Law (Hounds of the Reaper MC #10)

Chapter 1 - Diana

“This is a bad idea,” I mumble to myself but keep walking forward. I should stop. Change direction. Run away screaming. But I don’t.

Instead, I open the door. All the anxiety and worry that caused the cold sweat on the back of my neck as I walked down here are gone the second I see his face.

“Hello, honey. Thought today was your day off.”

He remembered. I shouldn’t be as eager as I am, but I can’t help it. I’ve had favorite patients before, but he takes the cake of all of them.

Something about Karter Hofstadter hits differently.

It could be that he was my longest coma patient.

And when he first came under my care, I had to care for the bullet wounds he’d sustained before he took a fall that eventually put him in that coma.

I started talking to him then. Just little bits here and there.

I always talk to my patients, awake or asleep.

Though if they really are sleeping, I try to make as little noise as possible.

But for everyone else, I treat them as a person through and through, with respect.

However, I seemed to have gotten into a habit of telling him my issues more than anything.

It started small, complaining that what I’d packed for dinner that night wasn’t what I really wanted.

Then I talked about Nana or something about work.

Safe topics. Easy ones to say that meant nothing if anyone overheard.

That’s how it started. I complained, and he listened. He always listened. Sometimes I asked for advice, but as expected, he didn’t answer. So I just assumed what he would have wanted me to do.

I knew very little about him. Dr. Trooper made it clear from day one that he was a VIP, and if anyone came calling, I was to ignore them.

Hell, most of the time, I thought his name was John Doe because that’s what was written on the forms. I only figured out his name when his family came around and his chart name was changed.

Apparently, it was a secret till they knew for sure or found the family or something.

I’m not paid to ask questions, only to care for the patient.

Not that he wasn’t already among friends.

A few men came and looked after him. I saw the vests, the ones that clearly marked them as members of the Hounds of the Reaper MC that’s local to town.

A club that even Dr. Trooper is a part of.

The same club that gives generously to charities and keeps out of the newspapers, though the rumors make it clear that they aren’t all saints over there.

One came more often than the other bikers.

I saw the name “Mad Max” on his vest, but he never spoke.

He stayed in the room the first time I checked on his friend and ignored my rambles like I ignored him.

After a while, he would ask me to stay so he could go do something.

I assumed the bathroom, but sometimes it was longer.

I hate admitting it, as it’s completely against protocol and ethics.

Something I knew but ignored anyway. I took a few meals in the room with Karter when Mad Max was out longer than a typical bathroom break.

Once or twice, I just came in with my meals from the start, already knowing what the plan was in my head before I overthought whether it was right or wrong.

He became my safe place inside the hospital, even if someone could report me and get me fired over it.

And that was the problem. I was the one who was supposed to be providing comfort, not receiving it. I was the trained nurse after all. But in a sea of random things that can turn a good day into bad, he was the break I needed.

When he finally woke up, I expected that refuge to evaporate. For things to go back to normal. For my crush to die and my life to continue as it was.

Instead, it only grew and deepened. It was a bit scary at first that my feelings could shift with one look into his open eyes, but it did.

His warm eyes drew me in. The kind smile he always threw my way.

And when he spoke? His voice was deep from age and not raspy from smoking. It left me quaking in spots I am most definitely not meant to feel while caring for a patient.

“Shelly needed to switch shifts last-minute because her husband got sick and she needed to be the chaperone for her son’s field trip today,” I told him.

Which is true. Completely true.

Did I have to volunteer to take the shift? No. Do I also need to check on him since I know he’s on another nurse’s rotation? Also no.

But I am.

I check his chart and his vitals. I nod at Mad Max, who gives me a chin lift. I lower my head to cover the smile on my face. The man is one of mystery for sure. Fewer words than a monk most days.

I look under my eyelashes and see Karter give me a side smirk, sending my small smile wider. It’s as if we’re sharing a private joke.

It’s completely silly to get butterflies from it, but I do.

I look away quickly when I hear the door open.

I’ve kept any interaction with Karter to just between him and me.

