss the cover off, cursing obscenities to whoever is on the line. A quick glance at the caller ID says it’s none other than Theo.
Swiping right, I answer with a, “What?”
“What? What the fuck crawled up your ass this afternoon?” His tone is a little sour. Okay. So maybe that wasn’t my best greeting.
“Ugh. Nothing.” I try to add a little sweetness to my voice. “I’m tired and just sat down when you called.” I’ve missed him and I do want to talk to him but now isn’t the best time.
“Oh,” he says quietly. “Why are you tired?”
Is that nervousness I detect out of Von Bremen? Surely not. Oh. He thinks I have been up all night. Ha! Joke’s on you, Von Bremen. Theo would shit a brick and be here faster than he could undo a bra clasp if he knew I’d just been nursing my newly acquired bum back to the land of the living.
“Oh, you know, just double shifts at the hospital. Making that money!” I laugh at myself.
Theo’s quiet for so long I start to think he has hung up. A quick glance at the phone tells me he hasn’t. “Theo? Are you still there?”
“What are you up to, Ans?” His voice is accusatory and I don’t know if I appreciate his disbelief of my lie. It’s not even a lie, really. I have been working. Today, I just have been working on Cade.
I scoff at him. “What do you mean? I’ve been working, asshole.”
He “uh huhs” me, which really sets my nerves ablaze. I take a breath, ready to give him an earful when he cuts me off, his voice excited. “Did you see the game last night?”
Of course I saw it. I never miss a game but I like to make him think he’s not that important. It helps with keeping his ego contained in this hemisphere.
“Uh, yeah, I think I did. Why? Did you do something awesome?” He’s silent, obviously pouting. I try to maintain my seriousness but can’t. Theo pouting is really cute. In person, it practically makes my panties sing a little song. I giggle, “Oh! That’s right, you struck out that dicksucker, Maddox!” and squeal, earning a laugh out of him.
“All for you, baby,” he laughs.
I hate Stephan Maddox. He made some sleazy comment to me at one of the league functions last year and I had to restrain Theo from attacking him. To placate Theo, I asked him to strike his ass out next time he came to the plate. And my boy always delivers.
“Damn right. I never doubted you.”
For the next half hour, Theo fill
s me in on the all the gossip I have been missing in the locker room. He tells me about the rookies who have come on board and all the usual pranks they are receiving. Several of them I know were Theo’s idea. Putting hair remover in the shampoo bottles… That shit was all Theo.
I fill him in on all things hospital and the small town of Madison, which is basically a bunch of nothing. After that, I proceed to drill him on his shoulder. He tore his tendon late last season, and we have been working really hard to get him strong and ready for this new season. He assures me he is behaving and following my strict instructions. He’ll be back next week and I will feel better when I look him over with my own eyes, in more ways than one. We end the call with him promising to call me after the game tonight to talk strategy about the Red Sox.
I must have dozed off at some point because when I wake it’s dark outside. Standing slowly, I stretch the tight muscles in my back and neck. A whimpering noise is coming from somewhere close by. I open the front door and look out but can’t see much. The porch light only illuminates a few feet from the porch. Locking the door behind me, I move deeper into the house, searching for the source.
Cade! I can’t believe I forgot he was here.
I rush to his door and swing it open to find him on the floor, hands pulling at his mocha-colored hair. He’s shaking and covered in sweat.
I ease down to my knees and very softly call his name.
His head snaps up, and he looks as though he is in an extraordinary amount of pain. “Go away!” he shouts. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Hurt me? Well, that’s not what I was expecting. I quickly take in his state and notice his IV has become dislodged, and he’s bleeding from the site. I need to get that stopped before he stains my carpet. I want to reach out to him, but he looks like a cornered animal who might bite me. His jaw is tight, and he’s starting to rock.
Oh shit. He’s a crazy. Damn it, Ans! See, Theo is right, no good deed goes unpunished. You are about to die in your damn guest room.
I’m trying to figure a way out of this when I notice a tattoo on his upper arm. Semper Fi. A military tattoo, I think. Marines maybe? Ah, ha! It all makes sense now. He’s a veteran. No wonder I felt a connection, a driving need to help him. I know firsthand about military men and women coming back home after wars and not knowing how to function in society. Most of them do end up homeless, some of them dead.
I feel that pain resonate deep in my soul again, as I take in this beautiful, broken man who once was probably a heartbreaker. Instead of a welcome wagon and thank you for protecting our country, he was probably kicked to the curb. I bet it’s PTSD. Thinking about it brings back memories. Memories that are too hard to deal with right now. This whole situation is pissing me off. I need to get my head together and help this man who fought for my freedom.
Inhaling a deep, ragged breath, I crawl toward Cade. He notices and immediately scoots away from me. Well, this may be harder than I thought.
“Cade,” I soothe. “You are not going to hurt me and I am not going to hurt you.” I move another inch closer.
“You’re bleeding. Will you let me look at it? I want to be sure you’re okay.” Another inch.
Cade still looks feral, but he doesn’t move away from me. “Do you know where you are?”
He looks around the room and nods.
“Can you tell me?” I want him to talk. I need to know where his head is.
His hands release his hair and he clears his throat. “Your house.”
“That’s right,” I praise, moving the last foot toward him. I take his face in my hands and caress his cheeks, allowing my thumbs to rub comforting circles over his stubbled face. I can’t be sure how much time passes but eventually I feel his body relax beneath my hands.
I give him a sad smile and release my hands from his face. “Can I take a look at your arm?”
