Chapter 3 Morning Check-In
Chapter three
Morning Check-In
Lance was awake when Jon rolled in a little after sunrise. Seemed the hospital wasn’t restricting him to visiting hours. That probably worked out better. The current nurse on duty was driving Lance crazy in a bad way and he needed a distraction.
He also needed to go for a run or at least fucking stretch his legs, but that was a whole other issue.
“Still lame, I see,” Jon greeted as he passed over a cup of what had better be coffee.
Lance immediately popped the lid off to look inside, revealing the aromatic black liquid that kept his soul fed, and sucked in a deep breath. “I’m only forgiving you for that comment because you brought me the good shit.”
Jon dropped into the guest chair with his own cup. “Give me some credit. I’m not always an asshole.”
They shared a chuckle and languished in the moment with their drinks. Or that was Lance’s take, anyway. On his third swallow he considered there might be something—someone—else on Jon’s mind.
That made for the perfect opening.
“Tell me you spent the night having phone sex with your high school sweetheart,” Lance said, turning his most intentionally hopeful look Jon’s way.
Jon choked on his coffee. Which was a damn achievement in and of itself. The glare that followed was much more predictable. “I preferred you high on pain meds.”
Lance grinned and took a slower sip of his coffee. “Sorry, bud. Terribly sober this morning and planning to stay that way.”
Jon shifted his gaze to Lance’s propped-up leg. “Think you’ll be out today?”
“Nope.” The answer was off Lance’s tongue before he could consider what the response really meant. For all intents and purposes, he should be. He should be good enough to at least be on his own by noon.
“No?”
Lynnette’s face flashed through Lance’s mind and his chest did that tightening thing again.
Am I really banking on a fucking fairytale?
He was a human lightning rod who’d had his leg shredded by a damn feline shifter. His best friend was a modern-day Poseidon who’d once inadvertently rescued an immortal sorceress. Fuck, maybe he ought to believe in fairytales.
Lance chugged the rest of his coffee. “No,” he repeated, voice a bit rough from the burn of the liquid. “Now don’t go changin’ the subject, Romeo.” He crushed the recyclable cup in his hand and pointed out to Jon accusatorily. “You and your sweet Jenna. What’s the deal?”
Jon narrowed his eyes. “There’s no deal, you nosy fuck. We have history, that’s all.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Don’t make me regret keeping you company in here.”
A slow smile lifted Lance’s lips. “Who said you even should?”
Jon arched a brow.
“Listen, Jon,” Lance began, “I’ve known you for like sixteen goddamn years, and not once have I seen you look at a woman the way you looked at the bakery lady yesterday.
” He paused long enough to pitch his crumpled cup at his friend.
“If you don’t go after her, I’ll beat your ass. Just as soon as I get out of this bed.”
Jon snatched the cup easily and scowled at him. “I wasn’t looking at her any sort of—”
“Don’t even finish that sentence.” Lance held up his hand. “You forget who first caught on to Carter and Penny. I know of the shit I speak.”
Jon groaned and let his head fall back. “One time, in sixteen years, you catch on to a secret relationship, and that makes you an expert?”
“How many’ve you sniffed out?”
Jon’s jaw jumped. “I never bothered.”
Lance smirked. “Uh-huh. Well, I did, and I succeeded, so my track-record’s better than yours. And that makes me more likely to be right in the current scenario.”
“For fuck’s sake, just drop it.”
“No.”
Jon glared at him.
Lance grinned wider. “Don’t waste your time becoming one with that chair when you could be out there, becoming one with—” His mouth suddenly dried up and his words died off in a choked cough. The fucker had super-gagged him.
Jon sat back in his chair. “What was that? I couldn’t quite hear that last part.”
Lance raised a hand and flipped him the bird.
Jon’s eyes crinkled the way they did when he was trying to hide his amusement, and Lance’s salivary glands started working again.
Fucker.
Lance coughed one more time, cleared his throat, and said, “My point, asshole, was that she obviously still means something to you. And I’m just gonna be laying here like a lump. So go do something for yourself for once and maybe you’ll have a good time. Don’t be an idiot.”
Jon grunted and drained his own coffee in silence.
Lance rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. “You better not be worrying about me, Johnson. I can still take care of myself. One legged just means it’ll be more fun.”
“You’re an idiot, you know that?” But Jon said it with a low chuckle.
Then he stood and dropped both cups in the trash before facing Lance’s bed.
“I’ll have my phone if your situation changes.
