28. Carsyn
TWENTY-EIGHT
CARSYN
T he sound never stops in hospitals. I think that’s why they give their patients so many fucking drugs—so they can finally sleep. I’ve nodded off several times but slept for more than a couple of minutes? Not since I woke up yesterday morning.
The door opens and I roll my eyes at the needed but unpeaceful intrusion before I even see who it is. I don’t need to see. It’s ten after six in the morning, which is scribbled on the whiteboard as the nurse's next visit. She came in here at four in the morning, and before that she was seemingly in here every few minutes once Garrison got out of surgery.
“Morning… again,” she says, her ponytail swaying behind her as she snatches the computer cart from the corner of the room. “He wake up at all yet?”
Through a yawn, I tell her no. Then add, “but he’s been mumbling and moving a little since the last time you were here.” I smile, her eyes meeting mine over the top of her plastic-wrapped computer monitor. I know she doesn’t have anything on that computer that I don’t already know, but still, I can’t help but search her eyes for more.
“Pretty soon, then,” she says, smiling for my sake no doubt. “Doctor’s gonna come by shortly and check the incision but, like he told you and your brother last night, he’s gonna be okay.”
I chew my bottom lip as I sift one hand through Garrison’s unkempt hair, my other hand waffled into his. “I know you’re right, but I wish he’d just wake up already.”
The nurse taps away on the keyboard before filling a syringe with a vial. “Everyone says that sweetheart. That’s the trauma talking. But he’s okay. He’s a big guy, tough, strong.” Another nurse comes in, verifying the dose, then leaves. The nurse moves toward us, smiling at me as she puts the medicine in his IV.
“He’ll get some pain meds to go home with, but they’ll switch him to Tylenol pretty quick after.” She finishes emptying the syringe and I can’t help but think of Garrison over me, lips dusting my ear as he apologizes, then empties a syringe into me. “But this? This is the good stuff.”
“He gets pain meds even if he isn’t awake and complaining of pain?” I ask, not sure how this works. My dad gambled, and later in his life, he turned to booze. When I reflect, I think the booze was a coping mechanism for the gambling debt he got us in, not because he loved it. It was a numbing agent, more or less, the same numbing agent I went in search of the night I met Garrison at the bar. He was looking for anything to take away the numbing pain of his reality, and I was too. I was so angry that no one was looking for Forrest. That Kinleigh and Colton didn’t have the taste of revenge on their tongue, the scent in their nose, ready to hunt and bite and kill. They seemed content healing, and Nash and Gen, too. That just burned me up inside. And when I went to that bar, I needed to cool down. Something or someone needed to cool me down.
Garrison did that, and all the while, we wanted the same thing. He was after Forrest all along and I didn’t even know it. We were on the same side of things all along.
I wasn’t on the same team as my father, and the wedge between us grew with each dollar he gambled, each pink slip he put on the line, every drink he took. And when he was laid up in the hospital, I never came to see him. I waited on him hand and foot when he was discharged every time, but go and sit by his bed like a faithful daughter? No. Never. I was too angry.
He’s dead now, and I wish I had. I wish I had put my anger aside to see that he was sick, and he didn’t plan on ruining his life. It just happened. And sometimes, life’s just like that.
“When my dad was sick, well, they didn’t give him pain meds when he was asleep. At least… I don’t think,” I tell the nurse, as I sit up off the edge of the bed where I’d been resting my head on Garrison’s arm. Slowly, I take my hand out of his, and get to my feet, stretching my arms over my head with a yawn.
“I’m sure they did. That’s normal. Especially in post-op patients. If we don’t keep on top of the pain meds, when he does wake up, he’ll be a real bear.” She rolls the cart back into the corner, drops the syringe into a locking medical box, and peels off her purple gloves.
“Anyway,” she says, smiling with her hands stuffed into her large scrub pockets. “Doctor’s making rounds on the floor. He’ll be in shortly.” Before she closes the door behind her, she twists to look back at me over her shoulder, adding, “cafeteria has a great breakfast. Gotta eat, sweetheart.”
I smile, assuring her that I will, but when the door closes, I only open my phone and return to my spot next to Garrison. Quickly, I dial my brother because I promised I’d update them. He and Kinleigh left the hospital with Nash and Gen an hour after surgery, and he’s been texting me every hour since.
“Cars? How is he?” he asks, not sounding groggy at all.
I yawn. “How do you sound so chipper?”
He chuckles, an audible stretch drifting through the line. “A cat nap and some coffee.”
I yawn again. “God, I need coffee. The nurse was just in here, she says the cafeteria has a good breakfast so I may go down and grab some much needed caffeine. Anyway, I was just letting you know… he’s still asleep.” I stroke my free hand through Garrison’s hair, then tug my fingers through his beard. His leviathan chest rises and falls, around him all the machines twinkle and chirp, and still, his eyes remain closed. He still looks strong amidst all this. Unstoppably strong.
“Nurse said that’s normal. It’s not even been eight hours since surgery, Cars. You aren’t worried, are you? Don’t worry. He went through a lot. He just needs to rest.”
I glance out the window where the sun lifts, bringing light and clarity with it.
“I know,” I whisper to my brother around the knot of unease in my throat. I know he’s right. Still, I just want him to wake up. “Alright, well, I’m gonna go grab a coffee.”
“Eat, Carsyn. Eat or I’m coming down there in an hour and forcing you,” my brother warns, and I believe him.
“I will, I will,” I promise, despite the fact that food sounds awful. Maybe I can stomach a banana; that’s better than nothing. “Okay, I’ll call you after rounds. Love you.”
“I love you too Carsyn. And Kin says hi. She loves you too.”