He looks weak but a little saner. His shaking has lessened and he has regained some color. Frost-green eyes take in the blood pooling through the hair on his arm. I place my hand over it, hoping blood isn’t a trigger for him.
Grimacing, he nods at me, indicating that I can examine his arm. I grab some gauze and alcohol wipes that I left on the bedside table earlier, wipe his arm and apply pressure. He managed to pull out the whole damn thing. I probably could let it go, but it will do his body some good to get one more bag of fluids in, especially since he isn’t drinking.
I instruct Cade to hold the pressure while I go grab more supplies. When I return, he’s doing as he was told, but his gaze tells me he’s far away from here. “Cade?” I ask cautiously. “You still with me, Gorgeous?”
He inhales deeply and looks at me with a small smile. “Yeah, I’m with you.”
For some reason, him saying those words makes my stomach feel like tiny ants are throwing a party, dancing and tickling deep within me. I shrug off the feeling and drop back down to his side. The wound has stopped bleeding, but I place a bandage over it in case it decides to start back up and open another needle.
Cade immediately notices and groans. “I really think I’m okay, Anniston.” Well, I’ll be damned, he used my name.
I don’t acknowledge this and continue until the tourniquet is tied off. He groans and runs a hand through his hair but doesn’t pull back or try to deter me. See, he has learned it’s pointless to argue with me. He ought to give Theo some pointers—that ass will argue with a mailbox.
Palpating a new vein, I warn him before I slide the needle in, which is much easier this time. The fluids are helping. I reconnect the lines, tape down the site, and help him up onto the bed.
He mutters, “Thanks,” before clearing his throat. “I need to use the bathroom.”
I laugh at the way he says it—like he’s scared to ask. “You’re not a prisoner. You can go if you need to. Do you need any help?”
He shakes his head quickly. “I can manage.” I nod and pull the IV pole closer to him. “Hang on to this. It rolls, so don’t lean on it.” He nods and stands, slowly getting his footing. I watch carefully as he maneuvers out the door.
Exhaling a ragged breath, I roll the unmistakable tension out of my shoulders. Damn, that was intense. Thinking ahead, I draw up a sedative in case he has another episode. You can never be too careful with PTSD. I’m no psychiatrist, but I know when someone needs to be sedated. Cade was able to come back this time. He may not the next.
After he returns, looking pale and a bit shaky again, I take his arm and help him into the bed. He mumbles a reluctant sound in appreciation. I know from that small gesture that he isn’t keen on appearing weak in front of me. Like I could ever think such a thing.
When he’s settled under the blankets, I tell him to open up and the thermometer reveals that his temp is steadily climbing. But it’s still not where I would like it to be. “Do you need anything?” I ask him while I clean up the trash.
“No, thank you. You’ve done enough.”
Here we go again. As if I didn’t hear him, I ask, “How about something to eat? You hungry?”
He just stares at me for a long moment, then ever so slightly bobs his head up and down.
“You think you can pace yourself this time?”
He chuckles. “Yes, ma’am.”
In the kitchen, I pace circles like fucking Theo. The little shit has worn off on me. What am I doing? I give my ponytail a few tugs, annoyed and confused about what the right answer is. It’s times like this that I wish I had someone to talk to so I could run this past them and ask for advice. But I have no one. Only Theo. And I don’t have to call him for advice. I know what his answer would be. It makes me cringe just thinking about it.
Fuck it. I’m a grown-ass woman. I can do whatever I feel like. And I feel like helping this man. If I die, I die. I’ve lived a good life.
Feeling satisfied in my decision, I load my shirt with a shit-ton of junk food and throw it down on the man’s bed. Cade looks at me like a deer in the headlights.
I shrug. “What? I’m h
ungry too. Thought we could pig out and watch the game. Well, I’m going to pig out. You are going to eat slowly.”
He smiles and lifts up to rest against the headboard.
“Stay under the blankets,” I scold.
“I am.”
He really isn’t. All his organs that need to be warmed are above the blankets. But I’ll let him stay like that for a little while. He’s over the critical stage.
I cut on the TV and turn it to the channel that is broadcasting Theo’s game. He isn’t pitching tonight, but he’s there somewhere watching the opposing team like a hawk. I open a bag of chips and pass it over to Cade. “Here you go. Nice and slow, remember?”
He nods but sticks a handful in his mouth anyway. Fucking men and their food. I roll my eyes at his behavior and with a mouthful of food, he tries to apologize. I cut him off. “Don’t worry about it. I know it’s good. If you weren’t here, I probably would just tilt the bag in my mouth. Just chew and swallow. Wouldn’t even have to worry about my hands getting dirty.”
He laughs and starts to choke.
“Careful, Gorgeous,” I warn, grabbing him a bottled water.
He swallows hard as I pass him the water, which he chugs.
We sit in silence, enjoying the monotone of the announcers. Between the two of us, we (mainly me) massacre several bags of chips and two Lunchables. Not the best dinner, but hey, it’s my day off. The game ends, declaring the Red Sox the victor. Prayers out to Theo’s team. He will be one grumpy boy tonight.
With a big yawn, I stand and start to gather the remains of our feeding frenzy. “You need anything else before I head to bed?”
“Can I keep watching TV?” he asks hesitantly.
“Sure, but I want you to get some rest, too. Your body needs to recover from you almost freezing to death.” I tsk him a little, remembering his terrible decision to sleep in a ditch.
He nods, looking a little frightened. Ah. Night terrors. Been there done that. Dr. McCallister can fix that. I finish cleaning up and hand him the remote. Reaching for the sedative I stashed away earlier, I sit beside him.
