Chapter 5 Crushing
Chapter five
Crushing
Lance frowned at the time that shone up at him on the phone’s display after his call with Jon ended. Lynnette had clocked off for the day, after a damn unreasonable shift, and that meant he wouldn’t see her again for far too many hours.
She deserved the break. Especially since he’d been needier than strictly necessary in the latter portion of her shift. That didn’t mean he didn’t wish she’d walk through his door again.
Now who’s being unreasonable, asshole?
He hadn’t lied to Jon, though. He felt like a lovesick schoolboy every time Nurse Garver stepped into the room.
Lance dropped his head hard against the pillow, gaze rolling up to the tiled ceiling.
There was some time to kill before dinner was to be delivered, apparently, and sitting in bed all day made him restless.
He envied Jon’s excuse for a good stakeout, despite that he’d always hated stakeouts.
Stakeouts required stillness. Lance was a man of action.
There was a reason he’d gone the artillery route.
Lance tapped his fingers absently against the back of his phone. In lieu of being able to go for a run, or maybe chase down the fucker who’d tried tearing off his leg, he supposed he could at least get to work on that research Jon had asked for. He had offered.
It only took a moment to pull up a search engine and type in the address as Jon had recited it.
Neither of them knew for certain what they were looking for, but if Jon’s grandfather truly had left some type of inheritance behind—bingo.
Campbell Storage Company, a self-storage facility listed as being ‘family run’, located in a smaller community just north of Klamath Falls.
That’d be fucking convenient if Lance were mobile.
And had whatever information he needed to go dig into the thing.
Still, he screenshot the information and sent it off to Jon for the next time his romantically-stunted buddy checked his phone, then decided he had nothing to lose by making a phone call.
The place stayed open past conventional working hours, supposedly, and it gave him something to do for another couple of minutes.
“Campbell Storage,” a male voice said after only a single ring. He sounded the faintest bit distracted … or bored.
Lance slipped into his friendliest tone.
“Hey there, off-the-wall question for you.” The more he talked, the faster he realized there was no way he’d get an answer with a cold-call.
He swore his leg spasmed in sympathy with the surge of frustration that followed.
“I got a buddy recently discharged from the Marine Corps, just learned his grandpa might’ve left behind something in a unit number one-four-three.
Buddy’s name is Jon Johnson if that helps.
Jon’s probably a day or two out from being able to make a trip himself, so I’d offered to do some research for him.
Just looking to verify if there’s anything worth the drive, you know? ”
The man on the other end was quiet a moment, as if he were actually looking up the information, before he finally said, “How exactly do you expect me to answer that, sir?”
Lance felt his brows arch up his forehead even as a part of him tipped his proverbial hat at the tone.
The man only paused long enough to let his words carry before speaking again.
“We don’t advertise who owns which space to anyone, least of all to people who can’t be bothered to at least show up in person with the fake IDs they printed in their mommy’s basement.
The people who have spaces here have keys.
If someone uses our units to leave stuff for someone else, it’s their responsibility to pass that key along and to let us know the name of prospective new owners.
So, if your buddy is real, make sure you tell him to stop by the front desk and ask for Alex.
But don’t try me with some bullshit, I’m not gonna flinch because some gym-bro walks in decked out in store-bought camo, understand? ”
Laughing was the wrong response. It was. Lance knew it. And he couldn’t exactly blame the painkillers he wasn’t taking. But damn, he couldn’t not respect that tired-of-this-bullshit attitude.
“You think I’m joking?” the guy he assumed was Alex asked.
“No, man, sorry,” Lance sucked in a breath. “Civilians are so soft, I kinda just expected whoever picked up to stutter an apology over not being allowed to answer me. Did you serve?”
Alex hesitated. “Army, two tours.”
Lance clicked his tongue. “Ah, damn. Not sure I’ve been discharged long enough to make friends with an Army dog.”
Alex scoffed. “Haven’t been called that in years.”
“I’m still transitioning. Only been on the West Coast about a day and a half.” Which was pathetic, considering.
The door to the room swung open, the male nurse on-shift speaking without looking as he wheeled in a cart. “Bumped into your dinner out— Oh, sorry!”
