I'd Rather Not (KPD Motorcycle Patrol Book 3)

by Lani Lynn Vale

  Ten minutes later, I was sitting up on the side of the bed, mostly tubeless, wondering how the hell I was going to make myself stand up.

  Pace was walking around like this was easy, but every time I tried to stand up, agony would shoot through my abdomen.

  I’d come off the pain pump that morning, and they’d been giving me oral pain meds ever since.

  And let me just tell you something, the IV shit was so much better than the oral stuff.

  I attempted to stand once again, a gasp leaving my throat at the pain that coursed through me.

  About to give up again and plop back down, a hand wrapped around my upper arms and continued pulling me up.

  “The first time is the worst,” he said matter-of-factly. “It gets better.”

  I couldn’t see how.

  Especially since now that I was standing, rather hunched might I add, it sucked even more than sitting.

  I couldn’t imagine having to actually take a step.

  Then he forced me to.

  I moaned.

  Another step.

  And another.

  “Where is your nurse?” he asked curiously.

  “There was a patient two rooms down that fell out of the bed,” I said through clenched teeth. “She went over there to help get him back in and hasn’t been back.”

  He made an ‘ahhh’ sound and kept me moving.

  “Why is this so easy for you?” I wondered. “You’re moving so easily.”

  “Pain has been my constant companion for a very long time now,” he admitted, moving me. “In some form or fashion, I deal with it almost daily. I just compartmentalize it and keep truckin’.”

  I hated that pain was his constant companion.

  Even more, I hated that the idea of him in pain was like a dagger straight to my heart.

  I hated that he was experiencing pain at all for me, to be honest.

  “What’s that look for?” he asked curiously.

  I debated for all of two seconds about whether to tell him the truth, but the pain kept my answers short and sweet.

  “I don’t like that you’re in pain for me,” I admitted, taking another step.

  We were almost to the bathroom.

  “Want to do that shower? Or do a few more laps around the room and lay back down?” he wondered.

  I didn’t know the answer to that.

  On one hand, I wanted more than anything to be clean. On the other, I was fairly sure if I had to endure even five more seconds of this sitting up business, I would surely die.

  “Since you don’t seem like you want to choose, I’ll choose for you,” he teased. “A shower will make you feel a thousand times better, trust me.”

  He led me into the bathroom and turned on the shower for me, using one hand on my upper arm to hold me steady, and the other to twist the shower knobs.

  “They have a chair in here,” he said. “She said you could get your incision wet?”

  I shook my head. “No, I can’t. But she put a piece of tape-like stuff over everything that can’t. I’m free to take a complete shower.”

  He grinned and helped me maneuver my sore body until I was sitting in the chair under the spray.

  I groaned as the hot water hit me.

  He was right.

  This was definitely the better choice.

  He had no idea how disgusting I felt.

  I could feel the hospital gown I was sporting start to soak through, absorbing the water.

  “I should’ve taken my hair out,” I mumbled. “It’s a rat’s nest already.”

  Then I felt nimble fingers adeptly removing my hair tie.

  “You’re really good at this,” I found myself saying.

  He ignored that and handed me the hair tie. “Put that on your wrist so you’ll have it for later.” He paused. “Did you bring shower stuff?”

  I pointed at the small bag in the corner of the bathroom.

  “There,” I said. “My mom went and got it for me. All trial size stuff, but it’ll work in a pinch.”

  He set that stuff on the small ledge in the bathroom, then his eyes met mine.

  “Do you need help with anything?” he asked.

  “Not yet,” I admitted. “I might need help getting out of this…and into other stuff.”

  He pulled a towel off the rack next to the door and set it on the ledge next to the shower.

  “Call me if you need any help at all…and I can go get a nurse,” he said.

  I smiled then.

  “You wouldn’t help me get out of the shower?” I laughed.

  He looked me up and down.

  “I’m a virtual stranger to you,” he said. “I met you literally a few days ago. But yes, I would easily have no problem helping you out of the shower. Anything you need, I’ll help…I just thought you might be a bit uncomfortable with that.”

  He was right.

  I should be.

  But I wasn’t.

  “Let’s see how I can manage myself, first,” I told him.

  With a wink, he left, leaving me to my hot shower.

  I washed, rinsed, soaped up, shaved my armpits, and brushed my teeth.

  By the time I was done, I was a shaky mess.

  I’d contemplated shaving my lower legs, but I had nowhere to prop them up, and my abdominals were not happy with me as it was. I was sure holding my leg up to shave it was a really bad idea.

  Therefore, instead of doing that, I turned the shower off and managed to stand up.

  I got the towel underneath me and was standing near the door, when I realized that I’d done all that I could do on my own.

  I couldn’t bend over to put panties on, let alone sweatpants.

  And I was getting really, really tired.

  “Pace?” I called out.

  Pace arrived in the room moments later, his eyes fastened on my face and not the rest of my body.

  “All done?” he asked.

  I nodded my head.

  “Yes,” I whispered, pain filling my voice. “But I need to get dressed…are you comfortable helping me do that?”

  He didn’t blink as he said, “Yeah, no problem.”

