Chapter Twenty-One
In which everyone should have a nurse as smoking hot as Ethan.
Sloan…
I’m in the middle of Death Valley.
I’m walking on the scorching hot highway, shimmers of heat distorting my vision. It feels like I’m on fire. My mouth is as dry as the desert and trying to lick my lips offers no moisture.
“Sloan… wake up, lass.”
Is that Nate?
Oh, that can’t be Nate! Nate’s in Costa Rica. He’s safe. This isn’t right.
“Go away,” I moan. “You’re not Nate.”
I feel someone gently lifting my head and putting a glass to my lips. “Drink, darlin’ you need this.” I want to. The water feels so cold and nice on my lips, but a violent bout of coughing makes me spit out the bit I’d been able to drink.
“Feck, you’re burning up, love.” Not-Nate helps me drink half the glass before I start coughing again. I feel a cool, wet cloth running over my sweaty face and it’s so good.
Not-Nate is on his phone. I want to open my eyes and see who this is but I can’t.
“...she feels like she’s on fire, Doc. Pneumonia… what do I…”
“Sloan, I’m putting in an IV.” There’s a pinch on my hand and I go back to my restless half-sleep, listening to his soft Scottish burr.
Another violent bout of coughing wakes me up, shaking my whole body and the fiery agony in my ribs makes me scream.
“Sloan? Can you understand me? It’s Dr. MacTavish. You have a very nasty case of pneumonia. I’m giving you a cough suppressant to help you rest, and you’re going to need oxygen.”
Something goes over my face and settles under my nose. I try to flail at it, but a big, warm hand holds my wrist. “Easy lass, just breathe in, aye?”
I’m slightly less delirious and know that it’s not Nate hovering over me, it’s the Scottish Demon. Maybe if I’m lucky, the pneumonia will kill me before he does. I want to protest, tell him to get away from me but then something cool goes into the tube in my hand and sleep pulls me back under where my feverish dreams surround me.
Gavin Masters is screaming at me, his face beet red and little flecks of spit flying from his mouth. “Where is he, you fucking bitch? Don’t lie to me. Tell me where that weak little shit is and I’ll let you live.”
“Fuck you,” I wheeze. He’s hit me several times while his bodyguard, Tony, pulls my arms painfully behind my back. “You’re such a pussy that you have to have your little bitch fuckboy hold me down.”
That gets me another slap.
“Let me handle this, Mr. Masters.” Oh, Tony’s poking me in the back with his pathetic little erection. He wants to hurt me so much that he’s hard with it.
“No, put her in the basement. Then bring me Carmella. You can question her.”
I’m laughing because Carmella is with Nate and my bastard stepfather will never, ever find them.
When I wake up again, it’s night. The lights from the city are glowing softly, but the room is dark.
I feel - and most likely look - like something that washed up on the beach. I know I smell like it. I cough weakly, but there’s a pillow by my broken ribs and I hold it against me.
“Here, drink this.” A hand lifts my head again, and I have scraps of memories where he does this over and over, urging water past my cracked lips. “There ya go. Such a good girl. Do ya feel like ya can sit up?”
Opening my eyes, I see a somewhat disheveled Ethan hovering over me. “Okay.” My voice is creaky, like an old man’s.
He slides his arms under my back and knees and easily lifts me up, fluffing the pillows behind me. There’s one lamp giving out a low light on the bedside table, enough to see his bloodshot eyes.
“What time is it?” I’m staring down at the IV in my hand. My hair’s been combed back and put into a braid and I’m wearing a giant t-shirt, soft from a hundred washings. Did he dress me? My chest is still on fire, but at least I can breathe without wanting to cry.
“It’s around 11:30,” he yawns, running his hands through his already ruffled hair. “You’ve been out for quite a while.”
“How long?”
“Three days,” he says, straightening my oxygen tube. “Ya been fighting your nasal cannula.”
Wait. What?
“Three days?” I wheeze. “What- I’m not that sick!”
“Well, not now,” he allows, running a thermometer over my forehead. “But it hit you hard. Thirty-eight point nine, still too high but better.”
“What’s that in Fahrenheit? My brain is oatmeal.”
He smiles, brushing the hair back from my sweaty face. “One hundred and two. You’re lucid…” His head tilts, eyeing me, “Well, mostly lucid. What can I get you to drink?”
“Why are you being nice to me?” I’m completely confused. He hauled me out of that coffee shop and into this room like I would never leave it again. Is he sad because he wanted me all healthy to torture me?
His eyes narrow, but his voice is calm. “Because you’re under my protection and so far, it’s not been workin’ out like it should. I am taking care of ya, whether ya like it or not.”
Closing my eyes, I try to ignore him. He’s delusional.
“Ah, our patient is awake. How do you feel?”
Dr. MacTavish is standing over me and she’s not looking much better than he does.
“Okay, I think,” I croak, “how are you?”
“The Doc’s been sleeping here while you’ve been sick,” Ethan says, “ya needed round-the-clock care.”
My eyes dart between her disgruntled expression and his stern one. It doesn’t look like she agrees with his diagnosis. Does he have enough power to order the clan doctor around like that?
