Chapter 4
DEAN
“Take a seat and the nurse will be with you in a moment.”
“I’m counting on it,” I murmur to the orderly who leads me into the waiting bay.
To say I got my head split open on purpose so I could see Lauren again is a slight exaggeration. But when Aiden got me a good one in a training session last night, it was too good an opportunity to pass up. Usually we stitch each other up, and he was surprised when I told him not to.
He shook his head and told me how distracted I’ve been all night, which is the only reason he landed me a good one.
He’s not wrong. The troubled nurse hiding in the rose bushes is all I’ve been able to think about since she popped out of the bushes looking like she wanted to feast on me. Which is fine by me; the feeling’s mutual.
But it’s not just the instant heat between us that I want to explore. I want to know all about her. I want to know why she was skulking around spying on her son and why she seemed so troubled, and I want to know what the hell I can do to make it better.
I see Lauren before she sees me. She’s glancing at her tablet as she enters the room.
“Morning Bo Peep.”
She starts at the sound of my voice, and her mouth pops open in surprise, and her cheeks flare a pretty shade of pink. Then the surprise turns to suspicion, and she narrows her eyes at me.
“What are you doing here? And I told you last night, I wasn’t peeping.”
Damn, she’s beautiful when her eyes flash with anger.
“You’re not Bo Peep because you were peeping. Well, you kind of are. But you lost your sheep, your son, and I think the name suits you.”
She stares at me; obviously not taken with the name I’ve come up with for her.
“I could shorten it to Bo.”
She folds her arms across her chest. “You didn’t answer my question. What are you doing here?”
I indicate the wound on the side of my head where Aiden split my forehead open. “I need stitching up.”
She crosses her arms. “And you just happened to end up in my section?”
I shrug. “Seems like the universe is throwing us together.”
She snorts, but the smile doesn’t reach her eyes.
There’s a clatter behind us, and she jumps as a cart is wheeled past. Her hand flies to her chest, and her eyes widen in fear. Something’s got her jumpy.
“Are you all right?”
She shakes it off and pulls open a metal tray with first-aid paraphernalia on it. “The question is are you all right?”
She’s deflected my question, and I still don’t know what’s made her jumpy, but all normal thought flees my mind as she brushes my temple with her fingertips.
“Let me guess, you got into a fight?” Her touch is gentle as she inspects the gash.
“It’s not as rough as you think.”
She snorts. “It’s rough enough to land a grown man in the hospital.”
I bite my tongue because she’s not wrong. It’s not a big wound, and I could stitch it up myself, but where would be the fun in that?
“I’m going to put antiseptic on it, then I’ll stitch you up.”
“Yes doctor.”
“I’m a nurse not a doctor.”
She gets a bottle out of the cupboard and puts some ointment on a cotton swab.
“This may hurt.” She dabs it across the wound, and I don’t flinch at the sting. I’ve experienced much worse in the military and in training.
“How long have you been in Hope?” I ask.
She sets the ointment down and prepares the needle. “You ask a lot of questions.”
I’d like to ask more, like why the hell her hand is trembling, and why she startles every time there’s a noise outside our room.
Her fingers are shaking so much that she can barely thread the needle. I want to find out what’s bothering her and make it better.
“Let me do it.”
I take the needle and thread from her.
“Are you going to be okay to stitch me up, or am I going to end up with my eyelids stitched together?”
She almost laughs but stops herself. “I’ll be fine. I just need a minute.”
I hand the threaded needle back to her, and as I do, I take her hands in mine. I want to press her hands to my heart and steady her, but I settle for stroking my thumb over her palm.
“Breathe with me.”
She looks into my eyes, and I take a deep breath in. She follows, and after a slow count of four, I let it out slowly. We do it a few times until I feel her trembling stop.
“Thank you. I’m good now.”
She may be steady, but my heart is galloping in my chest. I want to pull her close, to let her know it will all be okay, only I don’t know what it is that’s troubling her.
She starts on the stitches, and her hands are steady now; her movements smooth. I observe her as she works. I noticed the other night that there was no ring on her finger. There’s no indent. If she ever had one, it was a long time ago.
She finishes the stitches and ties off the thread.
“When’s your break?”
She glances at her watch. “In about half an hour.”
“Have coffee with me.”
Her hand stills. “I don’t date.”
It seems like a rote response that she’s said a hundred times. I wonder how many men she’s had to bat away.
“It’s not a date.”
She raises an eyebrow.
“I want to talk about your son.”
Her cheeks turn pink again, and she ducks her head. She’s embarrassed because she thought I was asking her out.
“The training center isn’t what you think. It could be good for him. Give me a chance to explain.”
She regards me warily, the single mama bear trying to figure out if I’m a threat to her bear cub.
I hold my hands up. “Or we can make it a date and talk about you.”
Her eyes narrow. “My break is in half an hour. Meet me in Stitches.”
“Stitches?”
“It’s the cafe in the atrium.”
Half an hour later we’ve got two coffees between us, and I’m distracted by the changing color of her eyes as we stare at each other across the table.
Last night I would have sworn they were green, but today they’ve got a blue tinge to them.
“I’m sorry I was distracted today.” She looks down at her coffee. “I’m not usually like that. I’m a good nurse.”
“I don’t doubt that. Did you get some bad news?”
“Something like that,” she mutters. “Tell me about this boxing gym.”
She says the words distastefully, and I chuckle. “It’s not a boxing gym, not that there’s anything wrong with those spaces.”
“What is it then?”
“It’s a training gym. It’s part of Jake’s Retreat. Have you heard of the veteran’s center?”
“Is it a recovery center?”
“That’s part of it. We have facilities for patients undergoing rehabilitation. I run the training gym. It’s a place for veterans to come and spar, and I run classes to sharpen their skills.”
She sips her coffee, and her expression softens. “Okay, that sounds legit. But why was my son there?”
“I’ve started a youth program. A place for older boys and young men to learn how to defend themselves.”
She snorts, still not trusting what I do, and I don’t blame her. Coming in with a split forehead doesn’t put the gym in the best light.
“We start with situational awareness. How to read your environment, how to deescalate a situation. And if that doesn’t work, how to defend yourself.”
“So it’s not fighting?”
“Not this program. I want to get a youth fighting program together and a proper strength training program, but this is the first iteration.”
I’m brimming with ideas on what I could do at the center. Situational awareness and de-escalation should be taught to all young men. This program is a trial run to see if I can build a proper youth offering at the center. There’s definitely the interest for it.
“What’s your background?”
Her eyes dart to my forearms, and she may not even be aware of it, but Lauren can’t keep her eyes off my muscles. And that makes me hot and hard in all the ways I shouldn’t be in a coffee shop in the middle of the day.
“I was a Navy SEAL, a trainer. I kept the Teams fit and their skills sharp.”
She sips her coffee. “So you think hanging out in a gym and learning to fight would be good for my son?”
“Just talk to him. Promise you’ll give him a chance. It’s better than hanging around town with nothing to do, believe me.”
I was that young man once. I wish there had been something like this when I was young, something to keep me out of trouble.
“I’ll speak to him.”
She sips her coffee, and for the first time, Lauren seems relaxed.
“So where are you from?”
Her phone rings, and she almost jumps out of her chair. She pulls the phone out, and her mouth forms a thin line.
“I’ve got to get this. I’ll talk to Kieren.”
Then she’s gone out of the cafe. I watch her through the window, striding across the atrium with her phone pressed to her ear, wondering who has got her so rattled and what I can do about it.