by Allie York
“Hey.”
“Ozzy?” Rick’s voice made my stomach lurch. Nothing good could be happening if Rick was calling from Harris’ phone. I must have answered, but have no idea what I said. I stood, pulling my shoes on, and catching Gloria’s eyes. “Something happened. It was all so fast. You need to get down here.” The sirens in the background had me snatching up Ziggy and taking him to the backyard.
“What happened, Rick?” I screeched into the phone, taking Gloria’s hand when she pulled me from the house. His mother had a lot more sense in that moment than I did. My head swam with confusion and I tried to listen to what Rick said.
“The dog I called about. It went crazy, attacked us. Harris got the worst of it. He didn’t want to get in the ambulance without you,” I couldn’t tell if his words were fragmented, or if my brain just couldn’t process, “Jax and I had to man handle him into the back. The paramedic had to sedate him. They’re taking us to Mercy.” Gloria backed out of the drive, telling me she heard him.
“Us? Who all is hurt?” I have no idea when the crying started, but my throat was closing with tears.
“My hand and wrist got tagged. Harris pulled it off and it went after him. It’s bad, Ozzy. Jax came in with the catch pole and a hose from the back. The dog got his leg. We locked Layla out, so she’s fine. I need to go,” Rick screamed over the sirens and then it was quiet. My hand stayed over my mouth and my phone hit my lap. No matter how fast Gloria drove, it wasn’t fast enough. Rose cried behind me in the back seat and Gloria’s knuckles held tight to the wheel. My chest tightened, making breathing impossible. Gloria pulled up to the emergency room and I jumped out of the car, running in the doors and slamming into Layla. We both stumbled back and just stared. Blood spotted and smeared her light blue scrubs. I looked her over a few times, each time seeing more blood stains until it all ran together.
“What the hell happened?” I sobbed, trying to take a breath.
Layla started pacing, talking with her hands, “The dog got shot. Not serious, just bb’s or buckshot and the owner brought it in. It was fine until the sedatives just quit. One second the dog was asleep on the table, the next it wasn’t. It was like Cujo, Ozma. Something like a movie. It got Rick and Harris pushed me out of the room. He jumped on the dog. His face and arm and neck got bit. The dog was hurting and scared, and the owner said it was a dangerous dog to begin with. It weighed more than me, and Harris just grabbed it. Jax ended up in there and it got him too. There was blood everywhere. Harris wouldn’t get in the ambulance, he wanted to wait for you. We couldn’t let him wait, Oz. But they sedated him and Jax had to almost lay on him. All the blood.” I watched Layla pace and a weird numbness took over. She couldn’t have been talking about my Harris. My Harris was untouchable. My Harris didn’t get attacked or need an ambulance. The room started spinning and I blinked to clear it. I could hear Gloria. She told me to breathe, everything would be okay, but my vision shrunk into a tiny spot of fluorescent lighting and someone grabbed me before I fell to the floor. Other voices talked to me but things only floated around me, not sticking, and then it was dark.
“He is going to murder me if you don’t wake up right this second!” I blinked and the lights had me closing my eyes again. Then I remembered and shot up in a paper covered bed. Two hands shoved me back down and I started to fight until I saw Porter’s face, “I said wake up, not try to fall out of bed. Jesus, Greenlee.” Porter grumbled.
“God, Ozma!” Blair came at me, tears all over her face, “Only you would pass out at a hospital!”
“Harris?” I looked between them and the wait for an answer became painful.
“He’s all stitched up, but you can’t go yet. The doctor has to release you,” Blair squeezed my hand, and Porter left the room, “He’s pretty torn up, but gonna be okay. Dog missed all the important parts. They had to sedate him again when he found out you fainted. Man, if Porter hadn’t caught you, that would have been worse. Harris would have flipped if you actually got hurt.” I shook my head and sat up, pulling the oxygen monitor from my finger. The alarm sounded immediately, making a nurse and Porter rush back in the room.
“Miss Greenlee, you need to sit down,” The nurse came at me, but I waved my hands. She sighed, pointing to the hall through the curtain and I saw the wheelchair. If it got me to Harris faster, I would have sat on a donkey, “Are you dizzy?” The nurse asked me a million questions, pushing me down the hall, and I gave her whatever answer I thought she wanted to hear. Yes, I was dizzy, but it didn’t matter. I just wanted to see Harris. I need to touch him and hold him. Hallways, an elevator, and more hallways later and I was met with Gloria’s blood-shot eyes. I left the shouting nurse and wheelchair behind to get to her to wrap my arms around her.
