CHAPTER TWO #2
In the time it took Malcolm to have one sip of water, a team of nurses barged into the cramped room.
“Mr. Smith, it’s good to see you awake,” the senior nurse said as she strode over to his bedside.
Chief Warren jumped to his feet and stepped into a corner as the other two nurses checked the machines by his bed and jotted down notes in an iPad.
The youngest nurse leaned over Malcolm, pulling back his eyelids and flashing a pen light in his face. “Can you tell me your name and birthday, please?” she asked coldly.
“My what?” he asked, turning his face away and coughing into his pillow.
His lungs burned with every exhale, and he realized he couldn’t bring his left hand to his mouth.
Wiggling his limbs, he discovered one of his legs was in an air cast, dangling from a support in the ceiling.
His left arm was also wrapped, so heavy he could hardly lift it from the mattress.
Panic surged through his veins as Malcolm strained against the nurse’s touch. “What happened to me?” He screwed his eyes shut, desperate to remember what brought him here. Obviously it was something on the job, but his mind was blank.
“Can you give him a minute, please?” Chief Warren asked, stepping back to Malcolm’s side. “He just woke up.”
“What happened to me?” This time, Malcolm addressed his question to his superior officer.
“There was a fire, son, in the warehouse district. Everyone made it out okay, but you took the brunt of the injuries.” Chief’s eyes were tired, dark smudges marring his face. His voice sounded strained, but from more than fatigue. “You’re going to be fine, isn’t that right, Nurse Hopkins?”
The older nurse nodded, ushering the other nurses to the doorway. “You will, Mr. Smith. But I do need to collect some samples and run more tests to determine if there’s been any brain damage.”
Malcolm’s skin paled at the mention of brain damage. “Are you serious?” He blinked, trying in vain to remember the last thing that happened. He remembered being at the station shooting the shit with Javi, Trevor, and the rest of the A shift. After that, it’s a haze of shadows.
“Chief Warren, if you can wait in the hallway, I’d like a little privacy with my patient.”
Always a rule follower, Chief nodded and carefully patted Malcolm’s shoulder.
“I’ll be right outside. Your parents are coming down from Tennessee later today, but I’m not leaving until they arrive.
” He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Trevor, Javi, and Maxwell are chomping at the bit to visit. As soon as you’re ready, the whole damn station wants to see you.
” Chief paused a moment and chuckled. “Hell, I think half of Pinegrove wants to stop by and check on you.”
Malcolm smiled, but the movement made him grimace. Every muscle in his body felt strained and exhausted, like he’d been dragged over a mile of hot coals. Well, maybe he had?
After chatting with the chief for another moment, Malcolm’s heavy eyes finally closed.
As he drifted back to sleep, he thought about his parents’ impending visit.
Yes, he wanted to see them. Even though he was pushing thirty, he still wanted a little TLC from his folks.
The problem was, nothing was ever little with his mother.
Growing up in Atlanta, he’d been used to her being gone during filming season.
She was the star on a cable soap opera in the early ’00s, Atlanta Hearts, which left Malcolm alone with his father, and more often his own thoughts.
Being absent as long as she was, when Estelle was back in their family home, she was the Queen Bee, dictating what everyone did and overwhelming Malcolm with attention.
He hadn’t realized how much she could smother him until tastes changed and cable soaps were no longer a draw.
When the show went under just before Malcolm entered high school, everyone agreed it was time to move to a quieter part of the Peach State, at least until his mother could figure out her next move.
His father’s career afforded him the flexibility to live anywhere, and they’d chosen the little hamlet of Pinegrove. The rest, as they say, was history.
The next twenty-four hours were a blur of nameless doctors and nurses and his parents.
Javi, Trevor, and Maxwell visited, each wearing anxious—and almost guilty—expressions.
Malcolm didn’t want any pity. Their job dealt with risk every day, and sometimes the odds weren’t in their favor.
However, there was a visitor who brought news that nearly sent Malcolm catapulting off the bed—injuries be damned.
Daisy entered with his team, hanging close to Chief. It was public knowledge that the pair had been courting, and Malcolm was thrilled to see both of them smiling ... and living ... again. “I hear your parents are coming soon,” Daisy said, filling up his water cup and unwrapping a fresh straw.
“Yes, ma’am,” Malcolm said, striving to keep his tone light. He wasn’t used to this many people fussing over him.
“Well, speaking of visitors.” She licked her lips, her gaze snagging his. “I spoke with Jessie, and she’s coming home for a visit.”
“JJ’s coming home?” His question was laced with hope and a tinge of fear. Perhaps all the medications he was on sent him into a tailspin—or maybe he was hallucinating this whole encounter.
