Ficlet from Facebook Group #4
Eli stood to the side, holding open the door for me, but didn’t follow. He probably wanted to see Sam for himself.
“Kohn,” Sam growled from where he was sitting up in bed, flipping the channels on the television set.
“Sir,” Eli returned, and then I heard the door click closed.
Sam put the remote down and turned his head to look at me.
I was frozen, staring, soaking up the vision of his appearance—tired but whole, brows furrowed, face blotchy with what would be bruises, his right eye, especially, going to be black and blue.
In a hospital gown, but otherwise, the same man who had left the house that morning.
“You’re shaking,” he commented.
The tears came fast.
“Come here,” he ordered, and I darted but froze before leaping into the outstretched arms, stopping even before I reached the bed.
“You’re not gonna hurt me. You know you’re not.”
I bent close, careful and slow, tentative, and he grabbed me and clutched me tight.
“No,” I cried out, my voice breaking, “don’t tear your stitches or––”
“Baby, I’m okay,” he crooned, turning his head to kiss my cheek. “And I promise nobody’s coming after me. I’m not on some scary international hit list, and I’m not about to be attacked by…I dunno what…skydiving ninjas?”
I pulled back to look at his face. “How did you know?”
He scoffed. “Love, I know you better’n anybody.
I know how your brain works and how far afield it goes when you get scared.
But this isn’t The Godfather, so you won’t have to wheel me out of here into another room when mobsters masquerading as marshals show up in the lobby. You and Enzo don’t hafta worry.”
I dissolved then, thinking about one of Sam’s favorite movies and the many times I’d watched it with him, cuddled into his side.
He held me until I could breathe, and when I straightened up, he got tissues from the box on the table beside him and made me blow my nose until there was nothing left.
I was then directed to the bathroom to splash cold water on my face before I came back out so we could call the kids.
“How did you keep your phone?” I asked, seeing it on the table beside the plastic cup with the straw in it, the pitcher of water, and the box of tissues.
“That’s why I got the iPhone mini, so I could put it in my sock.”
“Of course you did.”
“You should always be prepared.”
“Yes, I know.”
“Let’s call the kids.”
“I can call the kids. You need to go to sleep. Your body needs to recover.”
“I’ll start recovering in a minute. First, I need to call the kids.”
“Dr. Chen wants you to stay in the hospital for seven days.”
He scoffed.
“Five.”
Second one.
“Sam, you need to recover.”
“Do you know, when I was in combat, I got shot in my side, same kinda thing, through and through, and I was back on patrol two days later?”
“You’re not in combat anymore, and you’re not twenty-two anymore.”
“Twenty-one,” he corrected me. “And again, it went right through me, didn’t hit anything vital, and yeah, I get that I need to stay here a couple days, but ten? Or seven? Seriously? If the point is for me to rest and sleep, then this ain’t the place to do that.”
There really wasn’t much to debate there. Unless you were drugged, hospitals weren’t all that restful.
“And we both know I will sleep much better in my own bed, and if I even twitch in my sleep, you’ll be up in a second. You’re a million times better than this monitor. I’ve never met anyone who sleeps lighter than you.”
Before I had kids, I slept like a rock. I used to be able to sleep through a hurricane, but once Kola was under our roof, that had changed instantly.
“Let’s agree on five days,” I suggested.
“Let’s agree on we’ll see if I feel like hot buttered shit tomorrow morning.”
“That’s disgusting,” I replied, feeling the weariness swamp me.
He snorted and poked my side. When I swayed, he shook his head.
“What?”
“You’re so wrung out you’re barely standing.”
“I—” What to say? “I was scared.”
“I know, baby,” he soothed me, and suddenly lifted my phone, which he’d apparently taken from my back pocket because I was that out of it, and I found myself looking at my son and daughter. “Hi, guys, I’m okay,” he informed them, smiling.
“Ohmygod, Dad!” Hannah shrieked. “What happened?”
Kola’s eyes filled as he stared at Sam, and his breath began to hitch like he was about to hyperventilate.
“No-no-no,” Sam told him. “Buddy, lookit me, I’m fine.”