“He’s gonna be fine, but looks pretty beat up. He probably saved Rick, Layla, and Jax’s lives,” Gloria sobbed into my shoulder. Of course, he did. Harris would settle for nothing less, “You need to go in there so they don’t sedate him again. He keeps asking for you.” Gloria hesitantly let me go, and I pushed the door open while she took care of the pissed-off nurse.
Machines beeped and hissed behind a curtain. I slid silently past it, not looking at the man in the bed just yet. I wanted to sit first. I skipped the chair next to the bed, Harris stirred when the bed dipped, but didn’t say anything. I finally looked and choked on my own sob. Staples lined his arm from wrist to elbow, disappearing under a gauze wrap that covered his freckled bicep. His arm had been shredded, so the staples only held together the deepest wounds. Cuts and gashes lined his collarbone and neck up to a shaved place on his normally bearded chin. Three distinct open gouges lined his perfect cheek and chin. A few punctures pierced the skin under his chin. His hand touching my arm made me snap to his eyes. A tear strayed down his cheek and I gently caught it.
“Are you okay?” His voice sounded strained, and his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed nervously. I nodded and took his hand. The IV led to three different bags hanging by his bed, “Rose said you passed out in the waiting room.”
“I’m fine.” He wiped the tears under my eye and his hand dropped heavily back down on the bed, “They give you the good meds?” Harris’ eyes closed and he nodded.
“Don’t leave.”
“Never.” The meds pulled him under again. I caught another tear when it escaped his lashes and let my crying take over. The gashes on his chin and face were deep, showing the flesh and muscle underneath, and if they weren’t dog bites, would need stitches. Some punctures came dangerously close to the arteries in his neck. I moved the gown around his neck and saw all the bite marks along his pec and chest. When I shifted, his hand came to find mine again, “I’m still here.” I whispered into his fingers before kissing them.
The door to the room opened a while later and Rick peeked behind the curtain at us. I motioned for him to come in, and he took the seat next to the bed. His hand and forearm were wrapped in the same gauze on Harris’ arm, “They just released Jax too, lots of antibiotics, and changing wound dressings. Jax’s calf looks like a horror film.” Rick’s brow scrunched when he looked over Harris, “You feeling alright? I heard you didn’t take the news well.” I nodded, but didn’t take my eyes off Harris, “Good. Scared the shit outta me when Porter said he caught you from hitting the floor.”
“Don’t make moves on my girl, just because you think I’m asleep,” Harris mumbled. I didn’t open my eyes.
“Never, man. You saved my ass. I would never.” Rick laughed, and pushed out of the chair, “I have to go deal with animal control. We got it covered Oswin, you just get better.” Rick patted my shoulder softly and vanished behind the curtain.
“Scared me too,” He would never admit it, but talking hurt. Harris only moved the left side of his face, and winced with each word. Another tear ran into the pillow and I traced its path with my thumb.
“I think I win the scared award for the day,” I took his hand when he grabbed for mine again, “Don’t talk if it hurts, okay.” He nod
ded again and asked me not to leave. They would have to drag me out kicking and screaming to get me off that bed.
“Talk to me, so I know you’re still here,” Harris mumbled through the morphine and I did just what he asked. I talked. Harris would hum occasionally, but stayed quiet, drifting in and out of sleep, and rubbing his thumb over my fingers. If I stopped talking, I got a hand squeeze within a few seconds, and started again. I talked about anything except what happened, and forced myself to not cry.
I jumped and went silent when Gloria and a nurse came in to check on him, “How’s the pain, Mr. Oswin?” The nurse busied himself checking Harris’ vitals, and I tried to get off the bed, but Harris grabbed for me.
“It sucks,” Harris peeled his eyes open and I watched his pupils adjust to the light, “I hate feeling so groggy.”
“We can ask the doctor about lowering the morphine if you want, but we don’t want you hurting,” Harris nodded stiffly and swallowed, “Visiting hours are ending in an hour. Only one person can stay the night. If you need anything Mr. Oswin don’t hesitate to call.” The nurse left us alone and the silence got a little awkward.