  Except his eyes said something different.

  Before I could call him on that ‘different,’ he walked up to me and helped me from the shower, leading me back into the hospital room.

  “The nurse-assistant-chick came in and changed your sheets while you were in there. She left you a fresh hospital gown…”

  I shook my head. “I don’t want a hospital gown. I want sweats.”

  He grinned and led me to the bed.

  “Figured as much,” he said. “I’ll get you sat down on the bed, and then find you the clothes.”

  That’s exactly what he did, too.

  He easily helped me back onto the bed, and then he went in search of my bag that was surprisingly exactly where you would think it would be—the small bureau in the corner of the room.

  After pulling out a pair of sweats and a t-shirt, he came back in my direction, wincing when he did.

  “You’re overdoing it,” I found myself saying.

  “I’m just sore,” he said. “Moving certain ways really reminds me that I just had surgery.”

  “I can have the nurse help me…” I offered.

  He shook his head. “I’m going to sit in this chair right here and help you once I get your t-shirt on.”

  I didn’t bother to argue. He looked like he was more than capable of taking care of himself, and if he was anything like my father and brothers when they were hurt, he wasn’t going to stop until he was done with his task.

  The t-shirt went on, and I immediately grimaced.

  “Ow,” I mumbled, hating how it was so tight on my belly.

  He seemed to understand almost immediately, and helped me back off with it, all the while I managed to keep the towel firmly wrapped around my chest. Barely.

  “
Hospital gown?” he asked.

  I shook my head. “I’m not wearing that thing ever again. I’ll just leave the towel on.”

  He seemed to think about that for a long minute, and then he leaned forward and tugged the back of his shirt collar, pulling the garment up and over his head.

  The breath stalled in my chest as I got my first really good look at the man shirtless.

  His tattoos didn’t go onto his chest. Not at all.

  They stopped at the line where his shoulder met his arm and didn’t cross even a scant inch in either direction. Then I let my eyes wander to the smooth, ink-free skin of his chest.

  I studied his nipples. His pectoral muscles. His abdominals.

  And finally, the V that led down to his…

  “Arms up, darlin’,” Pace said. “Stop worrying about the scar it’ll leave.”

  Scar? What scar?

  Then my eyes went to his scar. The one that he’d gotten for me, and I felt things inside of me shift into guilt.

  “I’ll be fine,” he promised. “We’ll have matching scars.”

  Once again, I lifted my hands and he worked the shirt into place.

  This shirt was much better, but I wasn’t sure if it was because it was looser, or because it smelled like him.

  Likely both, but I was leaning toward it smelling like him that I wanted to keep it on forever and ever.

  “Sweatpants next, then we’ll take a rest,” Pace said.

  He had a light sheen of sweat on his face, and I knew that he was hurting.

  I shook my head. “No, just the shirt is fine for now.”

  He looked skeptical, but let me do what I wished, helping me stand up one last time to get rid of the towel.

  His eyes went to my upper legs where the t-shirt hit me about mid-thigh.

  “You didn’t look that small,” he admitted.

  I snorted.

  “I’m five-foot-five,” I said. “You’re over six foot and muscular. I’m not surprised.”

  He didn’t disagree with that.

  Instead, he helped me get back in bed, covered me back up with the covers, and then took his place next to me in the uncomfortable chair.

  It was only when he was reclining it back that I realized he’d probably overdone it.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, feeling my belly twinge.

  “Yeah,” he admitted. “But I think I need some medicine.”

  I laughed and pressed the call light. “You and me, both.”

  Chapter 7

  Happy Father’s Day to fathers everywhere. The real mother fuckers.

  -Coffee Cup

  Pace

  It was two days later that I drove myself home from the hospital.

  Kind of.

  Ford had done me a solid and acted like he was giving me a ride. He’d gone downstairs and pulled my truck around for me to get into, and drove it out of the parking lot and into the side entrance just a few feet away from the emergency exit.

  After switching seats, I thanked him, drove to Walgreens to fill my prescription, and then drove myself home.

  By the time I arrived, I was more than happy to do nothing more than pop another pain pill and go to bed.

  In fact, that was my only intention.

  Which I accomplished without a hitch.

  It was only hours later when I woke up from my phone going off that I realized I should’ve probably picked up some food.

  After attending to business in the bathroom, I walked out of my bedroom and headed to the kitchen. After staring at the empty fridge for a whole two minutes, it was only then that I realized I’d never looked at the text message that’d woken me.

  Frowning as I closed the fridge, I pulled my phone out of my sweatpants pocket and opened it up.

  Maybe Viddy: Hi, this is Viddy. I’m bringing you some food. Don’t argue. I’ll be there in five minutes.

  Before I could fire off a text in reply, there was a knock at my door.

  I opened it without looking and smiled at the woman that was on the other side.

  Then I saw the man behind her, as well as all the groceries that were overflowing from the back of the SUV, I could see that was backed into my drive.

  “Move, darlin’,” Viddy said. “We have cold stuff.”

  I moved, surprised to see another man appear from the side yard holding a box of what looked to be Gatorade.

  He nodded his head as he moved past me.

