Daddy’s Little Patient (Daddy’s Little #3)

1. Chapter One

Chapter One

C ole made the forty-five-minute drive to the hospital in thirty-three. He might have double-parked, he wasn’t sure, but as he ran across the parking lot and through the double sliding glass doors, he wasn’t thinking about whether he’d pulled a major dick-move by letting his truck straddle the line. The only thing on his mind now was his girlfriend Kelly and the accident she said she’d been in when she’d left a message on his cellphone just over an hour ago.

Just a fender-bender, really .

Nothing to get too fired up about .

They only kept me in the hospital four days.

Can you come get me when your plane lands? They won’t let me take a cab home .

Four days? Those were the two words that kept bouncing through his head. That and her opening line. Instead of, ‘Hey, honey, how was your trip,’ he’d gotten a nerve-shattering, I’m okay, nobody got badly hurt .

Doing his best to walk instead of running to the front desk, he took his place at the back of the intake line. It seemed like a slow night to his inexpert eyes. One young mother convinced that her infant’s face was “too red and that’s not normal, he’s got a fever and I don’t care what your thermometer says,” an older woman grimly refusing to let her grumbling male companion leave before a doctor had seen him, a nervous young man who was redirected to Labor and Delivery, and an elderly gentleman with a broad, blissful smile who didn’t even need to speak. The intake nurse took one look, sighed, picked up the phone and told someone to “get OR ready. Two-Apples Tanner is back.”

“Three apples,” the man corrected, holding up three fingers with pride. To the nurse’s raised eyebrow, he added, “They’re Pinkabelles. Smaller than the McIntosh, quite firm, but not as sweet.”

“Not anymore, anyway,” the nurse muttered as the patient was led away. She made a few more notes and then turned her thousand-yard-stare on Cole. “Okay. And what brought you here today?”

“My girlfriend,” Cole began and stopped there as he realized he was in the wrong place. Kelly wouldn’t still be in the emergency room if they’d had her for four days.

Calm down, calm down. Think before you talk. ‘I need help.’ No, I don’t. What do I need? Her room number! Deep breath. Start over.

Nodding once in agreement with himself, Cole took a breath, leaned closer to the glass separating them and calmly, but urgently said, “I need your number.”

“What?” said the nurse.

“What?” Cole echoed stupidly. “No! I’m not a creep! It’s for my girlfriend!”

That eyebrow slid slowly up again until it reached an angle of maximum skepticism. “Tell your girlfriend I’m flattered, but I am not giving out my phone number.”

“No, I… I meant room number.”

Right, well, his work here was done. His face burning, Cole turned in a hasty circle until he found the wall signs, directing him to the other side of the hospital. He found the non-emergency front desk with a security guard stationed there, dividing his attention between the monitor in front of him and the phone in his hand.

“Help you?” he grunted amiably.

Perhaps the brisk jog across the hospital had pushed a little more oxygen to his brain because Cole managed with only a little stammering to explain himself and ask for Kelly’s room number, which the guard was able to provide after a quick look-up on the computer, and soon Cole was in the elevator on his way to the fourth floor. St. Francis was a huge hospital, as old as the city, added onto multiple times over the years. He passed through the oldest parts with its white-painted brick walls through to the newer construction with big bay windows, overlooking the rooftop of the cancer building next door, then three nurses’ stations, a food cart pushed against the wall, and a room where someone might have been coding, considering all the alarms and commotion occurring behind the privacy curtain. Finally, he found Kelly’s room.

The door was slightly ajar already. He gave it a nudge and was greeted with the sight of his precious little goof sitting on a lime green leather chair—the one he would have taken a red-eye back and planted himself in if only he had known, just to be by her side. Sitcoms played softly on the television where her bored gaze rested, but she lit up like Christmas lights when she saw him come through the door.

“Hey,” she said brightly through a split and slightly swollen bottom lip.