“Rose said Blair picked Ziggy up. Are you hungry, Ozma?” Gloria touched my shoulder, looking teary-eyed at her son. I shook my head and kissed Harris’ hand. “You should eat.”
“I think I’ll stretch and go to the bathroom. Do you need anything?” I looked between them and they both shook their heads, “Okay, I’ll be back to tell you bye in a few minutes.”
“You aren’t leaving, Kitten,” Harris blinked at me, trying to focus.
“I said I’d be back. I just need to pee,” I leaned over to gently kiss his cheek, “I promise.”
I slid from his grasp and watched him fight the morphine, shaking his head, “I mean when you come back. Don’t go home.”
“Your mom should stay, I-”
“Please,” Harris cut me off and closed his eyes, finally giving in. Gloria took my place at the edge of the bed and took his hand. I couldn’t kick her out and stay, Harris would have to understand.
“I’ll be back,” I whispered, leaving the curtain, and walking out into the hallway. I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes, letting my head fall back, and taking a few deep breaths. I wasn’t about to tell Gloria she couldn’t stay with her son while he healed from being attacked by a dog. I found a coffee machine and a bathroom. I called to check on Ziggy. Blair assured me that it was all good, she and Ziggy were fine on the couch. She swore the Boutique was covered as long as I needed. Then I called Rose to give her an update. She promised to help out at work so I could spend time with Harris, and told me she loved me through what sounded suspiciously like tears. Watching Harris drift in and out of sleep with all the wounds on his face hurt me to my core, but I would stay as long as he needed. I would do anything he asked.
Chapter Nineteen
Harris
Between the medicines fogging my head, Mom arguing with me, and the pain lighting up the right side of my body, I couldn’t concentrate on much. The steady beeping of my heart monitor irritated the hell out of me, and Ozma still hadn’t come back from a trip to the bathroom. With the way I drifted in and out, it could have been five minutes or three hours.
“Did you tell her to leave?” My own words seemed too loud.
“No, Harris, but you can’t ask the poor girl to stay. I’m not sure they’ll even let her. She’s not family,” I groaned and adjusted myself, trying to get comfortable.
“You have things to do, Mom. You need to take care of the Douglas situation. So, please go. I’m fine and I just… I need her here,” I forced my eyes open to stare my mom down. She finally nodded, and pursed her lips.
“I’ve been replaced,” The words sounded sad, but she smiled. I wanted to argue that with her too, but a soft knock came to the door and Mom called for Ozma to come back in. Ozma handed Mom a cup of coffee, and came to sit when I reached for her. “I’ll see you in the morning before work, Harry. Try to sleep, Ozma.” Before Oz could protest, Mom was gone. The door closed with a soft click behind her. The nurse had adjusted the pain meds, so I was a little more lucid, but I could feel it dragging me down again.
“I was getting worried,” I felt my words slur and Oz kissed my cheek.
“I shouldn’t be here, Harris. Your mom should be here with you,” I shook my head and tugged at her.
“Please lay down with me,” I was so sure I was going die a few hours before that I was going to soak up every second I could with her. Maybe it was the meds. Ozma very slowly laid down and snuggled into me.
“Don’t let me hurt you,” Ozma’s voice trembled and I knew she was crying again. All the damage was to the right side of my body, and the security of her against me trumped any pain anyway. I promised her it didn’t hurt, but the tears kept coming. Incoherent sentences came through her cries. Something about being sure she was losing me, and not being able to live without me. My fatigue started creeping in again, and hit a point that I couldn’t fight to reassure her anymore. I fell back asleep with Oz curled into my side, crying into the hospital gown.
When I finally woke up again, the empty space next to me caused me to sit up far too fast, and I must have made a sound because Ozma was next to me, grabbing my shoulder before I could actually look around, “Easy, big guy.” The humor was back in her voice. I laid my head on her chest and blew out a breath, “I’m here. I just had to call Blair. How ya feeling this morning?”
“I hurt,” I answered truthfully as the full force of the pain hit me, “The important question is, how do I look?”
“Devastatingly handsome,” Ozma answered with no hesitation, but I knew better. With the new scars that would be all over, there was nothing handsome about it. The scars on my face would be the worst.
