~Chapter 7~
A bout an hour ago, after a swift reprimand and a knowing look, Doc left us. The bastard is too perceptive for his own good. Thankfully, he told us that Bea is doing well, all things considered, and should be ready to start slowly moving around. Unfortunately, one of us is going to have to help bathe her when she’s ready, and I just know she’s going to hate that.
Stu has basically been mute since he emerged from his room almost 18 hours after Charlie tucked him in. He stood, looking forlorn as hell, as Doc filled us in. I don’t even think he’s been back in Bea’s room since the letter. I know Charlie hasn’t. Not that I blame him, after what happened to Cammy.
Danny said he had someone in the basement who he needed to finish interrogating, so I offered to stay with Bea. I’ve been sitting in this big-ass armchair, listening to her sweet snores and occasional whimpers, while writing random shit on my tablet. My ass is starting to go numb, but until one of the others comes in, I’m not going to leave. Heaven forbid she tries to go to the bathroom by herself.
And she would. Stubborn ass woman.
I’m just starting to pen another line when Bea gasps suddenly. My head snaps up toward her in time to see her squeeze her eyes closed as she sucks in a breath. She’s almost sitting up completely while cradling the arm in a cast.
I slip out of my chair, sliding my tablet onto it, and slowly step towards her with my hands up. “Careful, Bea. It’s going to be ok. Just take it easy. What can I get you?” My voice starts firm and cautious, but the way my voice quivered at the end gives my anxiety away.
Her head snaps up to mine, and a sea of emotions passes through her eyes before she finally settles on irritation. I can practically feel her displeasure radiating off of her, but I keep inching forward like a stupid, stupid man.
“I’m just here to help, Bea.” I resign, lowering my hands as I get close enough to see that she’s shifting from irritation to pure anger.
“Why? Why am I here, Even?” She spits out my name and scrunches her nose like it smells bad. I take a few breaths, trying to gather my thoughts as the sassy, sexy, blue-eyed woman in front of me seems to be returning back to her wonderful self. It fills me with a sense of pride. Letters and intentions aside, she’s so much stronger than she gives herself credit for.
“Even!” She barks, startling me from my thoughts and effectively wiping the small grin off my face. “Y-yes. Sorry.” I respond almost sheepishly before getting my shit together. “Listen, we care about you whether you like it or not. You need help, help we can provi-”
“That’s what hospitals are for E! Why am I here ? Where the fork is here?” She exhales roughly through her nose; like a cute little bull. I have to work to suppress a smile. This woman drives me crazy.
Clearing my throat, I take another step closer to her. “Beatrice,” I start in a low voice. “You were alone. Always alone. The doctors needed to make sure someone could be around to help. Thankfully, you have four men who are crazy about you, willing to help, willing to do anything necessary to get you back on your feet, to help you get stronger, to take care of you.”
Her head has been shaking back and forth, trying to negate what I’m saying, and fresh tears are streaming down her face. She’s no longer looking at me, but I continue on.
“We wanted you to be safe, with one of us with you at all times, until you recover. So, we brought you to our house after Doc cleared it with the hospital. We had to wait a couple of days for your body to be healed enough for transport. And, trust: Doc would not have let us bring you here unless he was absolutely sure he could take care of you, and he trusted us to do the same. So, um, you’ve been here a couple of days. In our home.”
I don’t mean to ramble on, but I’m afraid. Afraid she’s going to what? Get up and run out of here? I don’t know…but I need her to be comfortable.
“We gave you the room on the bottom floor because it has the best view and, when you start walking, you won’t need to take the stairs. The bathroom is just two doors down, and you can easily access the kitchen. Not that you need the kitchen; we can get you anything you want. But, um, the bathroom…” I choke out a cough and palm my neck, strangely uncomfortable. This is so not like me. Snap out of it, E.
I feel her eyes on me as she squeaks out, “Bathroom?”
The non-question question hangs in the air. I glance at her in time to see her eyes widen and her face pale. “Oh my God! No, no. I’m ok. I’ve got it. You’ve done enough. I can go home now.”
She moves like she’s going to stand, yanking the lone IV out of her hand and shifting toward the side of the bed. I can tell she’s clenching her teeth, and sweat starts to bead on her forehead.
“Beatrice, please. Beatrice, stop!” She shakes her head dismissively as she tries to stand. Caution turns into desperation as visions of her falling and hurting herself flicker through my mind.
Basically towering over her, I look down, physically blocking her from standing, as she starts to beat on me with her free arm.
“Move, Even!” She snarls. “Get out of my way!”
“No! You stubborn ass woman. Lie the fuck down, now!” I don’t mean to snap or yell, but dammit, she’s going to hurt herself more.
Thankfully, the little submissive still deep inside of her obeys immediately. Her movements halt, and she gapes at me, her eyes wide with indignation. At herself or with me, I’m not sure. But hey, at least she stopped moving.
