Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Rebel
My night isn’t all that restful since an aide came in around four in the morning and woke me up to ask me if I needed anything. Fucker. After I threatened to beat his ass, he never came back to see if I needed anything else, so I guess it’s a good thing I have one of those plastic urinals sitting on my bedside table. It takes me a little bit of time, but I’m finally able to sit up on the side of my bed to use it, although only having hand sanitizer to use afterward to cleanse the germs from my hands has me grumbling a bit. I manage to get myself resituated so I’m somewhat sitting up and flip through the television channels until I find an old movie. While it plays, I think of the information Data sent me last night after Holly went home.
He caught enough of the vehicle on Paul’s cameras that he was able to follow it through town, hacking into the CCTV cameras that are in use, until he was able to get a clear still shot of the license plate. Then, he got into the DMV’s database and found that it was registered to Myra McAfee.
If I had to hazard a guess as to why she hit me, it’s because she thought Holly was with me. But if the crazy bitch had used her eyes, she could’ve seen there was only one rider on my bike. It’s the only thing I can come up with, as far as conclusions go, seeing as I’ve never met the fucking woman, and at this point, I never want to. While I have no problem with Samuel coming around to see Holly and the girls at all because he genuinely loves his granddaughters, what little Holly has shared with regard to Myra tells me she’s a spiteful, vindictive hag. There’s no way I want her poison to pollute those two little girls; God knows they’ve already suffered enough, losing their father at such a young age. Not that he sounded like he was such a peach, but he was their dad and kids tend to love their parents regardless of how shitty they are.
Samuel also called and told me that he gave all the information he gathered to the detective handling my hit-and-run case. He mentioned that they were going to request a search warrant so they could lawfully seize the vehicle and have their crime scene technicians go over it with a fine-tooth comb. I know that Paul picked up all the small pieces and debris of my bike, along with the rest of the detritus that ended up in the ditch that day, so I’m hoping he held onto it in case it’s needed to put all the pieces back together again. Like motherfucking Humpty Dumpty.
I just hope like hell that the cops get her before my brothers do. We might not be one percenters, but absolutely no one fucks with us and lives to tell the tale. Still, she’s a woman, and we don’t usually mess with them. A soft knock at my door has me calling out, “Come in,” as I glance up at the wall clock.
Seven in the morning? What the fuck? Don’t these people believe in sleep around here?
“Hey, I’m Chris, the morning aide, I’ve got to take your vitals for our charts, and hang a bag of your antibiotics,” she says.
“This is rather early, isn’t it?” I ask, a slight grumble to my tone.
“You’re the first person who’s been awake.”
“Lucky me,” I reply, smirking. “Wouldn’t have been if the night guy hadn’t come in at four this morning, woke me up to ask if I needed anything, then left when I yelled at him. I mean, if rest is so important to healing, why is it so impossible to get?”
She shrugs then lets out a little giggle. “Yeah, Alec wasn’t too happy about that.”
“Tough shit,” I grumble. “I mean, I get checking the patients and totally understand the need for doing so. But if you walk into a room in the middle of the night and see someone peacefully sleeping, I think it’s safe to presume that as long as you can tell they’re still breathing because their chest is moving up and down as they inhale and exhale, they don’t need anything.”
“That’s what the charge nurse told him. He’s been booted back to the day shift because that’s not the first complaint he’s gotten against him from other patients. Not that I should be telling you that,” she hastily adds.
“Trust me, Chris, the only one I’d even consider telling what you said is my ol’ lady, and as long as I can assure her that it’s been handled, she’s not going to make a huge fuss,” I reply.
“Is she the one who called your doctor yesterday about your shower?” Chris questions, her brow raised. “Boy, did Tina raise a ruckus about that! ”
“She sure the fuck did,” I state, smirking. “Hell, even at the hospital when I couldn’t take one, she took care of giving me modified sponge baths and while it’s highly irregular, the nurse walked her through removing my catheter. No one touches me intimately except for her.”
“Your file says that very thing,” Chris says, assuring me that Dr. Brown wasn’t just blowing smoke up my ass.
“Good. How long will this take?” I ask, motioning to the bag she just started that’s now running in my PICC line.
“It takes about two hours or so, give or take.”