“Oh, my God, baby.” His stomach crashed through the floor of his gut as his eyes moved over her. Her face was bruised and cut, and her hair had been shaved on the left side of her head, all the way back to the ear, showing a black line of stitches about an inch long. Both arms were wrapped in weird, plasticky netting—one pink, one blue—looking more like loli-punk gloves than the bulky bone casts he had grown up with on medical shows. She was all packed and ready to go, with some clothes, plenty of paperwork and a few bottles of medication stuffed in one bag, while a second held other medical stuff--a transparent breathing canister with a little yellow ball in it, bandage packs and tape, and a plastic water tumbler identical to the one in her other hand which she was sipping from. Her pants were blue paper scrubs, her shirt two white-and-blue patient gowns—one turned around backward—and her shoes were hospital slippers.

“My God,” he said again, and before he could stop it, the Daddy Dom in him came to the forefront, and it didn’t matter that they were in public. “Babygirl, what happened?”

Kelly blinked twice, her gaze sliding past him to the open door, but she didn’t hush him.

“A guy merged into me on the freeway,” she said brightly, as if it was no big deal. Like it happened to everybody and last Tuesday just happened to be her turn. “It kind of sucks,” she was saying, her nose scrunched up in a pout as she held up her bruised and stitch-tracked arms. “I always wanted to break a bone when I was a kid so all my friends could sign my cast, and then modern medicine goes and gives me these. I guess you could still sign them,” she offered, peeping up at him with her head tilted so her eyes shone, bird-bright, behind that forever-falling hank of hair that was too short to tie back. He loved that look on her and she knew it, but it wasn’t going to distract him today.

He waited until she lowered her arms and her eyes. Coming into the room, he sat down on the window seat/sofa bed beside her chair. She let him take first her left, then her right arm, turning it over to get a better look at the stitches from where the edge of the cast swallowed it up to the tip of her middle finger.

“What happened?” he asked quietly.

“The airbag deployed. The car rolled. Glass went everywhere. I don’t really remember what happened, except I was driving one minute, and the paramedics were pulling me out the next. Anyway, I got cut a little, my left wrist is broken, and three of my fingers on the other got jammed into my hand, so they had to do surgery. No big deal now. I’ll heal.”

No big deal? He stared at the party-colored casts on her small, thin arms, privately telling himself he’d be devastated, no matter who this had happened to, but deeper inside, he knew that wasn’t entirely true. Girlfriends took precedence over friends, even though they’d only been dating steadily for about six months. Besides, most of his other friends were guys. Had any one of them traded places with Kelly, the first words out of his mouth were far more likely to be, “What boneheaded thing did you do to make this happen?”

“Why didn’t you call me?” he asked, letting go of her arm.

She shrugged. “I did call you.”

“No, I mean, why didn’t you call before now?”

“You were on a business trip.”

“You don’t think I’d have rushed home for this?” he asked incredulously.

“I dunno.” She averted her eyes, looking at the TV instead.

“Don’t you play ‘I dunno’ with me, little girl.” He’d been a Daddy Dom long enough to know evasion when he saw it, but before he could catch her chin in his fingers and gently bring her gaze back to his, a doctor swept into the room.

“Hello.” The doctor was an older gentleman, a good foot shorter than Cole, with only the slightest hint of a paunch on his otherwise thin frame. What hair he had was gray, what hair he didn’t have was covered with a bandana held together with a safety pin, a peace-sign, a whole rainbow of ribbon pins, and a rhinestone studded, seven-feathered leaf brooch. If not for the lab coat, Cole would have thought he’d been far more at home on the back of a motorcycle than in a hospital.

Rising far enough to shake his hand, Cole said, “What’s the news?”

“Now that you’re here?” Doctor Biker returned, feigning a cheerfulness his face didn’t quite match. “I assume you’re the husband?”

Cole startled, but before he could even arch his eyebrows, Kelly was out of her chair, hugging her hospital bags like a puppy.

