Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Callum
Since the head nurse told everyone to leave about an hour ago, I’ve been sitting here, eyes wide open, not able to sleep.
I pick up my cell phone and see that it’s nearly ten p.m. I send Pen a text, telling him I’m okay.
When the nurse kicked them out, Tobias insisted that Pen go too.
I don’t like the idea of being left here without Pen or Dom, but I understand why Tobias commanded Pen to go.
He wouldn’t do anyone—especially me, any good if he’s dead on his feet.
Tobias assured me that Fig will be close by, while Pen gets some rest for a few hours.
Pen wasn’t happy about the order. Actually, he wasn’t happy the last few hours. Although, I was too tired from the pain meds to push to ask him why he was in a grouchy state. Especially after Danny and the guys explained that Dom abruptly left without a word to anyone.
So where’s Dom?
I asked Tobias, but he refused to answer me, and I didn’t push him either.
I unclip the oxygen sensor from my finger and then carefully lean over, working around the damn IV lines, and grab the neck of the acoustic guitar with my uninjured hand.
When Danny walked into my room earlier with it, I almost cried. In the middle of all the chaos, he had gone to the house and brought me my guitar and stand—one of my most prized possessions. It had belonged to my granddad, who used to call it his banjo, and I had always loved watching him play.
Before Tobias made everyone leave, he had Raef set it in the guitar stand he’d put beside my bed.
I manage to get the guitar situated on my lap, but then I have to wiggle it a bit so the fingers of my splinted left arm can reach the fretboard.
Fortunately, the splint they gave me only covers my arm from my elbow to my wrist, otherwise this would be impossible.
I try a few test strums—considering my soreness, the wires, and my splint, I’m not playing with finesse.
Still, every strum of a chord is such a sweet and simple sound that it evokes another set of aches—ones tied to emotions I’ve buried deep down that are fighting to rise to the surface.
While I’m not ready to face them yet, the music still lightens my mood.
I don’t feel as glum as I did even though I’m still sitting in a hospital bed alone.
I lightly strum my fingers across the strings, and remember the day Granddad gave the guitar to me.
It was the day before my mum and I left for the states.
I was ten—almost eleven at the time, and I never thought back then that it would be the last time I’d see that old man ever again. To this day, I miss the gruff bastard.
I begin playing the first song I learned on this guitar. Granddad taught it to me while we were on one of our camping trips out in the Bush. It starts off soft, and as I rack my memory for the lyrics, I try whispering the words.
So focused on what I’m playing, I don’t see Lyric standing in the doorway listening until the end of the song. Then I hear him walk inside the room and close the door.
“Hey wait a minute. I thought you were off duty a couple hours ago.”
“Yes, I was until another nurse called in sick. And since I was already here, the hospital authorized the double shift for me.”
“That sucks.”
“Meh. We are short staffed, but I will love the paycheck. Anyway, I’m the only one who doesn’t have family or a pet at home, so why not.” Lyric shrugs and then takes a seat next to the bed.
“Still sucks,” I echo my sentiment. “So you’ll be taking care of me instead of Veronica?”
“You have two for the price of one.” He winks. “Now enough about me. What’s the song about? It’s beautiful but sad.”
“It’s called The Dying Stockman—it’s an old Bush song. My granddad taught it to me when I was a kid.”
“Now that’s kind of cool to learn something so old,” he says with a smile and I can see the charming person behind his strict nursing persona.
“If my granddad heard that, he’d wrap his knuckles on top of your head and declare he wasn’t old.” I laugh, and so does Lyric.
“Hey, do you want me to call your grandfather for you? I’m sure he’d be happy to hear from you.” Lyric stands, but I shake my head.
“No. Sadly, he died seventeen years ago. But I miss him every day,” I admit, my heart aching at the loss all over again. Needing to change the subject before I end up crying like a baby, I ask, “What did Dante want to talk to you about?”
“Umm…” Lyric looks away. Wait. Is that a blush across his cheeks?
“Are you blushing?”
“No,” Lyric protests in a whisper. “I don’t know if I should say anything now. It’s not official yet.”
“Official? Hmm. Now you have to tell me,” I push, hoping he spills the secret.
Lyric leans in, a smile splitting his pretty face. “Dante wants to hire me.”
“For what?”
“As a full-time caregiver—Dante’s words.” Lyric chuckles. “They made it sound like I’m going to take care of toddlers.”
“Some of us do act like it at times,” I say with a laugh, then wince from the pain. “Laughing makes my face hurt.”