Daisy steadied the cup of water under his chin and waggled the straw, urging him to stay hydrated. “Yes, sugar, she’ll be here in a few days.”
Malcolm didn’t remember a damned thing after Daisy’s news.
The hospital could have imploded and he wouldn’t have noticed.
All he could think about was the fact that JJ was coming home.
Granted, Daisy said it was for a visit, but he’d take any scrap of his girl he could.
Maybe it was having a warehouse fall on him, but Malcolm needed to see her, needed to feel her and hold her as close as he could.
Yet, before his girl would arrive, the other woman in his life was due in Pinegrove. Every time he opened his eyes, Malcolm braced for the piercing tone of his mother’s voice. Before he was ready, his parents invaded the relative quiet of the ICU.
“Malcolm, baby!” Estelle wailed as she glided into his room. Better dressed for a night on the town, she was clad in a sundress and heels that skittered on the floor. “How are you?” she asked, her manicured fingers already combing through his hair.
Malcolm winced, her nails snagging on a stitch below his hairline. “Ouch,” he hissed as he forced a smile.
“Baby, what hurts?” Estelle crumpled onto his bedside like she was auditioning for a role on Broadway, her free hand fluttering over her heart.
“Estelle, please,” his father said behind her, attempting to get her into a chair. “Give the boy some air.”
While his mother was the emotional heart of their family of three, his father was the brain and spine.
For as dramatic as Estelle loved to be—and as a retired actress it was in her blood—his engineering father, Craig, was the polar opposite.
His even gaze swept up and down his son’s broken body, lips pressed in a firm line.
“How are you feeling?” He carefully took his wife’s jacket and hung it over the foot of the bed. Pulling another chair closer, he took a seat and waited for Malcolm’s reply.
“Umm, I’m okay?” It came out as a question because Malcolm had no answers.
All he knew was he was in pain and wanted to be anywhere but in a hospital.
Fatigue weighed him down, and keeping his eyes open was a chore.
He yearned for a measly night in his own home, in his own bed, but apparently he wasn’t going anywhere yet—especially alone.
“The doctors said you broke your arm and leg, and your lungs were damaged!” Estelle fanned herself with Malcolm’s chart. Craig patted her back and pulled a paper fan from her handbag, swapping out the two. He carefully hung the clipboard back, glancing at the cover sheet and wincing.
Estelle flipped open the fan with a flourish, the movement jangling the tennis bracelets on her arm. In an instant, she’d turned into a modern-day Scarlett O’Hara.
Craig cleared his throat. “They also said you didn’t suffer a concussion and would likely be discharged by the end of the week. You’ll need physical therapy, but overall you dodged a bullet.”
“That’s good,” Malcolm said as he rested his head back and pinched his eyes shut.
Apparently the notion of him resting was a step too far, as Estelle leapt to her feet and cried out, “Baby, are you okay?”
Malcolm winced at the shrill tone in her voice. “Mom, please. I’m resting my eyes.”
“Estelle, do we need to go back to the hotel?” Craig’s tone suggested this wasn’t their first attempt visiting their only child.
His mother blew her nose into a lacy handkerchief and shook her head. “I’m fine. Hush up.” She winked to soften the blow and his father chuckled.
“You rest up, son. I’m going to look for some coffee.” Craig dipped down and muttered something in his wife’s ear, but she flapped a hand to dismiss him.
Malcolm listened as his father’s measured footsteps disappeared down the hallway. It could have been the fire, the medications, or the general exhaustion, but Malcolm was already half asleep. Fortunately, Estelle took the hint and quietly hummed a tune he remembered from childhood.
As his eyelids closed, he thought of the last time he’d seen Jessie.
It had been ages ago, during a rare visit back to Pinegrove.
In typical fashion, they’d spent the first half of her trip together, acting as if the years hadn’t marched on.
Then when it came time to download her boarding pass, they’d begun fighting.
Right now, he couldn’t remember the details, simply the hollow feeling that crippled him when she crammed her belongings into her duffle and disappeared—yet again.
It had been a decade since their official breakup, but that didn’t mean the pair didn’t make reconciliation an Olympic sport.
All it took was a visit to Pinegrove, and Malcolm crawled back to Jessie every single time.
Apparently resistance when it came to JJ was futile, as all he needed to hear was his name on her lips and he was a simp.
But none of the past mattered now, because Jessie was on her way back to him.
He may be laid up in the ICU, but Malcolm would have a dozen burning buildings collapse on him if it meant he got even one hour with his girl. Because despite what JJ thought, she was still his top priority.
Now he just needed to get out of this hospital and show her.