But since you’re so insistent, I suppose there are a few things I can think of that need handling.
I’ll swing back to check on you when I can. ”
“Watch out for the wildlife,” Lance teased. “And the people. Might be hard to tell the difference.”
Jon moved to the door. “I’m telling them to put you back on meds.”
Lance chased him out with a laugh that was mostly genuine.
The truth was, his leg hurt like shit. And it was going to continue to hurt like shit if he was actually choosing to pursue what might be with that fairytale promise, and the beautiful nurse Lynnette.
Because he didn’t want to be doped up for the short time they’d have to establish any type of bond.
He didn’t want to be doped up, in general.
He’d let himself get shit-faced shortly after their discharge, when they’d still been on the East Coast. Drunker than he’d probably ever been in his life.
Definitely drunker than his thirty-five-year-old ass had any right to be.
Even with his natural, uninhibited restorative ability, it’d taken him days to fully recover from what he’d deemed Satan’s Hangover.
He was never voluntarily touching anything stronger than a single beer ever again. Lesson fucking learned.
So, he’d be so sober it quite literally hurt, and he’d be the best version of his charming self he was capable of. Considering the circumstances.
Just as soon as Lynnette came back on shift.
One more outrageous shift, and I get a day off. A whole twenty-four-hours of not having to work. If she wanted, she could spend it entirely in bed.
Lynnette scoffed at herself as she made her way down the corridor to check in at the desk.
Off-days generally meant tackling neglected chores, but even if by some miracle they didn’t, there was a little thing called bodily functions.
She very much would not be spending literally every moment in bed, regardless.
Though a few hours extra rest to just be lazy did sound wonderful.
If Chandie usually works shifts like these, it’s no wonder she took a ten-day vacation.
“Morning, Lynnette,” Amy said, her voice bright like the sparkle on her still-pink nails.
Lynnette smiled. “Morning. Anything particular for me today?”
“Actually,” Amy said, swiveling her attention back to the computer screen, “I think so. Let’s see—yes.
Dr. Garland put a note on Mr. Blackburn’s file; he wants you to keep a close eye on the patient.
” She looked around the monitor to meet Lynnette’s stare.
“It seems our resident war-hero is trying to tough out his recovery and refusing more pain medication. He’s not refusing antibiotics, at least, so Dr. Garland’s content to watch and wait. ”
Lynnette nodded her understanding. “I’ll keep an eye on him. Francis is being discharged today, so that’ll lighten my patient load and give me a bit more time to spare.”
“I think Dr. Bishop’s doing his final with Francis right now,” Amy confirmed.
Lynnette barely held off the cringe at the man’s name. Start with Mrs. Alvers, then. “Well, I’d better get to work. Thanks for the heads-up.”
Amy gave her a colorful finger-wave and Lynnette strode away.
If Doctor Garland had specifically requested special attention be paid on their arguably highest-profile patient, then maybe she could use that to help avoid Bishop.
Bishop couldn’t accuse her of not doing her job, and he couldn’t accost her in front of any patient.
Least of all one who was so valuable that even discharged, his medical expenses were being paid by the government.
She was curious about that, but it wasn’t exactly on the list of things that qualified as her business. A good nurse knew where to draw boundaries.
Mrs. Alvers’ voice carried through the room even as Lynnette pushed inside, her tone stronger than the previous day. Which was good as far as her recovery went, though the agitation it also held was less so. “I had hip surgery, Frederick, I’m not dying!”
Lynnette quietly clicked the door shut so as not to unnecessarily disturb her patient’s phone call.
The phone crackled and a disembodied male voice that she presumed to be Frederick replied, “I never said you were dying, Mom.”
Mrs. Alvers lowered the phone to her chest, met Lynnette’s gaze, and rolled her eyes. “No, you only asked if I had my affairs in order.”
Lynnette felt both of her brows lift in a high arch and tried to busy herself with checking readouts, making sure the IV bag didn’t need replacing, and double-checking the log at the foot of the bed for any specific notes that might have been jotted down.
Frederick made a sputtering sound. “I didn’t mean it that way,” he insisted. “I just meant that I thought this mess with your hip might’ve been eye-opening. None of us are getting any younger. That’s all.”
“Mm-hmm. Oh, sorry, Freddie, the nurse needs me. Too old to multi-task and all that. Talk soon, love you honey, bye now.” She disconnected to the sound of more sputtering, then let out a haggard sigh. “Do you have any children, Nurse Garver?”