She listens to my heart and checks my vitals. “Your lungs sound much better. You’re young and healthy, which certainly helps, because I was ready to insist you be taken to the family clinic. You were quite ill.” I choose this minute to start coughing again and she presses the pillow against my ribs for some support. “I’m certain you don’t feel like getting up, but it would help your lungs if you can walk around a bit. Do you feel strong enough to walk to the bathroom with help?”
“I’ll carry her,” Ethan interrupts, and we both glare at him.
“She needs to walk,” she says sternly.
“I can walk,” I agree hastily, pushing back my blankets and trying to swing my legs over to stand up. I immediately regret this decision when I get the one-two punch of screaming ribs and unreasonably excessive coughing. When I can breathe again, I’m humiliated to see them hovering over me.
“I’ll carry ya.” Ethan’s arms are already stretched out.
“No! Just… give me a minute, okay?”
After my head stops swimming, I take some slow, cautious breaths. “Doc, can you please help me?”
There’s a low growl and for a second I think there’s a dog in the room until I realize it’s coming from Ethan. Oddly pleased by infuriating him, I don’t even argue when he takes one of my arms and she gets under my other arm, wedging her shoulder to help take some of the weight off.
“How long can it take to just walk across the room?” I grit out. I’m as slow as an octogenarian who’s lost their walker. And their feet. And their stamina. By the time we get into the bathroom, I’m sweating through my borrowed t-shirt and feel disgusting.
“Ya made it, good girl,” Ethan’s so close that I can feel his lips against my ear. A little shiver passes through me and I’m instantly disgusted with myself. This asshole kidnapped me!
“I’ve got it from here,” Dr. MacTavish sounds like she might be fighting back a little amusement from his looming, hovering, over the top behavior.
“I can-”
“Actually, I would really like to go to the bathroom,” I wheeze, still sweating like I ran a 10K. “If I could please have some privacy?”
She pats my arm. “Beathan, I’ve got her. Can you shut the door and give her some privacy?”
Oh, I can tell this is killing him and spitefully, it’s my happiest moment from this last week of hell.
I shuffle painfully to the toilet, this is humiliating but at least she’s female and a professional, and it’s not him holding my arm while I pull down my undies.
“Wait.” I don’t recognize the panties tangled around my ankles. “These aren’t mine.”
She smiles, leaning against the counter and folding her arms, “Well, we couldn’t leave you in the same clothes for the last four days. He sent out one of his cousins to pick up some basics for you.”
“How- um, how have I been going to the bathroom?”
“We used a bedpan, dear. You were in no condition to get up.” She sees my horrified expression and her lips twitch. “A man who can handle a bedpan without getting all squeamish is a rare man indeed.”
Burying my face in my hands, I try to ignore her.
Helping me off the toilet, she leads me to the counter. “If you can stand for a moment, I can give you a quick sponge bath.”
I want to say no, but I am disgusting and even a sponge bath sounds good. When I see my reflection in the mirror, I yelp in horror. “I look like someone shoved me in a trashcan and rolled me down six flights of stairs.”
“Oddly specific, but all right,” she laughs. Handing me a towel, she helps me wrap it around my chest before taking off the t-shirt. Most of my bruises and scrapes from the crash and wilderness death march are gone, and even the ocean of black and blue skin over my ribs is showing hopeful signs of retreating, with the black mellowing to a sickly yellow around the edges. By the time she’s done tidying me up, I’m already swaying and hanging on to the counter.
“Beathan? We’ll need your help getting back to bed.” She opens the door and of course, the giant stalker is standing there.
“No! I can-” He’s already scooped me up. The sheets have been changed, covers pulled back and pillows fluffed. The Scottish Demon fluffs pillows?
He hooks my oxygen back up and refills my saline for my IV line with an unnerving deftness. Does he do this often? To like… keep people alive while he’s questioning them?
“Your pulse is all over the place,” Dr. MacTavish says disapprovingly, looping her stethoscope around her neck. “Let’s let you rest for a bit and see if you can keep down some food, yes?”
“Thank you,” I say, and I mean it. “I feel guilty that you’ve been forced to camp out here, just for me. The MacTavishes are mafia, for god’s sake. I’m sure there’s been innumerable bullet wounds and stabbings since I’ve been laid up.”
She chuckles, emerald eyes lighting up. “Well, I do have help, and fortunately, nothing too dramatic has happened recently. I am-” she shoots Ethan a stern look, “going to go home now. I’ll be back tomorrow to check on you.”
Ethan’s dying to say something, but he presses his full lips together and nods unwillingly. “Aye. Thank ya, Doc.”
There’s an uncomfortable silence when she leaves the two of us alone. I’m looking down at my fingers, nervously straightening the sheet.
“Would ya rather a hot cup of tea while I’m making dinner or a cold fruit shake? What would feel best on your sore throat?” He’s still looming over me, hands on his hips but his clear exhaustion and disheveled appearance make him seem oddly sweet. He doesn’t wait for me to answer. “I’ll bring ya both.”
He strides out the door, clearly relieved to have a purpose. I find my gaze drifting down to his perfect, flexing ass and wondering what it would be like to bite it. Just sink my teeth in, and-
What in the actual hell is wrong with me?