“So, I’ve got time for a nap before my therapies start?” I question.
“Maybe an hour or so because they’ll bring you breakfast around eight.” She sounds apologetic and I hold up my hand.
“No, it’s okay, I’m just up far too early for my liking is all.”
She releases a short laugh in commiseration before stating, “Well, I imagine after therapy, you’ll probably be able to get a nap in before lunch at least.”
“God, I hope so.”
“I know this is important, but damn, Pedro, I hurt worse now than I did after the accident,” I grumble as my therapist wheels me back to my room.
“It’s because you’ve been pretty much stationery for the past two weeks while you were in the hospital,” he explains, “so your muscles and tendons have tightened up. Once you start moving more, it should ease up.”
“From your lips to God’s ears,” I retort, causing him to smirk.
“At least you participated, Rebel,” he says as he maneuvers into my room. Once he has the chair next to the bed and the brakes locked, he continues. “Now, show me how you transfer.”
“Are you this bossy with your wife?” I question.
He bursts out laughing while watching to make sure I don’t do anything stupid and hurt myself. “How familiar are you with Hispanic women?” he asks. “Okay, from the look on your face, you have no clue what I’m talking about. Suffice it to say, they rule the roost when it comes to the house, the kids, the cooking. In short, all the things.”
“Ah, so in order to keep your man card, you come to work and tell patients what to do. I see how it is now,” I tease, snickering.
“How does it work for you?” he queries, moving the chair away from the bed so it’s not in the way and pulling the commode chair closer. Hate to tell him this but when it comes time to take a shit, I’ll be getting into the actual bathroom. Even if I have to crawl on my hands and knees to get there. Hell, I’ll Army crawl since one of my damn legs has a cast up to the middle of my fucking thigh. Whatever it takes is my new motto. Ain’t no way I’m sitting on a glorified port-a-potty where anyone can just walk in while I’m going. No fucking way. A man needs to have some pride through this process, and I’ll claim it where I can.
The sweetest voice I know says, “Why, we talk things through. Rebel handles all car-related stuff, I deal with anyone if they’re sick, and we tackle the housework together.”
“Hey, sweetheart,” I say to my ol’ lady.
“Hey yourself, handsome,” she replies, leaning down to kiss me. Turning, she looks at Pedro and asks, “Are you his physical therapist?”
“I’m one of them, but it’s highly likely he’ll work mostly with me,” Pedro replies.
“Why?” Holly questions.
“Because the other three therapists are women who are petite like you. If Rebel starts to fall, not only he but they could be injured,” Pedro states.
“Well, that makes sense, I guess.” She turns and looks at me and says, “No falling on the female therapists, Rebel.”
I crack up laughing because she’s trying to look stern and failing miserably. My smile slowly slips off my face when I see that her eyes are red-rimmed, and she doesn’t look nearly as rested as I thought she would.
“I’m Pedro,” he finally tells her.
“And I’m Holly, his ol’ lady and fiancée,” she replies, holding out her hand. “Thank you for making sure he didn’t fall today.”
“He’s in a bit of discomfort right now,” Pedro advises her.
“He’s right here,” I chime in, disliking his attention being directed on Holly.
Yeah, I’m a jealous fucker, sue me. I mean, it’s not like the guy’s single, either. He’s got a wide gold band on his ring finger and a slight paunch so at least he’s eating well at home.
“Do you need me to ask for anything for pain, Rebel?” Holly asks, her attention now solely focused on me.
“I’ll be okay, sweetheart. Same time tomorrow, Pedro?” I question.
“Same bat time, same bat channel,” he teases. “Y’all enjoy the rest of your day.”
Once he leaves, I rub my hands together and ask, “What did Grammy make me?”
She giggles as she starts pulling containers out of the huge tote bag she carried in and sets them on the rolling table. “We have fried chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, and apple crisp. Oh, and buttermilk biscuits too.”
Reaching over, I start opening everything and am amazed that it’s all still nice and warm. “How did you manage to keep it hot?”
“It was Pappy’s idea. He has a friend that does a lot of cross-country driving who hates to always eat fast food. He found this insulated bag that heats up and Pappy borrowed it from him so I could make sure it stayed warm.”
“Damn, remind me to thank him later.”