I made the mistake of laughing once at something he said in front of his daughter, and it didn’t go well.

She accused me of trying to do things I wasn’t.

I’d never try to take someone’s place as a mother.

Not only because I find that extremely rude, but because Karter’s daughter is either my same age or just a little younger.

Not that Karter sees me as anything but a nurse.

He doesn’t.

He can’t.

He won’t.

I wouldn’t be so lucky.

“How are you feeling, Law?” Dr. Trooper booms as he walks in.

We catch each other’s eyes, but other than an eyebrow raise, he doesn’t speak to me at all.

He knows I’m not meant to be here, but thankfully he doesn’t berate me.

At least not now. He can, though. He’s been known to tell nurses a few things if they do things he doesn’t like.

And he doesn’t like when people go against the schedule.

“Getting sick of looking at you,” Karter huffs, but there’s no malice in his voice as he speaks to his friend.

That’s something else I find refreshing. Friend or not, most people get short with doctors when they keep refusing to let them leave the hospital.

I get it. I do. No one wants to be here for longer than they have to be.

And everyone feels well enough to go home before the doctor releases them.

I’m sure Karter feels it more than others since he’s been here longer.

Sure, most of that was while he was in a coma, but I fully believe the brain and body know what’s going on at all times when you’re asleep.

Muscle memory and all that. And it knows when it’s been in bed for too long.

“Well, how about we get you out of here?”

“Really?” The perkiness in Karter’s voice has me turning to look at him, seeing the hope on his face.

“Sure. Fresh air’s good for the soul.”

Karter glares. “You’re a fucking asshole.”

Dr. Trooper chuckles. “Tell me something I haven’t been called before.

But seriously, it’s a nice day. I’m sure Nurse Zimmer would be happy to take you.

” He gives me a very pointed look before looking back at our patient.

“I’ll have the other nurse on duty change out your sheets, and then we can take you down for some more lab work. ”

Karter growls, and I swear I feel it below my waist. “Again?”

“You get that memory back and I’ll stop having you looked at. Fair enough?”

Karter doesn’t say anything after that. How can he?

It’s the one thing that’s keeping him here, from what I can tell.

He got shot and fell from a second-story building nine months ago, then woke from a coma with memory loss.

Not all of it, but the important parts. Like that he had a wife. And a kid.

It was heart-wrenching to watch his daughter scream at him to remember her. Which is probably why she keeps glaring at me when she comes in. I would, too, if Nana forgot me.

I’m attracted to Karter. I can’t deny it.

He’s devastatingly handsome with the older-man salt-and-pepper look.

I never knew I was into older guys till I saw him.

He’s chiseled in every place—trust me, I know.

Who do you think gave him the sponge baths?

I didn’t look at everything, not entirely, but I saw enough to know he works out.

Or did. Some of the definition has faded since he’s been here, though not enough that it detracts.

Dr. Trooper had him on a strict physical therapy routine almost immediately; he wanted his patient to be in top shape no matter if his eyes weren’t open.

We did what we could while he was asleep, but as soon as he woke up and was cleared to do more, the doctor signed off on it.

Karter also pushes himself past his breaking point to get back to the shape he was before.

More than once I’ve heard the physical therapists telling him to slow down and take it easy, which he ignores.

His striking jawline and straight nose make it even more unfair to the rest of the males in the world. No one should be this good-looking. I’m sure Karter’s daughter has dealt with many women throwing themselves at her father. And from her viewpoint, I’m sure I’m just one of many.

We get Karter into the wheelchair, which he grumbles about the entire time as I push him out to the small garden reserved for patients only. Mad Max follows in our wake as we go.

The garden isn’t big enough for long walks or anything, but we have several benches. I pick one and sit down, positioning Karter to look out as he sits beside me.

Mad Max keeps walking and eventually takes a seat four benches down. I raise an eyebrow at him, but he refuses to look at me, so I look at Karter, who shakes his head.

“He’s trying to give me space so I don’t start yelling at him.”

“You yell?” I ask with a small smile. I know he does; I’ve just never seen it.