“Yup, that’s him,” she chirped as her foot accidentally-on-purpose came down slipper-hard on his. “This is Cole. We live together, so… see? I won’t be alone.”

Doctor Biker was looking right at him. “Then you’re free to go.”

“Yay!” Kelly edged past him, shuffling her way toward the door without looking at either of them.

“Hold on.” Cole caught her by the elbow, holding up a commanding hand. “What do you mean, ‘not alone?’”

Still smiling, still not quite as cheerful as his tone would indicate, the doctor said, “We’re sending Miss Aberdeen home with some of the good-stuff medication. There will be no driving while she’s on it. There shouldn’t even be a lot of walking, which—” He turned his smile on Kelly. “—means you will sit your butt back down in that chair, young lady, and wait for a nurse and a wheelchair. Right?”

Kelly groaned theatrically, rolling her eyes at the ceiling and shuffling oddly in place, as if she had started to stamp and thought better of it at the last instant. Obviously, she was beyond ready to go, and Cole was beyond ready to find out exactly what he was being used for—because that’s exactly what this was. He and Kelly had been dating for six months, and he loved her completely. If there was such a thing as ‘The One,’ he already knew it was her, but he also knew when he was someone’s very convenient excuse. That and finding out about her accident, four days after the fact, was very much on his mind.

“I’ve been here forever,” she pouted, a hint of her sulky Little coming out. “I want to go home.”

He didn’t care if they were in public or not. His Daddy Dom snapped right to forefront.

“Sit your butt,” he repeated, even as the fed-up doctor, who’d obviously seen too much of her uncooperative side already, added, “Back in that chair, young lady.”

Kelly sat on the foot of the unmade hospital bed instead, muttering defiant affirmations.

“Your wife is a stubborn patient,” Doctor Biker told him flatly.

“You have no idea.” Even the sunniest Littles were apt to act out to a certain degree when they were feeling sick or hurt or insecure, and his Little Kelly wasn’t exactly in the running for Most Obedient to begin with. “I’m sorry if she’s made things difficult for you.”

Kelly shot him a side-eyed frown.

Doctor Biker snorted. “Not half as sorry as I am for what she’s going to put you through.”

“ She,” Kelly said with inflections of her own, “is sitting right here.”

“What do I need to do?” Cole asked, biting his tongue before he said something that might either trigger the doctor’s ‘domestic violence’ triggers or Kelly’s fit button.

“Nothing,” Kelly muttered. “I can take care of myself. I’m fine.”

“Absolutely no driving,” the doctor said again. “The pills might make her drowsy or dizzy and she should be considered a fall risk. Keep her off ladders and away from anything that might be dangerous if she were to fall into it, like an oven. She can walk, but no exercise and absolutely no heavy lifting. Also, try to get her to rest her hands as much as possible for at least two weeks. They need to heal. Things like typing, knitting, cleaning… anything that requires rapid, repetitive movement of the fingers, can cause swelling and pressure that can in turn cause nerve damage. The surgery went very well and I have every reason to expect a full or near-full recovery of her fine motor skills, but this time of healing is vital to that recovery.”

“Got it,” Cole said with a nod, while Kelly threw her frustrated growl at the ceiling and through gritted teeth said, “I’m not going to fall! I’m fine.”

“She’ll be in those casts for the next six weeks. She can’t get them wet.”

“I’m on dish duty,” he said with a nod.

“And shower duty, hair washing duty, and bathroom-wiping duty,” Doctor Biker bluntly pointed out. “Your relationship is about to enter a whole new level of intimacy. If you’re not prepared to handle that, then we need to make arrangements for an in-home care provider, at least for the next while.”

Not for even a sliver of a split second did Cole hesitate to accept that responsibility, but he had to admit, he hadn’t thought about it. Kelly was delightfully open and spontaneous about a lot of things, but she’d always kept her bathroom business private. So had he, for that matter. The thought of being in her position, to have to let someone else wipe his ass, even if it was the person he intended to spend the rest of his life with, left him feeling slightly sick. He glanced at Kelly, only to find her staring poker-faced at the TV while her face practically throbbed with embarrassed color.