Lance gave him a pointed look and said into the phone, “Apparently my gourmet dinner is early, but I’ll try to put in a good word for you when I talk to my buddy tomorrow.”
“The other Marine.”
“Yep. He’s Johnson, I’m Blackburn.”
The impatient nurse tapped him on his outer shoulder even as a disembodied voice summoning Doctor Garland echoed down the halls and into Lance’s room through the door the nurse had left open. There was no way the Army guy hadn’t heard it.
“Well, heal up, Blackburn,” Alex said, before promptly disconnecting.
Lance chuckled briefly and stretched out his arm to set the phone on the nearest side table. “Don’t be grumpy with me because you’re early,” he said to the nurse, “I was told it was okay to use the phone.”
“Look, I don’t care if you’re not hungry,” the nurse returned, “but I have to take your vitals, too. Can’t have you on the phone for that. Hold out your arm. Also, the doctor wants an update on your pain level.”
Lance did his best to keep his expression neutral as he complied.
The man did not have Lynn’s gentle touch, or warm bedside manner.
To be fair, she was going to be a hard act to follow for anyone.
But she probably wouldn’t appreciate if he was an asshole to all her colleagues, so he resolved to at least not be their worst patient of the night.
That didn’t mean he wouldn’t miss Lynnette in the meantime.
Lynnette dropped onto her bed, fresh from the shower and still too full of aggressive energy.
Even the detour she’d taken after work to a local gym that let her beat the hell out of their punching bags hadn’t drained the anger.
That, and the overly indulgent diner meal she’d grabbed for dinner, had left her a strange combination of physically drained and psychologically amped.
She still wanted to scream.
She also wanted to roll over and sleep for a week.
If I sleep for a week, I might get fired.
The thought wasn’t without its appeal. She didn’t particularly want that stain on her record, but she was coming to hate the environment at Klamath Community Hospital more than she appreciated the pay.
Likely that was due to the growing number of people in supervisory positions who looked down their nose at her or worse, actually attempted to abuse her and thought they could threaten her into silence.
Lynnette forced out a hard breath, pushing thoughts of Gavin Bishop and his unwanted advances to the back of her mind. He wasn’t her sole problem. And, really, that was the problem.
The nurse in charge of the east unit in their department, a hard-faced woman with frazzled hair that had looked shoved up and out of the way, had made it clear that they would not be “further involving” the patient in the “dispute” between Lynnette and Claire.
As if it were Lynnette who’d caused the issue.
She’d taken the crimped IV line and Lynnette’s complaint and declared that she could take no side in a matter she had not witnessed.
Instead, her solution was to “put distance” between the women.
That meant rearranging Lynnette’s new schedule. And so, her long Tuesday had been shortened by several hours. Her free Wednesday became a partial workday. Her Thursday hours altered. Apparently, Claire had Friday off, so Lynnette’s Friday was untouched.
It didn’t exactly feel balanced and fair. Particularly since Lynnette was suddenly working nine days in a row without relief. But the nurse brushed that concern aside and instructed her to “move forward.”
Lynnette had no way to know if Claire would be spoken to, if Claire’s hours would also be altered, or if this odd punishment was strictly on her.
And it pissed her off. If it weren’t entirely unethical and potentially damaging to the patient, she’d be happy to stand back and let Claire’s vanity do its own damage moving forward.
But the next patient might be more dependent on their IV line. The next time it might be something more critical. And Lynnette wouldn’t forgive herself if she had knowingly allowed some innocent third party to come to harm just because she wanted to see the wrongdoer forced to face consequences.
Lynnette heaved another hard breath and shoved up.
It wasn’t really late enough for a woman in her early thirties to turn in, but she was tired and she did not feel like socializing.
A thought which immediately made her cringe.
She really needed to reach out to Jenna and see how her friend was doing, what with all that had gone on at the bakery.
She made herself a mental note to text Jenna in the morning—they were both early risers, anyway—and see about meeting up sometime after she clocked off again. Then she ran a comb through her still-damp hair, turned out the lights, and crawled into bed. The hour didn’t matter. Sleep mattered.
Sweet, blessed sleep where her overworked bones could rest.