1. Ozzy #2
“You… alright?” he asks cautiously.
I try to tamp down the embarrassment while righting myself. “I’m fine,” I say crisply, turning away from the window. “And no, I haven’t seen a view like that in a while.” I notice a door off to the side and point to it. “Closet?” I ask, trying to change the subject.
“No, there isn’t a closet here anymore,” he states, gesturing to the armoire and dresser.
“We converted the old walk-in closet into a private bathroom. It ain’t much, but you don’t have to share it with any of us.
” He shrugs before putting my bags next to my bed.
“Mama just got your bedding washed last night, so it’s clean.
I’m sure she’ll be around here soon to meet you. ”
“Is she up often now?” I ask, thankful to be able to discuss patient care. It’s mainly to distract myself from the massive window and the feeling of dread trying to wrap its dark arms around me like some sort of python, hellbent on choking the life out of me.
I look up at the man who is probably oblivious to my internal suffering. It’s funny how someone can be drowning in plain sight, yet the person beside them sees only calm waters.
“Uh yeah,” His eyes flicker from mine to the window and back. Does he see something? “She still needs a lot of help on the stairs, and you’ll often find her trying to do more than she should. But she’s been sticking with the exercises that Indy and the physical therapist gave her.”
I give him a slight nod. Their mother, Dorothy, had been recently bedridden after a broken hip.
My friend Indy, who got me this job, and her boyfriend—who happened to be this man’s brother—came here last month to help since I couldn’t get here any faster.
I had to wait to leave the state until after the hearing; until after I knew they’d been put away for good.
“Okay.” I let out a breath before staring up at him. It annoys me how tall this man is, even despite my massive heels. “Well, I’ll get changed and then get ready to meet your dad.”
“What?” He huffs out a dry laugh while giving me an amused once-over. “That’s not your uniform?” He gestures to my leather leggings and black tank top, paired with a red, long-sleeved fishnet top over it.
“No, I prefer nipple tassels and a G-string. That okay with you, bud?” I need to calm down, but the way he looks down his nose at me makes me want to scream.
He rolls his blue eyes before shaking his head and turning to leave. “It’s Jackson. Not bud.”
“You’re a fucking great liar.” I marvel at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. I’ve been masking my anxiety for years but I’m even impressed at how well I’m currently hiding it.
Currently being the optimal word. This mask can fall so fast and without any warning.
I knew that before coming here. I know I could end up getting triggered and freaking out and I’ll have no one here to help me.
Not that I had anyone before. I’ve always been alone, even before my attack.
But after, there were weeks that went by where I had no human contact.
Now I’m sharing a home with multiple people. Multiple men.
“I am a strong person,” I whisper as I run my fingers through my hair to pull it up into a messy bun.
“I’m resilient, I’m brave… and I’m beautiful.
” I recite my therapist’s words while refusing to allow my eyes to trail over my bare, tattooed body.
Turning around, I take a steadying breath while slipping the black long-sleeve shirt on before turning back around.
“I’m a survivor. I’m a fighter, and my past can’t hurt me anymore.
” My voice cracks, and I glance toward the window again.
It just had to be facing the fucking wood line.
Walking from the bathroom through the bedroom, I make a beeline to the sitting area and grab my cotton leggings, slipping them on before sliding into my Chucks before taking one more breath and opening the door.
“Oh!” I breathe out, surprising the older woman standing in my doorway.
“Oh, I’m sorry, sweetheart!” she gasps softly. “I was bringing you some clean towels. I’m Dorothy.”
I give her a friendly smile.“Ozzy,” I reply. “I was just coming to introduce myself to you and your husband.”
“Perfect!” Dorothy beams after handing me the basket of warm towels.
They smell fresh, and I have to resist the urge to pull one to my face and inhale.
I set the basket on the loveseat as Dorothy waves her hand for me to follow her.
I notice her gait as she walks on her cane.
She’s healing well from the break, but I’ll have to make sure she is resting as often as I can get her to.
The last thing we want is for her to do too much and have a setback.
Dorothy taps on the door before opening it. She stops and turns back to me, worry etching her weathered face. “Listen,” she says softly. “Morris is a good man, but he is an old rancher, and on top of that, the cancer… It’s taking everything from him, and he’s bitter.”
I give her a reassuring smile as I pat her hand. “Mrs. Ro–”
“Dorothy,” she states firmly.
