Chapter 28
Patrick
Bile races up my throat at the sight in front of me.
Cain’s dark hair is matted to his head; there are deep, purple bags beneath his closed eyes.
I can’t even begin to imagine what he felt when he saw the barrel of that gun aimed right at him.
His neck and right shoulder are discolored from bruises.
His right arm is in a sling that they’ve somehow managed to secure around his body, trapping his arm to his side.
His bedsheet is pulled up to his chest, with a blanket on top, but they’ve forgone a gown.
Probably easier to keep an eye on the drain sticking out of his chest wall.
There’s a tube down his throat, taped in place over his mouth, as a machine next to the bed breathes for him. He also now has an incision down the middle of his chest that matches mine.
Two literal broken hearts, mended in each other’s presence.
“Oh, Cain.” It comes out in a whisper, my vocal cords abandoning me, as I reach for his hand, careful not to dislodge the I.V. in his skin or the taped electrodes dotted across his chest.
“Nurses will be in every hour to check on him, but if you notice any changes at all, please call one of them.”
At the overwhelming sight in front of me, I’d managed to forget Dr. Porter was still in the room with us.
Without taking my eyes off Cain, I answer.
“I will.”
As soon as Cain and I are alone, I lean forward, gently pressing my lips to his forehead before trailing the fingers of my free hand along his cheek. His skin feels all wrong.
“It’s been thirty seconds, and I’m already breaking the rules,” I whisper. “See what you do to me?”
Pulling a chair next to his bed, I text Knox, Taylor, Damon, and Liam, knowing they all played a role in my life tonight, and that Cain had unknowingly played a role in theirs over the last two years.
For fifty-two hours, I listen to the sound of machines whirring and beeping before there’s any change.
The rhythmic noises and broken body of the man I love are far more devastating than the last time I found myself in this position.
At least Taylor was surrounded by his entire family, which included his four siblings, as well as his boyfriend.
Cain only has me.
Damon and Liam have come by a few times, but aren’t allowed in Cain’s room. Realizing that I was antsy and uncomfortable every time I had to leave Cain’s side, they decided to fly back home, but promised they’d be available if I needed anything.
My overnight bag sits in the corner of Cain’s hospital room. The only things I’ve bothered to use are the toothbrush and deodorant.
Going on three days without a shower, shave, or more than thirty minutes of sleep at a time, I look almost as bad as the man lying in the bed.
Finally, early one morning, Cain begins to stir.
His eyes flutter open, and he immediately tries to fight against the tube in his throat.
I race to the door and call for a nurse before rushing back to Cain’s side.
“Hey, shhh. Relax. The nurse is coming to get that thing out, okay? I know it’s uncomfortable, but please don’t fight it.”
Cain looks in my direction, but it’s like he’s looking through me. I do my best not to take it personally because of his obvious state of panic, but it’s hard not to wonder what happens next if he decides he doesn’t actually want me here.
“Cain, welcome back to the land of the living,” says a man I’ve never seen as two nurses unhook the attachments to the tube in Cain’s mouth.
Instead of immediately pulling the tube out, the entire staff pauses, watching Cain.
“What are you waiting for? Can’t you see he’s uncomfortable?” I snap.
The man slowly turns his gaze toward me.
“If it’s all right with you,” the man says in a condescending tone, “I’d like to make sure Dr. Rosemont can breathe on his own before I extubate him, only to have to traumatize him by putting it back in a moment later.”
“Um, oh. Right,” I mutter.
Returning his attention to Cain, he says, “Breathe as normally as you can, Cain.” Cain narrows his eyes at the man and grunts, causing the man in scrubs to laugh. “Just as cuddly as ever, I see.”
“The man’s been shot, for fuck’s sake. Do you really think now is the time for jokes?” I fire.
The man ignores me, checks his watch, and nods to the nurse on the other side of Cain’s bed.
