Chapter 6
Terran
On Friday, I was up and out of bed with my IV drip rolling next to me while I shuffled along down the hallway, my socked feet dragging with each pained step.
It felt weird to shuffle around the hospital in nothing but a thin cloth gown and grippy socks. I missed the familiar tickle of my waist chains shifting with each step and the compression of my panties keeping me snug. Everything felt too out of place, too wild and free for my tastes.
This freeballing shit was annoying as hell.
The worst part about having a knife wound to the gut was how often that muscle group was needed in order to do literally everything.
From sitting up, to going to the bathroom, to reaching for a damn drink off my tray when the nurses brought me my morning breakfast. Small twinges of pain that added up until my entire lower half was sore from overstraining it.
The trade off to getting to go home on Monday was showing the nursing staff I’d be fine to do so.
Which meant doing bullshit exercises like pacing up and down the hallway three times a day, getting out of bed to go to the bathroom by myself, and standing for longer than three minutes without my legs shaking from exhaustion.
I was a fit guy with plenty of energy stocked up in my twenty-four year old body. I’d gone from lean muscles to bulking out a bit when I entered the academy and had been put through training to hike up my stamina. Diet military training, as my sister so lovingly put it.
But goddamn, recovering from major surgery was an absolute bitch.
Since graduating from the academy, I’d kept up those same routines.
Felt comfort in them because they were familiar at a time in my life where I’d felt desperate enough to join an organization that I knew would turn me inside out and make something new without taking me away from my sister and niece like the armed forces would have.
I’d never regret my decision to become a cop, even in those last moments of consciousness after I’d been stabbed and was feeling the life drain out of me.
I’d always wanted to make a difference in this world—an impact, somehow—even if I’d seen my life playing out completely differently five years ago.
But that was fine.
Things changed, plans altered, and this spinning rock in the middle of space continued to turn.
Coming up on the nurse’s station, a thought occurred to me.
What were the chances Dr. Montgomery was wrong about my stuff getting thrown out?
With Thomas having died the day before yesterday, and the investigation with IA most likely still ongoing, there would be a need for forensic testing of some kind, regardless of the witness accounts from those who were there that night.
Right?
At least on the off chance that I sued. It gave IA plenty of options to cover their asses before a lawyer slapped them with a packet full of paperwork.
So far, I’d only gotten a few visitors from the precinct stopping by to see me, none of them coming around to take my statement or fill out a report on what happened that night.
I could only guess it was because they were waiting for me to get discharged and come in for a formal interview with IA present, and in the meantime, were busy gathering whatever evidence they could against Thomas to keep his family from suing.
This was an open and shut case by all means, however protocol still needed to be followed, regardless of how many people were there to witness the fucking mayhem.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Bishop.” One of the nurses, Beth, smiled at me when I got close enough. “How’s the walk going?”
She reminded me of my grandma when she was still alive—a little frantic when things got chaotic but other than that, sweet as pie.
“Good. Hey, listen. I was wondering…” Lifting my arm, I rested it down onto the counter, using it to relax my body weight against instead of the pole from my IV drip.
My hand was cramped and sore when I loosened it, pins and needles shooting all the way up to my shoulder.
“During my surgery, I had some personal items taken. You wouldn’t happen to know where they ended up, would you? ”
“Most of your clothes had to be disposed of, unfortunately.”
“Right. I figured as much.” My abs pulled uncomfortably when I heaved a sigh. “I had my utility belt and some jewelry on, too.”
She slid back in her chair, rolling it around to face the computer. From here, I could see the screen’s desktop. “Let me see if any of that got logged.”
“I know my weapon was exchanged, but other than that, I haven’t heard anything about the other items.”
She hummed, her fingers flying over the keyboard while she brought up some screen to log into the hospital portal.
Was it bad of me to be getting my hopes up like this?
There was a strong possibility I was going to walk away from this empty-handed and even more disappointed because I was naive enough to believe Dr. Montgomery hadn’t personally chucked my things into a waste bin before slicing me open.
He had to have plenty of nurses in that room with him though, right?
All of them cutting me free and throwing my dirty clothes and items away from the operating table in order to make room to save my life.