“I doubt that, but thanks for the compliment, and thanks for staying,” I looked up at her, noting the dimples when she smiled, and tilted enough to kiss her softly, “I’m stiff and need out of this bed,” I grumbled against her shirt.
“Let me call the nurse. Your mom brought some clothes too,” I stopped her from hitting the call button.
“Can you just make sure I don’t face plant on the way to the bathroom?” I swung my legs to the edge of the bed and stretched very slowly. Ozma moved in front of me, stopping me from standing, “The idea of some nurse helping me piss really ices my humiliation cake, Oz. Please just help me to the bathroom.” I was sitting on a hospital bed, cut up to hell, in a hospital gown.
“Harris, if you get hurt again because I didn’t call a nurse, I will never forgive myself. Put the ego on the back burner for a minute and let me call a nurse.” I almost reminded her that some nurse would be looking at my junk, but decided better of it. Last thing I needed was to fight with Oz. I gestured for her to push the button and test out lifting my arm. My groan had Ozma at my side in a second, “Please don’t push it. You’re going to heal, but it will take time and you need to be patient.”
I licked my dry lips, “Yeah, I know.”
“I’ll go grab some food when the nurse comes in and we can play a game of Hangman when I get back, okay?” I knew better than to not agree, so I nodded and leaned my head into her chest, “I love you, Harris.”
“Love you, Kitten,” I whispered, tugging the IV to rest my good hand on her waist. Not being intimate with her while I healed would kill me. I finally get to enjoy her body only to fuck mine up and leave me completely unable to please her.
One humiliating trip to the bathroom and a million questions from the nurse later, Oz was allowed to come back in and sat at the foot of my bed. With the decreased pain meds, I hurt more, but could sit up without getting too dizzy. Oz rubbed my leg, smiling at me. She could smile all day, but the way her eyes kept darting to the marks on my face, sobered my happiness. Even once I healed, the guy she met wouldn’t be the one looking at her anymore.
“What are you thinking?” Oz squeezed my leg.
I shook my head painfully, “Just want to go h
ome,” I noticed the food on a tray next to the bed.
“You are a liar, Dr. Oswin. I got you scrambled eggs, so you don’t have to move your mouth chewing,” She swatted my hand when I tried to help her open the food, “Now, tell me the truth, or I’m making you eat nasty hospital food.” Her eyes narrowed and I started to just spill the truth, but the door opened and a nurse came in to take my vitals and ask about my pain. The constant flow of nurses was driving me crazy. I just wanted to go home and lay in my bed with my fat cat and my girl. As soon as the nurse left, Mom appeared with coffee and then a doctor walked in. I tried to listen impatiently about infection and pain medications.
When he started talking about my blood pressure, I couldn’t hold it back anymore, “When can I get the hell out of here?”
“Well, if we can wean you down to an acceptable amount of morphine, probably in the morning. The early antibiotics have held off any infection, but the risk is still high considering we had to close some of the wounds. We normally don’t close animal bites, but your arm was the exception,” I glanced down at my mangled, useless arm.
“When will I get the feeling back in my fingers?” My fingertips were completely numb, and my middle finger wouldn’t move, no matter how hard I tried.
The look on his face told me I should worry, “You’re having numbness?” He rounded the bed to my hand and asked me to move my fingers individually, and then flex my hand. The grim expression got worse and my stomach hit the floor. I was a lefty, but needed my right hand to do my job. Ozma picked up my other hand and I squeezed her fingers, “Let’s see if those nerves heal up in the next few days. They have had some serious trauma, and may just need more time. Maybe some therapy.”
“But it’s not normal?” My mother spoke and I suddenly remembered she was there.
“No, but we didn’t check too closely for tendon damage either because the risk of infection was our biggest concern. A scan can be done once we are out of the woods on this infection,” The doctor patted my leg on his way out, promising me to have a nerve specialist come visit if things weren’t better by the time I checked out the next morning. I stared down at my hand, memorizing each puncture and scratch. If it didn’t heal, I could never perform surgery again, and my career would be over. I didn’t have the compassionate nature for routine vet work, so all my hard work would be useless. All of vet school, the time I spent perfecting every technique, and my stacks of books on surgery would be for nothing.
