34. Winnie
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
winnie
There’s an art to staying in a hospital.
You get good at pretending to nap in midafternoon light, at watching the same reruns on the four channels they offer, at counting every squeak of rubber-soled shoes as they go by.
At being woken up by stabs and pokes when you’re finally able to shut your eyes.
Gina, the nurse I like best, is humming something under her breath as she wheels in the last drip bag. I watch her in the reflection of the window. The sky is morning pale, and the parking lot below shines slick with last night’s rain. I don’t want to say I’ll miss it, because I won’t.
“You excited to finally be going home?” she asks in that way nurses have of making it sound like a secret.
I smile, which takes less effort than it did a week ago. “More than you know. You all took great care of me. But I’m about ready to chew my way out of this room.”
She snickers. “That’s the spirit. If you ever get tired of baking, you could make a killing as a patient. Real good at following orders. Or pretending to, anyway.”
I glance at the window counter, which has two balloon bouquets, a mountain of chocolate, and enough flowers to get me through life. The roses, though. There are over a hundred roses in various stages of red, all of them put together so beautifully. The roses are all from Danger.
The nurse sees me looking. “I’m surprised the fire department hasn’t shut us down yet,” she says, waving her clipboard at the flowers. “He stirred up a lot around here. That man, he remodeled our lobby, you know that?”
“Remodeled?”
She leans in. “Heared they had to bring in a whole new set of waiting room chairs. Never seen a man with that kind of… presence.” She draws out the word and laughs.
I stare at the roses.
“He just feels bad. We fought right before the accident. That’s probably why he’s been feeling so… guilty.”
She checks the drip and, without looking at me, says, “Honey, he’s been here every morning when I start my shift.
Every night when I leave. And I work twelve-hour shifts.
That man washed your hair every day, you know that?
Did it himself, with the little blue tub.
Took him an hour. If that ain’t love, I don’t know what is. ”
My face goes hot. I sink back against the pillow, try to play it cool. “Still think it’s his guilty conscience. And he’s stubborn.”
She barks a laugh, straightens the bedsheet. “If you haven’t looked out your window yet this morning, maybe take a peek. I have a feeling that shiny new car with the bow on it isn’t for me.”
What?
I twist the sheet in my fist and crane my neck to the parking lot. There, in a far corner, is a white SUV, gleaming like it was just dropped off from the dealership. A red bow, the kind they use for Christmas commercials, sits on top.
“He bought me a car?” I say, too loud.
The nurse grins and taps the chart. “Heard him on the phone with the dealership. He said it had to be the safest car they had on the lot. Kept asking about airbags. Even argued with the guy about the side-impact rating.” She sighs, a little dreamy.
“Told you. Never seen a man go to pieces like that over a woman. And I’ve seen plenty. ”
A weird ache blossoms in my chest. I want to be angry, to hold onto my grudge. It’s easier to be angry when there’s nothing in the parking lot, when the person in question hasn’t been here for me every waking minute.
I pick at my thumbnail, stubborn. “It looks very nice, but I’m still mad at him.”
The nurse looks at me with a raised brow. “You ever think maybe you’re mad because you love him back? I know I don’t get mad at anyone I don’t care about.”
I giggle. “That’s not it.”
She shrugs. “Suit yourself. If it was me, I’d forgive him. Seems like he’s been punishing himself plenty. And with a man who looks like that… doesn’t hurt, right?”
I smirk and let myself relax into the moment. “He is pretty, huh?”
“Oh, honey.” She leans on the bed rail, confiding. “Every nurse on this floor thinks so. Even the ones who like women.”
We both laugh.
“And for what it’s worth, you had quite the fan club in here. You are loved, my dear.”
“Fan club?”
“Oh yes. I’ve met all of the Stetson and Hawthorne family members.
And two of your friends? One blonde, one brunette.
The blonde one—sweet as pie but bossy. She brought in those three different blankets over there because ‘hospital beige is emotionally aggressive.’ And the brunette…
” She grins. “She sang to you every time she was in.”
My family. The Stetsons. Sawyer. Honey.
They were all here for me.
It makes the room feel smaller somehow. Fuller. Like the walls are holding so many memories I was here for but just don’t remember.
The door swings open followed by heavy boot steps.
Danger is carrying two coffees, his hair a wet mess.
“Morning,” he says, in that growl that makes the nurse blush.
I squint at him. Tilt my head. “Sorry… do I know you?”
He stops mid-step. “What?”
“I’m sorry,” I continue sweetly, scanning him head to toe. “Are you with maintenance? Because my air conditioner is making a weird noise.”
His face drains, goes pale.
The nurse loses it. “Stop torturing that man, sugar.”
Danger huffs, annoyed but too tired to hide how relieved he is. “Funny,” he says, then hands me the coffee. “Got you the sweet shit. Four extra creams.”
I take it and let my fingers rest against his for a second. “Thank you.”
He runs a hand over his jaw, looking everywhere but at me. “You ready to get outta here?”
I sip the coffee, savor the sugar. “Yes, but you didn’t tell me you did some remodeling downstairs.”
Danger shrugs, doesn’t look sorry. “They needed new furniture anyway. I left a check.”
The nurse is writing something down, but her eyes dart between us as she quietly giggles. Then she gives a little bow. “She’s all yours. If you end up back here again, just know we charge double the next time.”
He nods, solemn, like he doesn’t plan on coming back.
She winks at me and says, “You take care now.”
Danger doesn’t move. He just watches, arms crossed, taking up all the oxygen in the room.
He says, “Let’s get you home?”
“Hell yes.”
He comes to me and helps me out of the bed. One hand steadies my elbow while the other wraps around my wrist. His thumb drags along the inside of it, and I wonder if he's checking for my pulse.
It’s still there, somehow.
“You good?” he asks.
I nod just as a different nurse wheels a chair into the room and locks the brakes.
"Hospital policy," she says with an apologetic smile.
Danger keeps hold of my wrist as he helps me ease into the chair, making sure I'm settled before crouching long enough to tuck the blanket over my legs. His hand lingers for a second. Then he grips the handles behind me.
I try to focus on anything but the way his hands feel on me again. The brush of his knuckles. Even in a hospital, he smells like Rainforest cologne and worn leather.
“So you bought me a car?”
He tips his head, smile tight. “No. I bought myself peace of mind.”
“You always hated my car.”
“I always cared about your safety,” he says, all stubborn and unshakable. Then he clears his throat and adds, “If there’s ever a problem with this car… or if anyone messes with the engine, the security system locks up. Won’t even let you shift into drive. It’ll alert me, too.”
I scoff. “You rigged my car to tattle?”
He shrugs. “I’m not above it.”
For a second I see his boyhood. Or what’s left of it—barefoot in the stables, cursing at his brothers, trying to be the one who keeps them in line. It’s still there under all the grown-up scars.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I say, quieter now. “I’ll pay you back for it.”
He shakes his head. “You won’t do nothin’ but get better. And never do that to me again.”
I nod and say, “So are you gonna give me the keys, or do I have to hotwire my own car in the parking lot?”
He grins. “You’re not driving.”
“Excuse me?”
He opens the heavy door with his shoulder, guiding me through like a gentleman. “You’re still on painkillers. I’ll show you how it works.”
I want to argue, but I don’t have the energy. Instead, I make a show of rolling my eyes, and he makes a show of pretending not to notice.