“Good. Now, listen up and listen good: You have a cast on your arm and a cast on your opposite leg. You have severe road rash along with a dozen other scrapes, burns, and cuts. You are not leaving this house until you are well and truly healed. You will get help moving to and from the bathroom, you will ask for help when the pain is too much, and you will not argue with us. We care, whether you like it or not, and we want you to get better. Even if that means that you leave this house at the end of six weeks and never speak to us again. Got it?”
Her eyes are round and doe-like, and I momentarily have to remind myself that it’s not the best time to get hard.
Silence hangs in the air as neither of us moves. We are both frozen, me still slightly towering over her and her still sitting partially off the bed. Our breaths are the only thing that you can hear in the room now that Doc has taken away the heart monitor.
After far too long of our stilted breaths mingling in the quiet, tears burn down her face. And I do mean burn . Her eyes fill with so much vitriol that it cracks my heart in two. “Whatever,” she spits in disdain. “You’ve been a good little lap dog. You can leave now.” She turns away, sliding into the bed while biting her lip to cover the sounds of her pain while trying to turn over.
Part of me wants to leave. I want her to want me and I don't want to hurt her or brush off her discomfort. But, her stubbornness is one of the things I love best about her. And, I know she really does need us right now.
“Bea, I will leave. I will sit in the chair outside the door, but before I do, I need to know,” she stops shifting uncomfortably, signaling that she’s at least listening.
When I don’t get anything else from her, I blow out a breath, rubbing my hand through my too-long beard, then clench my fists. “Do you have to go to the bathroom?”
Her body tightens suddenly. I would have missed it if I hadn’t been staring down at her. “No.” Her voice is quiet, pained, but her body language tells me differently.
“Dammit, woman! Do you really hate me so much that you’re willing to get a UTI just to prove you don’t need help? Jesus, Beatrice!” I’m wobbling on a tightrope of emotion.
Stepping back, I run my hands through my hair, growling under my breath and pulling enough that my scalp prickles.
I don’t know how long I pace, wrapped up in the torrent of my own emotions, but I’m panting and sweaty by the time her sweet-as-fuck voice breaks through the tension in my body. “Fine.” It’s quiet and filled with disdain, but it’s a start.
Whirling around, I face her and take a deep breath. Once the fizzle in my body fades, I step towards her and nod once; my face completely serious and void of the raging emotions warring inside of me. “OK.” My voice is gruff, clipped, but it’s all I can get out without letting the rest of my emotions out.
With a trembling nod, and another tear leaking from her eye, she slowly rolls back towards me and lifts her casted arm. As gently as possible, I scoop her into my arms, ensuring that I bring the nightgown down near her knees so I keep her modesty.
Her hisses and lurches of pain break my heart, but as I knew she would, she grits through it. I gingerly make my way through the room, diligently maneuvering her through the doorway and walking her to the bathroom.
Once there, however, I feel torn. I don’t want to hurt her, but I don’t want to just leave her here, either.
“Can you, um. Can you set me down now?” Her voice is low, unsure, and it causes me to smile down at her. Her eyes are glassy but still so damn beautiful, and I feel myself stumble on a breath.
Finally, I squat down, oh so slowly, until her feet hit the floor. Her body starts shivering violently as she tries to shift some of the weight from me to her own legs. Her arms stay firmly wrapped around my neck while mine move to her right hip and her back. I try to avoid the road rash streaking down her left side.
For at least a full minute, we stay in that position. Her tremors don’t subside, but I feel her slowly starting to remove one arm. “Ready?” I ask her quietly.
Her hand flexes on my shoulder, and I hear her swallow audibly. “Y-y-yes.”
With a gentle nod, I keep my hands anchored to her waist as I steadily stand from my squatting position. As I rise, her arms slowly slip away, and she slowly shifts, allowing her body to be positioned in front of the counter so she can use it for support.
As soon as she’s standing, mostly on her own, I lean down and whisper. “Got it?”
She nods weakly and releases a shaky breath. Gradually, I relax the hold I have on her, only taking a step back when I am sure she’s mostly stable.
I lean over and flip the lid of the toilet next to the sink before straightening again. I meet her gaze in the mirror and can’t help the smile that moves across my face. My brave, fierce, badass woman is standing proudly on her own just days after a horrific motorcycle crash. She truly is amazing.
“You can leave now.” She speaks under her breath, breaking eye contact and eyeing the toilet like it’s an alligator lying in wait. I don’t look away, hoping she'll meet my gaze again, but alas, she doesn’t.
With a final nod, I move out of the bathroom, clasping onto the handle to close the door behind me.
“This doesn’t change anything. I will never forgive you. Any of you.” Her whispered words trail off at the end of her statement; as if the thought of what we did causes her more pain than her injuries.
I don’t respond. I just close the door and wait until she calls for me to help her back to bed.
Forcing her to move here will either prove to be the best idea ever… or the worst.