I saw Dane take hold of Kola and draw him quickly into his arms, rubbing his back, asking him to breathe.
“You can hear me, you can see me, I’m okay. I promise I’m okay.”
“Say it again,” Dane demanded, not turning his head, still comforting our son.
“I’m okay, buddy,” Sam assured his son a third time.
“What…happened?” Hannah asked again even as her eyes welled with tears.
“Crap,” he grumbled.
“I’m just gonna sit right here,” I announced, collapsing into the recliner beside his bed.
The last thing I heard was Sam telling Hannah he really was fine before he began explaining, in excruciating detail, to his son who was going to be a doctor himself one day, what precisely had occurred with the path of the bullet.
I rolled to my side and jolted because there was only air.
“Careful,” a soft voice cautioned, and after I blinked, like, a million times, my eyes finally focused in the low light, and I saw a nurse injecting a syringe into Sam’s IV.
“What is that?” I asked quickly.
She smiled at me, I could tell from the way her eyes crinkled above her mask.
“You’re scared, but there’s no need to be,” she declared, moving her long, thick auburn braid and adjusting her hoodie so I could see her badge, which showed her smiling a bit manically but adorably.
Her name was Chelsea Collins, and she pointed to the wall where her name was on a whiteboard under the time from one to nine in the morning.
“I’m his nurse until Delia Fernandez gets here and we switch out,” she informed me.
“We both have red hair, so sometimes people get us confused, but I have freckles, and she doesn’t. ”
I took a breath.
“And this is an antibiotic, because we don’t want him to get an infection. He’s doing really well, no fever, he’s been asleep for hours, and his vitals are all very good, strong and steady. I like this man. He’s easy to care for.”
I scoffed.
She snickered. “Hah. Kidding. I know he’s a pain in the ass, Dr. Chen told me, but I’m good with the ones who wanna tussle. I can wear ’em down.”
“That’s good.” I sighed deeply.
Her head tipped sideways as she regarded me. “It’s impressive, what he did. He saved the hostages, put Joel Osborne back where he belongs, behind bars, and lived to tell the tale.”
“How do you know Joel Osborne belongs behind bars? Did you follow the case?”
“As a matter of fact, I did,” she informed me, her voice gentle as she came around the bed and opened a cabinet. “You see, it’s a very small world, Mr. Harcourt, and your husband kept the man in prison who killed, along with many others, my fiancé’s sweet little sister.”
I could only stare as she got out a pillow and blanket, closed the cabinet, and passed them both to me.
“So you see, when I was told who I was watching over tonight, I called the love of my life, and he told me, ‘You know what to do, Chels. You keep him safe and be his guardian angel,’ and I promise you, Mr. Harcourt”—she moved into a classic Karate stance—“even ninjas couldn’t get through me to your husband, and certainly not anything as tedious as an infection. He’s safe with me.”
“Thank you.”
“No, thank you, ’cause I suspect you take care of your husband every day, and because of that, he was there when a piece of human excrement made a break for freedom.”
I nodded.
“Try and sleep. I’ll be back.”
I watched her walk to the door, where she turned and groaned.
“You know, this wall of windows he’s got, it’s great at night with the stars and the view of the city, but in the morning…
not so much. Even with the blinds, it’s terrible in here.
It’s big, that’s true, which is probably why they put him in here…
but still. Not the best choice in my opinion.
I’ll bring him a sleep mask, and we’ll see if it helps. ”
“I appreciate that.”
“If I live to be a thousand, I will never get why all the windows,” she muttered as she left the room. “Do you guys want coffee or anything?” I heard her ask the marshals before the door closed behind her.
Getting up, I moved to the side of the bed and looked down at Sam.
They drugged him; it was the only possible reason he didn’t wake up with me looming over him.
He could always tell, and one eye normally opened up just a slit.
Leaning in, I kissed his forehead, and even in his sleep, he smiled just a bit.
Lying back down on the recliner, I turned sideways so I was facing him, bunched the thin blanket around me, and would have closed my eyes, but he murmured my name.
“Sam?” I whispered.
“Love you,” he mumbled, and then his breathing evened out.
I cried again, but it was okay because they were happy tears the second time around.