Chapter 4
Warner
“I appreciate you repeating yourself for my benefit, Nurse,” I say, struggling to keep the sarcasm out of my voice and my eyes fully open.
A fog of grogginess clouds my clearer thoughts, but my pride still wants to argue with a nurse who dropped the bombshell of the car accident and subsequent coma, a.k.a.
“catching up on sleep,” as she called it.
I call it being blindsided twice—first by the car, and now by my own nurse who won’t tell me the truth.
“I comprehend the words. It’s how I ended up here in the hospital with a broken arm and in a coma that evades me. ”
Nurse Edi eyes me over the top of her red-framed readers and then laughs. “I’ve told you twice now. You weren’t in a coma. You have a concussion from the—”
“Car accident. I know. I know. But—”
“No buts, Mr. Landers,” she finally snaps. “That’s all I can tell you.”
“Can or will?” I steady my temper in the face of a lack of information, refraining from shifting and putting any weight on my right side.
She huffs, having lost her patience with me the first time she came in to check on me.
This round, she’s not putting up with any shit or questions I might have, it seems. Well, she can get in line.
I’m not an idiot, and when she couldn’t or wouldn’t answer the question, I asked for the doctor. Always go to the top.
Now I’m enemy number one in her book and she’s punishing me by swiping the pudding from my tray and then shoving it back down ten seconds later like I just won a damn prize. I don’t give a shit about pudding. I want to know what the fuck happened to me yesterday. Why is it such a secret?
I try a different approach. “I apologize if I offended you—”
Her laughter tears through the room and my apology. “You didn’t offend me. I was assigned to you for a reason.”
Offense takes hold of me, causing me to shift in this bed that really needs to be replaced. “What reason is that?”
“I’ve worked with the orneriest patients in this wing of the hospital for the past forty-three years.
I was assigned to you for a reason, Mr. Landers.
” As if that puts my questions to bed, she turns her gaze to the e-pad and starts writing with a stylus.
I’m hit with a hard glare before she adds something else on the pad.
“I work with all the difficult patients.”
Difficult? She keeps scribbling like she’s penning her autobiography in my chart. “What are you noting?”
“I’m noting that there is no helping you, as a warning to others.
” She cackles under her breath, then sets the e-pad by the monitor in the corner.
I really don’t like her. Who treats patients like this?
Apparently, Nurse Edi. With another laugh, she pulls her glasses from her face and drops them to dangle from a beaded chain around her neck.
“I wrote that you’re paranoid and might need to be moved to an evaluation room. ”
“You did not.”
She laughs again, really impressed with herself. “No, but don’t push your luck, Mr. Landers. Enjoy the pudding.” Walking toward the door, she pulls it open and then turns back. “I think it’s safe to say that you’re alert enough for visitors.”
“I have visitors?”
“Your wife is an angel. She’s been here since you arrived.”
“My wife?” My gaze darts to my left hand. The door closes, and I’m still speculating what the hell happened to me. As I tick through the memories I can recall, I remember being in my office.
The door opens, the light from the hallway silhouetting a woman’s frame. Another nurse, a doctor, or . . . my wife? I’m not married, so I’m not sure if Nurse Edi was just goading me or what, but nothing was funny about that joke.
I’m a terrible patient, especially when I have very few answers as to why I’m here. Even more so with strangers invading my space at any given moment. But my heart monitor alerts the visitor to my anxiety. So much for trying to play it cool.
“Hello?” The lilt of a soft voice is as tentative as this woman’s entry.
When she finally steps over the threshold, the door slams closed behind her.
The low light from the afternoon sun struggles to filter through the cheap metal blinds, accentuating her entry like lines on a piece of paper.
They’re also bent in four spots, but I’ve tried not to dwell on the imperfections so as not to raise my blood pressure.
Plus, one of the bent pieces highlights the shape of her jaw and those pouty lips.
“Hi,” I reply. “Are you a nurse?”
Stepping into the light, she says, “I’m sorry for intruding.” A wave of apprehension rolls off her, altering the air between us.