“I’m. Fine,” Kelly bit through tightly clenched teeth. “I can take care of myself.”

“Not with those casts,” the doctor retorted.

“I can handle all that,” Cole said diplomatically, overriding Kelly’s huffy arguments. “What else?”

“She’ll need to make an appointment with her general practitioner in the next week or so, to make sure things are progressing well and to make sure she follows up with a PT. She needs to keep her arms elevated as much as possible to help reduce the swelling, which will also help with pain. I get this isn’t the coziest position to sleep in, but the priority is to rest and heal. If her fingers become darkly discolored or she spikes a fever, bring her back immediately. And I think that’s about it. Sound good?”

Cole looked at the tips of her swollen fingers, peeking out at the ends of both casts. They already looked a little purplish to him.

“I can do that,” he said, winning another side-eyed look from Kelly.

She didn’t bother saying she was fine again, but she did turn her body to hide her fingertips in the folds of the plastic bag in her lap.

“I’ll order up your wheelchair.” The smile he gave Cole was flat and firmly pasted in place. “Good luck.”

“Thank you,” Cole called after him, waiting until he was out of sight before rounding on Kelly in full Daddy-Dom mode. “What did you do to that man?”

“Look at this!” she hissed, waving her casts at him. “Look what he did to me! I’m practically peg-legged! Armed… whatever.”

“You told them we’re married?”

“They were being difficult! They refused to let me go home unless I guaranteed someone else would be there with me. Like every day, around the clock, someone is right there in your house like they live there. Who the hell does that?”

“Most of the world,” he shot back. “And watch who you’re talking to with that mouth. I only have to go as far as the parking lot to tan your hide.”

“Sorry, Daddy,” she muttered, still disgruntled and not seeming to notice when he suddenly looked at her casts. “I’m just cranky because of how ridiculous this all is. I’ve been taking care of myself since I was a kid. I don’t need this much help. I’m—”

“Don’t say you’re fine again, young lady,” he cut in sharply. “You are not fine. You are stitched up like Frankenstein’s Little Monster. Where’s the car? Is it even drivable?”

“I don’t know,” she chanted through an aggressively sweet smile. “I’m not allowed to drive on these pills.”

“Oh.” Cole laughed, so not amused. “I promise, that’s not the hill you want to take your last stand on with me. Also, don’t ever take that tone with me again because you won’t like how I respond.”

Kelly huffed once, then wilted where she sat.

“Please,” she said, looking every bit as defeated as she suddenly sounded. “Please just take me home?”

“Right.” Drawing himself up a little straighter, Cole gave in. “We can talk freely once we get out of here. Where are your clothes? Do you need help to get dressed?”

She held up her baggy. “They cut my clothes off in the ambulance.”

Hardly surprisingly, but Cole raised a brow. “And gave them back to you? Do they expect you to sew them back together?”

Her shoulders slumped a little more and her downcast eyes took on a certain watery shine. “It’s my Little Miss Trouble tee, my favoritest. Not that you can tell,” she sighed, peeking into her bag at the heap of tatters in the bottom. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with it now. Just throw it away, I guess. And I’ll never find another one.”

“God, I wish you’d called me.” Combing his fingers through her hair, he sank down onto the window seat to wait for the wheelchair.

“I did, I—”

He cut her off with a sharp motion from his spanking hand. “I meant when you first got hurt, not when you’re trying to con your doctors into letting you out early.”

She sniffed. “We’ll talk about it in the car.”

That was Kelly for ‘I hate it when you’re right, so I’m going to ignore the comment.’

Eventually, the nurse came with a wheelchair. “Hey, you’re finally getting out, huh?”