“Then stop.” Lyric giggles again. “I assume Dante wants to hire me to tend to you, but you seem like you’re doing good.
So I asked them who I would be taking care of, and they said I’ll be available for the band,” he explains with a shrug.
“Something about you boys get into way too much shit. But I’m still waiting on Dante to call me back—they need to get the okay from the record label. ”
“Are you considering it?”
Lyric’s questioning gaze meets mine. “I’m still thinking about the offer. It’s a commitment.”
“It is,” I say earnestly.
“What kind of situations does your band get into that would need a medical personnel member on the tour?”
“You’d be surprised.” I stop to think about all the craziness that has happened in the past couple of years, and have to admit, “Maybe Dante’s right.” I strum my fingers across the strings, smiling.
“Anyway,” Lyric stands. “The real reason I came in here is that, even though I love hearing you play, the patient next door doesn’t. Mr. Dillon requests that you stop playing and go to sleep.” He wrinkles his nose and has a growly tone to his voice, mimicking a grouchy old man.
I chuckle. “Got it.” I ask Lyric to place the guitar in the stand and move it away from the bed. “Thanks.”
“No prob. If you need anything, I’m right outside.” With that, Lyric leaves.
I recline my bed, settle in and quickly fall asleep. But just as fleetingly, my nightmares begin to assault me and I’m being attacked. Fists punch my face. Boots kick my torso—I try to curl up in a ball, but the attack keeps coming.
A scream is lodged in my throat, and my entire body is shaking.
“Wake up, sweetheart. It’s Dom. Wake up.”
I blink several times before the frenzy of my rapidly beating heart calms and my eyes settle on Dom’s handsome, rugged face. “Dom?”
“It’s okay. I’m here,” Dom says in a soothing tone I haven’t heard him use before.
“I was being at—” I utter shakily.
“It was a dream, I’m here now,” he whispers hoarsely.
Still shaky, I reach for his hand. “Please don’t leave.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Lay with me?” I plead, and grip his hand tighter.
“Are you sure I won’t hurt you by laying down next to you?”
“No.” I gingerly move over, making room so Dom can climb into the bed. I’d gladly give up the majority of the space to feel his body against mine. To feel the solace his touch gives me. Anything to keep from sinking back into the nightmare in my head.
“As long as you’re okay. I don’t want Lyric coming in here and chasing me out.” Dom settles on his side, before he cups my face. His touch soothes away the panic and eases my racing heart.
“Where did you go?” I ask while nuzzling my face against his chest, but my entire body still trembles.
“I went to help an old friend I used to work with.” He draws me closer to his body and I appreciate his warmth and his solid presence.
The solemnity of what he said has me questioning why this was such a big deal for Pen. “That’s it? No other explanation?” I question.
“What do you want me to say?” He pulls back, and I see his brows furrow into a deep crease.
“I don’t know… Maybe try giving a better explanation for why you ghosted Pen and left him in the dark about where you went?” I can't hide the small irritation. He’s acting like what he did was no big deal — but it was for Pen. Why? “Pen’s upset. You need to talk to him.”
“I know.” His arms tighten even more around me. “And I’ll fix it tomorrow. Promise.”
“It is tomorrow,” I frown, then groan from the slight pain shooting across my face. “You better do it soon because I hate seeing him looking like someone kicked his puppy.”
Dom chuckles.
“It’s not funny.” I jab a finger in his chest.
He loosens his hold a bit. “I’m sorry, and yeah, it’s not funny. I will talk to Pen when he gets here. But someone kicked his puppy?”
I poke him again. “Again, not funny.”
He kisses my temple. “You’re right.”
I meet Dom’s eyes—those dark brown depths hold a wealth of secrets.
But I don’t push. “Good.” I’m not normally a touchy-feely kind of man, but in this moment—especially after waking up from a nightmare, Dom lying beside me feels good, like this is our normal.
Like we have a life where there’s no contempt or pressure from people around us.
Including any pressures we might put on each other.
Just because I’m enjoying this now doesn’t mean that Dom, Pen and I are going to be together. Sleeping with them doesn’t mean I want a commitment. And Dom holding me doesn’t mean we’re together either.
“Speaking of Pen, why isn’t he here? I told him not to leave your side,” he rumbles out.
“Tobias ordered him to go shower, eat and rest for a bit before coming back. It’s okay, Dom. Fig’s roaming the halls and checking in to see if I’m okay. I’ve been texting him.”
“No, it’s not okay. I texted Tobias that Pen needs to stay. I didn’t want you to be alone.”
“He’s not.”