Intruding? What is going on here? I try my best to remember her features, but nothing is registering while my heart monitor beeps loudly again and pain shoots through my head. “Who are you?”
“It’s me,” she replies like I should know who she is. “Delaney.”
Shit. I thought Nurse Edi was joking about the married thing.
I glance at her left hand this time. No ring on that particular finger, but a thin gold band wraps around her middle one.
“Delaney . . .” I say, leaving it to hang in the air between us and praying to God that she fills in the blanks of my memories so I don’t look like an idiot.
“I was with you during the accident. Well,” she says, coming closer, “just before the accident.” The diffused sunlight still manages to shine in her blue eyes like stars that would make the night jealous.
A mouth that doesn’t shine with gloss but from licking her lips, somehow managing the perfect shade to complement her gently tanned skin and the freckles scattered across her nose and the apples of her cheeks.
She’s pretty. Remarkably so.
Should that matter? Probably not, but I’m suddenly not as upset by the intrusion.
And if I were to have a wife, she’d be a good fit, even though I’m not one to typically go for brunettes.
I could devour the innocence locked in her eyes without a second thought, but I’ll restrain myself.
I’m in a hospital gown for fuck’s sake. I’m not quite in the position I typically am when I talk to a woman I’m attracted to.
“What do you mean you were with me?” Please don’t let her tell me I’m married.
“Oh, you’re eye.” The tips of her fingers press above her mouth. I reach up to touch under my left eye. She says, “It’s the other eye. It’s bruised. Does it hurt?”
I didn’t know since the nurse didn’t say anything, and the doctor has been scarce except for the five minutes he spared me at seven this morning. “The meds must be working. Is it bad?”
“Nothing you can’t heal from.” She leans in like we’re people who inspect each other’s wounds. “The scratch isn’t too bad either.”
“Scratch?” I look around the room, but there’s nothing for me to see what the hell I look like. Here, I was worried about a concussion and a broken arm. Now, I need to be concerned about being bruised and cut up. Looking back at her, I ask, “Why were you at the scene of the accident again?”
“We were talking.”
Nothing about her seems familiar, so I hope our conversation will stir some memories. “About?”
When she slides her hand along the rail of the bed, she angles her body, allowing light to settle over her.
She’s younger than I would have guessed even a minute prior.
The veil of age eludes her smooth skin, drawing my eyes to travel down her neck to her chest. A strap has fallen over her shoulder, tempting me to lift it back into place.
I don’t, though the desire pits deep in my stomach.
It's the blotted spots discoloring her sunny yellow dress that has me wondering if she was also in the accident. Is that blood? Not the conversation I want to have despite my curiosity.
My gaze drifts higher, and I notice the slightest of shadows under her eyes as if her makeup has smudged to stain her skin.
Water pools in the corners of her eyes like they’re waiting for the command to fall.
When she takes a breath, my eyes are pulled to shamelessly watch the rise and fall of her chest. So much emotion is ready to spill out of her that my guard goes up.
Emotional women and I don’t mix. At least, not usually.
I try my damnedest to avoid those situations if I have a choice.
I’m not sure I do since I’m trapped in this hospital bed waiting on who knows what before I return to my life again. I say, “You seem upset.”
“It’s just been a long night.” As if cued, she sniffles and then tips her head back, encouraging the tears to withdraw.
Tidbits of information start linking together, leaving me more confused than before. “You waited here all night for me?”
“Yes. Of course, Warner.”
Of course?
Warner?
She’s sounding suspiciously like someone who knows me, or worse . . . a wife. My throat tightens like my chest, a band stretched to its limits and about to burst as breathing becomes harder. The sound of my heart beating faster alerts both of us to the fact.
Looking back at me, she asks, “Are you okay?” She touches the top of my hand, the tips of her frigid fingers sending shocks of electricity up my arm. “Should I call a nurse?” Panic streams through her voice as her fingers press against me.
“No,” I reply, staring at the connection. “No. It’s fine.” I’m good not being on Nurse Edi’s radar the rest of the night. Who knew a woman who I’d be surprised tops out at five feet could be so intimidating?
“You went pale, so I thought—”