I smile again. “Dorothy, trust me when I say your husband can’t hurt me, alright? I promise you; it will be okay.”
She nods, though apprehension remains front and center on her face. Dorothy opens the door completely, and we walk into the bedroom. Unlike mine, this one is smaller, with just a hospital bed and television. There’s a small window, but the blinds cover it. It’s dimly lit, and the air is stale.
“Morris,” Dorothy says while turning up the lights. “This is Ozzy Davenport. She’s the nurse Indy sent.”
I stare at the frail older man in the bed. His blue eyes narrow at me while he eyes me up and down.“Ozzy?” he rasps, voice rough with age and bitterness. “What the hell is it with these damn weird-ass names?”
“Well, if I came in here with a name like Mary Ann, you wouldn’t have the opportunity to criticize it. Now, would you?” I raise a brow as he scoffs. “Would it help if I told you it’s short for Ozalinda?”
Morris’ scowl deepens. “That’s even worse.”
“Good thing it’s just Ozzy then, isn’t it?”
“My god, you have more tattoos than my son. And what’s that shit in your face?”
I give him a shrug while sighing dramatically.
“Daddy issues,” I confess, hanging my head in mock shame.
“It’s a shame, really. I mean, if I had just been loved a little more, maybe I would’ve made something of myself.
Could’ve gone to college, landed a good job, and helped people.
Oh…wait.” I smirk as I meet his narrowed eyes. “That’s right.”
“I don’t like you,” he spits. “You gonna be callin’ my boys in here every time you need to lift something? Jesus Christ, my cattle have taken shits bigger than you.”
“Might wanna stop feeding them so much then.” I shrug while looking toward his dresser, where all his medication bottles have been laid out. I pick one up, scanning over the label.
“Don’t be stealing my pills to get high now!” he barks before going into a coughing fit. Dorothy tries to help calm him down.
“Now, why would I need your crummy pills when I brought a bag full of my own shit?” I wave my hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about me, old man. I’ll be flying high as soon as I crawl into bed tonight.”
Morris snarls his upper lip, but I notice a gleam in his eyes that wasn’t there when I first walked in.
He’s got a fire beneath that gruff exterior.
He likes to banter, and my guess is everyone around here has taken to babying and coddling him.
Well, lucky for the old man, I can dish it out as well as I can take it.
“So,” I look around the room. “locked away in your tower, huh?”
Morris rolls his eyes.“Might come as a shock, but I’m dying. Can’t really get out there and wrestle the cattle anymore,” he mutters.
I lean against the wall. “You could be downstairs in the living room,” I suggest while noticing Dorothy’s eyes soften.
Morris shakes his tired head. “I ain’t making those boys walk by and see what I’ve become. Best I stay out of their way; they got a ranch to run.”
“Wow,” I reply flatly. “How depressing. You want some cheese with that whine?” Dorothy snaps her gaze to mine, and I notice her tensing. She looks ready to yell at me when it happens.
Morris lets out the softest chuckle while staring at me. “You’re going to be a pain in my ass,” he muses.
I smirk. “Please… like you’d want it any other way.”
“He hasn’t so much as cracked a smile in nearly a year,” Dorothy admits, her voice full of appreciation and sadness. I give her a small smile as we make our way down the steps.
“Mama!” I hear Jackson’s loud voice before turning to see him running up the steps.
“Stop, you could hurt yourself! And what in the hell are you doing?” He snaps at me, and I feel the icy anxiety filling me up as his words slam into me.
“You’re a damn nurse! You should know better than to let her go downstairs unassisted! ”
For a second— just a second—I’m somewhere else. A different man. A different yell. A different kind of fear. Dorothy’s voice snaps me back and I realize I have a death grip on the banister, my spine rigid and my pulse pounding.
“Jackson Morris Rowe!” Dorothy scolds and smacks his arm before I have a chance to straighten out my chaotic thoughts. Fuck, his voice is almost terrifying when he’s yelling. “She is helping me. I’m leaning on the railing, and she’s next to me! Apologize immediately!”
“No,” I say crisply as I move around Jackson. I need to get away from him before I have an anxiety attack. “I don’t do apologies. You say what you feel and leave it there. I’ll run into town for you now, Dorothy.” With that, I storm out, chest tight and lungs burning.