“Thank God!” Kelly’s relief was palpable, but when she approached the wheelchair, she walked like a much older woman, her back hunched, her step uncertain. He got up as she stepped between the footrests, offering a steadying arm and a stern stare. She ignored the latter, but accepted the former, lowering herself with a wince and a sigh into the chair.

A flash of sympathy went through him. She must be sore. He’d been rear-ended once. Nothing serious, but the whiplash had lasted more than a week and affected his neck, back, shoulders, chest, even his stomach. Every muscle, he supposed, that had tightened up before the impact of the crash.

“I’m fine,” she said, though neither he nor the nurse had said anything. She hugged her casts to her chest, gingerly relaxing into the uncomfortable chair. “I’m okay.”

“I’ll run ahead and get the truck,” he said, anxious to get her safely home.

The nurse nodded. “We’ll meet you at the front entrance.”

“See you soon,” he promised Kelly, gently cupping her shoulder. He left the room, rushing for the elevator in long-legged strides, digging the keys from his jeans pocket.

It took longer to remember where he’d parked the truck than it did to fetch it, and true to his word, he was soon pulling up to the curb where the nurse and Kelly were waiting. He was prepared to pick her up if necessary, but in true Kelly form, she refused all help and crawled up onto the passenger side of the bench seat all on her own. When she fumbled trying to catch hold of the seatbelt between her thumb and second finger, however, he stepped in.

“I can do it myself!” she insisted, but her face seemed drawn and pale.

“You were told to let your hands heal. That means you don’t do it yourself, whether or not you think you can.” He buckled her in with a hard stare that she refused to meet and shut the passenger door on her huffy pout.

The nurse handed him Kelly’s bag—wallet, keys, the remnants of all her cut off clothes—before bidding them goodbye and taking the wheelchair back inside. Hopping into the truck behind the steering wheel, he started the engine.

“All right,” he began as he pulled out of the drive-thru, but she immediately rolled her head toward the window.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she informed him, closing her eyes. “You want me to rest? Fine. I’m resting. So hush and let me sleep.”

He’d never been put in a position like this before but knew what his gut was telling him, and it wasn’t ‘take her home and drop her off.’

“I’m not asking you to talk, but I am going to make you decide.”

She stole a sideways peek at him from beneath her hair. “Decide what?”

“My place or yours,” he said simply. “I don’t care how fine you say you are. Your doctor wants you supervised, and I trust him a lot more than I trust you at the moment. Until I know you can take care of yourself, I’m not leaving your side.”

“Are you freaking serious?”

“As serious as a car crash,” he retorted and that shut her up for as long as it took to ease out of the parking lot. “So?”

“So what?” she muttered, picking at the plastic webbing of one cast.

“So do you want to do your recovering at my place or yours?” he repeated patiently. “I need to know before I get to the freeway.”

“I’ll go to mine, you’ll go to yours. I don’t need a babysitter, Cole!” she added in a frustrated rush. “I just need some peace and quiet and a comfortable bed that doesn’t come with pinchy blood pressure cuffs, beepy things and rattling carts every fifteen minutes. And do you have any idea what it’s like to not be allowed to go to the bathroom by yourself?”

“Did you forget I served on a submarine for six years?” he asked incredulously.

She scowled, undaunted. “But I bet they let you wipe your own butt.”

“Occasionally, as a reward for good maneuvers. Look, Kelly, this is not up for discussion. You are under doctor’s orders and since you’ve made it spanking clear that you don’t intend to follow those orders, someone else has to step up and make sure you get the care you need. Now, for the third and last time, your place or mine?”

She let a frosty silence fill the space between them until the freeway was almost upon them, but then caved and muttered, “Mine.”

“Good girl,” Cole said and for a time, that was all he said. He would have been more comfortable at his place, but his comfort was not the priority here. Kelly needed her own bed more than he needed his, along with the support of her plushies, some soul-nourishing cookies and cartoons, and, of course, her Daddy.

And by God, she was going to get it, whether she liked it or not.