“Right back at her.” The call ends and I slip my phone back into my pocket, reaching around the aged chair to collect my purse.
“I’ll have a coffee, too,” Garrison’s worn voice cuts through the quiet.
My chest brims with energy and heat, and I’m on my feet, climbing into the bed next to him before I know it.
“ Oh my god , you’re awake, oh my god,” I breathe, careful not to nudge him too much as I pepper kisses all over the side of his neck, hugging him as safely as I can.
“Mmm,” he hums, enjoying my mouth on his neck for a moment before he twists his head on the crunchy hospital pillow, looking down at me with tired eyes. “What a thing to wake up to. Now I know I’m alive because if I were dead, this would be heaven, and I’m surely not going to heaven.”
I wipe beneath my nose, bypassing his humor. “Don’t even joke. You almost were dead.”
He smirks at me, and my insides melt, filling every inch of me with gooey, undeniable heat. I’ve missed his eyes, that smirk, the rough resolve of his throaty tone. “I got hit in my shoulder, Cars, I’m okay.”
I nod toward the small TV on the wall in the corner, the news on but the volume muted. Across the screen is news of Forrest Conway’s untimely death in an accidental fire. “See that?”
He squints, then snorts. “Accidental fire, huh? Have they mentioned who exactly Forrest Conway is?”
I paste on a ridiculous smile. “One of the top ranch owners in Buffalo Trails, a patron, and essentially, a saint.” I roll my eyes. “After all of that, they won’t even out that man. I can’t believe it.”
Garrison grunts. “It’s why I had to keep you safe myself. You see now, right? I couldn’t trust them. Not with you.”
I smile up at him, and with the arm I’m lying on, he curves his hand into my hip, sinking his fingers into me. “I’m so glad you’re okay.” Stretching up, I press my lips to his. “I love you.”
He kisses me, and the tickle of his beard against my face makes me flush. “Yeah?” Another kiss, then another, and a few more. He lifts his blanket, smirking at me. “Well, I love you, too. Reach down there and feel how much.”
I slap his chest playfully, but keep my volume low. “Garrison!”
“Go on,” he urges, his voice thin from disuse from the hours of drug-induced sleep. “I need to feel you, Carsyn. I woke up in that truck, remembered we got Forrest, and all I wanted was you.”
“You have me,” I tell him, but I reach down, my hand covered by the blanket as I lift his hospital gown. Wrapping my palm around his eager cock, he lets out a long, sexy groan, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment, different than the way they’ve been closed for the last twelve hours.
“Jerk me off while I tell you who you love.”
I stroke my hand up and down his cock, knowing I shouldn’t, knowing he just woke up, that this is too much, but Jesus Christ couldn’t stop me now. I need to feel our connection now more than ever. Heart, mind and body. “What?” I breathe, my panties growing wet from my increasing arousal. Lying next to him was one thing, feeling him, feeling him hard to be awake with me, that’s a whole other thing.
“Now it’s safe to tell you who I really am.” He moans lightly, and I press my lips to his to keep him quiet. “You know I’m not Garrison, that was my informant identity.”
Smoothing my finger over the slit on his cock, feeling his arousal, I drag my tongue up the column of his throat. “I wondered but in some ways, I was afraid to know, you know, in case when this ended…” I trail off a moment, kissing his cheek. “I don’t know.”
“You didn’t know what would happen with us after,” he finishes, and I nod, still carving a path down his veiny shaft as I tug him slowly. “The way I was with you, back at Garrison’s house,” he starts, fighting to keep his eyes open as I twist my fingers around the thick rim of his crown.
I don’t let him finish. I don’t need him to explain or try to make things fit. “I can’t wait to be in bed with you, no murderer we gotta take down, no chain on my ankle or man chained in the living room.” I kiss him again but this time let my lips linger next to his. “I wanted you the night I met you, and every moment I was chained to that bed, I wanted you. And I hated myself for wanting you, because I thought you were Garrison. But I couldn’t stop it. That’s why I fought so hard. Because I was fighting myself.”
“You were fighting because you’re a fighter,” he says as I continue to work him.
“I am. But I was fighting against my gut. My gut was telling me you’re my guy, but with everything else going on…” I drift off as he grabs my wrist, stopping my hand.
“I’m gonna make a mess in a minute,” he warns.
I smile at him. “Do it. I’ll get you a new blanket.” I’m dying to feel his hot cum ooze through my fingers and splatter against my forearm. I’m dying to feel all of him inside me when he’s well, when he’s able.
“I knew after watching you for a few months that you’d be my girl. I just didn’t know how.” He throws his head back, a string of tangled curses falling from his parted lips as his cock twitches in my hand, erupting in long, hot bursts. The blanket grows dark as his cum seeps through, but I stroke him until he grabs my wrist again, panting, a smirk on his lips. “Fuck, Cars. That was good.”
I slide out of bed and bring him a new blanket from the cupboard beneath the sink, tossing the other one in the plastic bag-lined laundry bin. “So who did I just give a hand job to, hmm?” I ask as I feather the blanket over his long, strong legs. I climb back into bed with him carefully. “What is the name of the man I’m in love with?”
“Ryan,” he says, “Ryan Cole. Former Navy SEAL and, as you’re aware, FBI agent.”
We share a languid, leisurely kiss, my hands in his beard, stroking his face tenderly as his tongue slides against mine.
“Hello, Ryan,” I whisper, lying my head against his chest.
I close my eyes, soaking up the heavy thumps of his beating heart. He strokes a hand up my back, kissing the top of my head. I fall asleep in his hospital bed, curled into him, and wake when the nurse comes in and scolds me.
But I don’t care. I don’t think I’ll leave his side for the rest of my life.