“Alright, Cain, when I say so, I want you to exhale a deep breath, but instead of pushing from your stomach, like you normally would for this, I need you to really think about using your lungs. That bastard got you in the stomach, too, and I don’t want you popping any sutures.”
Cain nods, seemingly understanding.
“Okay, then, on the count of three. One. Two. Three,” he counts, and they start pulling while Cain chokes and sputters and gags.
The sound is truly awful.
Cain opens his mouth to speak, but this nurse or doctor or PA or whoever he is throws a finger against Cain’s lips.
“Don’t even think about it. I need you to breathe for five minutes on your own. Try taking small sips of water, and then you may try talking.”
Cain rolls his eyes but nods.
He winces as he swallows the water, but he doesn’t choke, which is a good sign.
Seemingly satisfied, the man in scrubs nods and says, “Short phrases only. Do not elevate your heart rate. I’m going to go let your surgeon know you’re awake.”
“Who?” Cain whispers, but the man just smirks over his shoulder, understanding something I don’t.
Once the room clears out, Cain finally affixes his bloodshot eyes on me.
“You came,” he rasps.
“Of course, I came. They said I was listed as your emergency contact,” I say, treading carefully, not wanting to spook him with feelings.
“Added one…in the…nick of time,” he works to get the words out.
“I want to bring that man back to life so I can strangle him myself,” I admit.
“Was grieving,” Cain says, brushing away the fact that he was shot multiple times. Then I realize he may not know what happened.
“Who did my surgery?” he asks.
“That’s what you’re concerned about?” When he addressed the man in scrubs, I thought he’d been asking who shot him, not who operated on him.
“Who?” he asks again.
“Dr. Porter.”
A smile tilts one corner of his mouth.
“That son of a bitch…will never let me…live this down.”
“Did someone say ‘son of a bitch?’ You wouldn’t be talking about me, the man who saved your life, now would you?” Dr. Porter asks, coming into the room, rubbing sanitizer into his hands from the dispenser on the wall.
“Oh, here we go,” Cain whispers as his surgeon comes to stand next to his bed, pulling Cain’s sheets down to assess his body.
“You gave me quite a scare, Cain. I had to work hard for every cent of that astronomical bill you’re going to get.”
Cain gives the man a full smile and whispers, “Thank you.”
Dr. Porter nods and then changes the subject.
“How are you feeling?”
“Like I just took a bullet to the chest.”
“You seem pretty coherent. Do you want more pain medicine?” the surgeon asks.
Cain shakes his head.
“Hate that stuff. Just a minimal drip, enough to keep the edge off, is fine. How bad was it?”
“One bullet grazed your heart. The only reason it didn’t kill you is because you were shot a thousand meters from my operating room.
Another bullet pierced your stomach, and I believe it’s resting near your spine.
The third bullet went through your humerus, but miraculously missed your radial nerve.
Be glad your shooter didn’t practice regularly. ”
“Back up,” Cain says. “You said the bullet ‘is’ resting near my spine. You didn’t get it out?”
“No. Let me remind you that as a trauma surgeon, my first goal was to stop the bleeding and make sure your heart kept beating. After that, it was to patch your stomach up and plate your arm. I hardly had time to play hide and seek with three spent full-metal jackets.”
“Next time I want a real surgeon,” Cain teases.
“Next time I’ll let you bleed out in the hallway,” Dr. Porter teases back. “Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be back around lunchtime.”
Cain nods before his eyes lock on mine again.
“Maybe we could not have a next time?” I suggest to the men.
“How long have you been here?” Then, as an afterthought, Cain adds, “How long have I been out?”
I spend the next twenty minutes catching him up to speed, trying to answer as many questions as I can, but it’s not long before the interaction exhausts him and he’s drifting off to sleep again. The last thing he mumbles is, “Please don’t go.”
“I’m not going anywhere unless you stick me on the plane yourself,” I tell him, even though he’s already asleep.