Chapter 10 Boundaries #2
“His name is Dietz, spelled like the word ‘diet’ with a z on the end, but pronounced like the slang for ‘details’,” Lance explained.
“He works intelligence in the Corps. We’ve been buddies for about a decade.
I have him holding onto your video for safe-keeping, he can get it back to you anytime you’re ready for it, and by now he’s probably got a nice thick dossier on Bishop. ”
Lynnette stared at him for a long moment, then raised a hand to press the knuckles of her clipboard-carrying hand to her forehead and let out an exasperated sigh. “Lance,” she said, “you do understand you’re my patient, don’t you?”
Lance let a small grin curl his lips. “Today.”
She blanked her expression and rested the back of her hand on her hip. “And yesterday, and tomorrow.”
“Not quite.” He waited a beat, then leaned forward and tugged the blanket away from his healing leg.
“Doc Garland said I’m healing so well, that if I can make a full lap around and back to my room with nothing more than this metal stick for support”—he jerked a thumb toward the IV stand—“I should be safe to finish out my rehab in outpatient.” There would still be physical therapy assigned, which he’d do until his body told him he was back to normal, but as a whole the news was good.
It meant getting out of the hospital, being free of the damn bed, away from the beeping machines, and separated from all the lines literally attached to his body.
The trouble was, that meant he also needed to ramp up his impression on Lynn. Especially if she didn’t think she was his yet.
Her eyes widened and she lowered her gaze accordingly. “They’re releasing you today?” The question slipped out of her like a breathless thought as she moved around for a better angle.
His leg had been re-wrapped again, but less heavily than before.
His whole foot was exposed and his lower leg was bound in only two layers of gauze.
The stitches had begun dissolving and the ragged top edges of the scar from his restoration surgery peeked over the highest edge.
It showed signs of looking gnarly, but Lance knew that everything would fade in time.
He could feel his power regaining strength inside, and the more energy he regained, the faster he healed.
Lynnette brushed the tips of her fingers across the exposed portion of his scar with a featherlight touch. “You’re healing so fast,” she breathed.
“Always have,” he replied, because it was true. He’d tell her the whole truth at a better time.
Something flashed across her face, but she pushed it down and withdrew her hand.
“Well, whatever the explanation, I’m glad to see it.
Let’s make your last few hours here as easy as possible.
” She pulled the blanket back in place for him, and the movement revealed an edge of tape beneath the collar of her top.
Lance tensed, his anger sizzling. “You’re hurt worse than your hands.”
She froze before dragging her gaze to his. “I beg your pardon?”
He moved on instinct, letting his wounded leg swing wide to hang off the bed while he rose up on his other knee.
The change brought him swiftly inside Lynnette’s personal space, filling him with the scent of her.
His lungs expanded as he reached out and carefully—gently—pulled the collar of her scrub top out toward her shoulder, revealing the bandage he hadn’t wanted to see.
It was long enough to curve almost completely from front to back and roughly three-fingers wide.
Lynnette sucked in a ragged breath. “Lance,” she whispered.
The warning in her tone blended with something distinctly different, and the combination of it hitting his ears in that softened version of her voice went straight to his dick. It very much did not match the jaw-clenching upset he felt at seeing her covered in bandages.
Lance lifted his gaze to hers without moving his hand away. The tips of his index and middle fingers rested at the rim of her bra strap, just shy of her shoulder. “This isn’t nothing.”
Her wide eyes stared back at him, shock and uncertainty and something deeper sparkling in each golden flake. “I didn’t have the right size bandage,” she finally said, still quietly.
He narrowed his eyes. “It’s the fact you needed one, sweetheart.”
She dragged in another breath and knocked his hand away, stepping backward.
“I’m fine, Lance,” she said more firmly.
“And while I appreciate your concern, it’s important we remember our boundaries.
You might be on your way out of here, but I’m here every day.
This is where I work. If my colleagues get the wrong impression, it won’t just cost me this job, it could well cost me my ability to ever work in this field again.
” She indicated herself. “I am one of your nurses.” She pointed to him. “You are one of my patients.”
Lance swallowed the argument that built in him and held up his hands in a gesture of surrender.
“I wasn’t trying to upset you,” he said, because that much he could offer honestly.
He rocked backward, carefully repositioning so as to keep himself modest, until he was seated as expected again.
He lowered his arms and met her guarded stare. “I just don’t like seeing you hurt.”
A dusting of pink rose to her cheeks, but Lynnette valiantly ignored whatever feeling rose with it. “It’s not your job to save me, Marine. If being a little banged up makes me a damsel, well, consider what that makes you.”
Lance grinned faintly and allowed himself to fully recline against the bed for extra emphasis. “I’ll be a damsel if it gets me your attention.”
Lynnette scoffed and rolled her eyes as she lifted the clipboard and thumbed through several sheets of paper. Her brow pinched and she finally pushed what looked like half of the stack up so she could examine what was beneath.
Curiosity nagged at him, as it so often did, and Lance asked, “What’s with the clipboard? Hospital having a throwback event?”
The sound she made in response was an alarming mix of a strangled laugh and exasperated sigh. It immediately made him want to go to her again, but he held himself in check and watched, waiting.
She finished reading over whatever she was looking at and let the papers fall into place again as she lifted her gaze.
“I’ve been barred from modern technology for the foreseeable future, because my supervisor is leaning toward believing the bullshit version of events fed to her by my assailant.
Pretty sure she only held off from firing me this morning because I called her out on not taking the whole thing to a higher authority and dropped the L-word. ”
He arched a brow and fought to feign levity. “Told her you love her?”
That time Lynnette did laugh. The sound was short and abrupt, snorting out of her and prompting her to lift a hand to her face as if she needed to catch it.
But it eased some of the tension in her expression for a moment, and he considered his restraint repaid.
“Hell no,” she finally said, tucking the clipboard under her arm.
“Told her I’d add her to the lawsuit I have on-deck.
” She shrugged. “People live in eternal fear of having their bad behavior aired out, so she backed off.”
Lance grunted. She wasn’t wrong, but it wasn’t the most satisfying response.
Lynnette stepped forward and patted his forearm in almost reflexive motion, her tone and expression softening.
“I have some rounds to finish up, then I’ll come back and we can see about that walk, okay?
Rest up until then. Let’s try to get you out of this box and back to life as soon as we can.
” She offered him a smile before turning and striding from the room.
Lance waited until he saw her walk past his window before letting his head thump against the thin pillow.
Dammit. He almost didn’t want to be released yet.
She was struggling, fighting a solitary battle in a war they ought to be ashamed to still be suffering from, and he hated the idea of not being nearby if she needed support.
But what the hell kind of support was he, really, while he was stuck in a hospital bed?
Clearly reporting the incident to the charge nurse hadn't helped Lynn's case at all.
What he needed was to use the time he had left to make it abundantly clear that he had nowhere to land after release.
No warm bed, no shelter, no ready-and-waiting support system.
Which was a little unfair, because Jon would do what he could, but Jon had shit on his plate that seemed to keep multiplying.
Shit he hadn’t been fully open about yet.
So, he’d need a place. Maybe she knew of something that was conveniently near her … like her couch.
He could definitely provide the support she might need in that situation.