He could’ve simply been told by one of the nurses that whatever was left in the OR was disposed of without actually taking the time to ask about an entire catalog.
Because why would he?
It’s not like it was any of his shit getting tossed.
“I’m not seeing anything.” She paused, clicking on a page and waiting for it to load before continuing. “I see here that we released your weapon to Palmerston police department… along with a taser, pepper spray, handcuffs, and…” She clicked to the next page.
I leaned forward. “And?”
Oh my god, please say miscellaneous jewelry items.
I was actually considering getting down on my hands and knees and praying. Sure, I could save up and buy another one, but that would be years in the making. I had a damn family to feed and clothe and no sign-on bonus paycheck to help cover the insane shipping fee.
The artisan was out in Italy, making custom pieces that were actual things of beauty. There was no way I was going to cheap out and get one off when I’d been wearing the real fucking deal for over two years.
The page loaded again. That damn cursor mocking me as it slowly rotated in circles.
How the hell was a hospital’s system slower than ours back at the precinct?
I constantly found myself wanting to take my computer’s tower and bang it on the side of my desk, just to see if jostling the inside parts would force it to run faster.
Finally, the page loaded. “Oh. And a radio.”
Noooo!
True and utter despair coursed through me. Leaning forward, I let my forehead bang down against the counter, not at all carrying about the sharp sting of pain that quickly faded within seconds or the loud sound it made.
God fucking damn it.
“Mr. Bishop?”
This had to be some sick, cosmic joke. Dangling in my face with hope, only to snatch it away at the last second.
What kind of karma was this?
Suddenly, a hand fisted in my hair, yanking my head back up from the desk with a hard pull. Disoriented, my instincts kicked into autopilot, reaching back to grab at the wrist that was currently holding me hostage and trying to pry it off of me.
I was tipped back into the light, another hand coming around to cup my jaw in a firm hold. The fingers were warm against my cheek.
“Hold still. And stop blinking so much.”
My eyes widened as I stared into the very, very handsome face of one Dr. Montgomery.
Holy shit.
“I-I think he passed out,” Beth stuttered. “I was just going over what we logged in the OR after his surgery. I wasn’t watching him.”
There was a subtle tick to his eyebrow that I only caught being this close to him. A barely-there emotion that was quickly buried when he narrowed those ice-blue eyes at me.
Without all of the hospital garb covering him up, I took in his smooth and pale complexion, the sharp, angular cut of face and nose and his thick, dark hair that was cut short and neatly styled on the sides, giving him a polished look that clashed with the tattoos covering his skin.
One side of his neck was covered in inked lines that were dark and sharp, reaching right underneath his impressive jawline and fanning along to caress over his Adam’s apple. They disappeared beneath the collar of his dark blue t-shirt, the mystery of where they ended fascinating me.
How had I not noticed them the other day when he was in my room?
Maybe I was too out of it that night. Too focused on my loss to know that my doctor was an actual, cut-out-of-stone Adonis-type.
“Your pupils are still dilating normally,” he said, letting go of my hair in order to reach for something. “No signs of a seizure.”
Right as he finished the sentence, a bright light was flashed right into my eyes, practically flashbanging me. “Jesus! Do you mind?”
He held me firmly in place, rotating the light around while I winced.
“I’m not concussed!”
“So just dramatic, then,” he replied.
Wow.
“What kind of bedside manner is this?”
He clicked the pen light off, slowly letting go of me. “None. I’m off today.”
The second I had my hand wrapped around my IV drip pole, I stumbled back from him, giving myself enough room to breathe while he slowly set the light down on the counter. He tracked me as I moved, intense and predatory in a way that somehow radiated dominance.
Maybe it was in the poised demeanor, or the impassive expression he wore. Maybe in how he slowly crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his body just enough to rest against the nurse’s station.
Something in my gut churned. Not unpleasantly, but in the kind of way I got when I was finding it hard to ignore the primal urge to find someone to take me back home and fuck me until I was no longer the person I was when I first walked into that bedroom.
Swallowing hard, I forced those thoughts down. “If it’s your day off, then why are you here?”