  “Uhh,” I said as I followed them into the kitchen. “What’s going on?”

  “I recruited the men of the club’s help,” she said. “And I also saw your yard needs mowed. I asked Ford to take care of that…” The sound of my lawnmower starting up had me whipping my head around to stare out the window. Ford was, indeed, mowing my lawn. “Viddy…I really appreciate it but…”

  Her eyes sliced to me.

  “You saved my daughter’s life,” she said. “Let me just say that this is the least that we could do, okay?”

  That was when a rather large man entered with a mohawk. He had a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a bottle of Coca-Cola in the other.

  “Kettle!” Viddy said. “He can’t have that!”

  “He can when he’s not popping those pain pills,” Kettle interjected. “And it’s not just for him. He may have visitors that want something alcoholic…like me.”

  I grinned at the newcomer.

  I’d seen him in the hospital. He was Oakley’s uncle and I’d found in the short time that I knew him that I liked him.

  Viddy rolled her eyes. “They’re letting my baby out tomorrow.”

  I smiled.

  “Did you know that she’s two blocks over from you?” she asked. “This’ll be totally convenient. That way I can check on you both!”

  I moved my gaze from her to the man that was standing at her back and held my hand out to him. “I don’t think we’ve met. My name is…”

  “Pace, I know.” He took my hand. “My name is Torren. And if you ever need anything, I’m there. Oakley means a lot to us.”

  I grinned.

  “I’m beginning to understand everyone’s adoration,” I admitted. “I was almost sad to leave her behind in the hospital today.”

  Viddy made a sound in her throat. “She was sad when you left, but happy that you didn’t have to be shackled there anymore. She’s so eager to go home it’s not even funny. Hey, is this your phone?”

  I looked over at the phone. “Yeah.”

  She started typing something on it, and snickered when she read, “Maybe Viddy?”

  I shrugged. “My phone’s smart, what can I say?”

  She shook her head and started to type on the screen. She did this for a full five minutes before she said, “There, done.”

  She held it back out to me, which I took almost gingerly.

  Viddy, realizing my hesitation, laughed.

  “I was programming numbers into it. Just in case,” she said. “Mine, Ford’s, but you already had his. Trance’s. There are a few more in there. Also, I sent a text message to my daughter so she’d have yours.”

  Kettle and Torren shared a knowing look.

  I decided to keep my mouth shut and instead, shoved my phone into the pocket of my sweats where I’d thought I’d left it.

  That was when Banner came in carrying a plate of food.

  Real, home cooked food.

  My stomach rumbled.

  “I made you some dinner, too,” she said as she gestured to the counter. “Sit down and eat. I can hear your belly grumbling from here.”

  I didn’t argue. Instead, I walked to the drawer with the forks and pulled one out, then took a seat at the stool that was next to the counter.

  Then, I ate her delicious food—macaroni and cheese and baked chicken—and watched the men unload all the groceries. Ford finished with my postage-stamp-sized yard, then walked in and put his hands on his hips.

  “You look like you
just moved in,” he said. “But didn’t I hear that you have been here a little while?”

  I shrugged. “Yeah.”

  “You don’t have any personal touches, either,” Viddy said as she put away some canned goods. Then began rearranging my cabinets. “I should get you some throw pillows.”

  My lips twitched. “Nothing pink.”

  Viddy rolled her eyes but winked at me.

  “Don’t worry,” she cooed. “I would never try to emasculate you like that by buying pink anything.”

  I grinned. The only time pink was ever an option was when it was October and I was supporting fighting breast cancer.

  Any other time, pink was nowhere near my life.

  Not that it was a bad color or anything, but because I just wasn’t a fan of pink.

  It reminded me too much of my mother and sister.

  Two very girly-girls that wore pink all the time.

  “I’m surprised you’re not arguing,” Banner said as he took a seat next to me. “You’re a smart man.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I figure that she’s going to do what she wants to do because she feels like she owes me, which she doesn’t. For now, I’ll let her have her way. As long as it’s only small things. When she starts moving into trying to buy me a car territory, I’m going to start denying her.”

  Banner laughed.

  So did the rest of the men in the kitchen.

  Viddy rolled her eyes and took my empty plate.

  “Tomorrow I’m making million-dollar spaghetti casserole or maybe lasagna,” she said. “Do you like pasta dishes?”

  I nodded.

  “Wonderful,” she said as she washed the plate in my sink. “I’ll be sure to give you more, though. I didn’t think you’d eat that much after surgery. Oakley still doesn’t quite have her appetite back.”

  That was when the phone in my pocket started to buzz.

  I pulled it out to see Oakley’s name on the screen.

  Grinning, I swiped my finger across the glass and stared at the message.

  Me: Hi, this is Pace. Just checking in.

  That was definitely something I wouldn’t say. Nor did I use punctuation like that.

  Oakley: Hi, Pace. How are you feeling? Is it everything you thought it would be? Being on the outside sounds phenomenal.

  “All right, Vid,” Kettle said as he started to gather all of the stray plastic bags that my groceries had come in. “That’s all of it. We’re heading back to the hotel.”