by Teagan Kade
“Grace,” she says, crossing her arms.
“Right.” I smile, ignoring the ice bath she’s giving me with her eyes. “You said she’s out of ICU?”
I can see her resisting rolling her eyes, something I’m rather used to. “Clear and easy.” She extends her arm. “Go see for yourself.”
I stand feeling a hell of a lot happier than I did a moment ago. “Thank you… Grace.”
She nods with her lips drawn tight. I recall them drawn tight around something else, but manage to shelve that particular memory as I make my way to the staircase and descend to the next floor down and the regular rooms.
I fly past the nurses’ station and almost take out someone in a wheelchair as they round the corner, their IV bag swaying. “Sorry!” I yell behind myself, checking the roster on the wall and finding Sofia’s name.
She’s awake when I enter her room. I softly close the door behind myself.
I can’t help smiling as I approach the bed. “Nice digs.”
There’s more color in her cheeks now. Even her eyes seem more vibrant, though the dark rings remain below from her surgery. She’s the cutest panda I’ve ever seen.
“You came back.”
I take her hand and sit on the edge of her bed. I nod to an untouched plate of something vaguely resembling food. “And miss out on the Michelin-starred dining? Are you kidding me?”
She gives a short laugh looking at the tray. “I can’t really remember if that’s good food or not.”
“Take it from me,” I tell her. “It’s not. You won’t find Jamie Oliver in the kitchen.”
“Who?”
“You know, the naked...” but I let it go. “Doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re out of ICU. Doctor Grant’s been by?”
I can see her working to recall. “Yes, he was. He said I was lucky, something about being discharged in a few days, home care… I’m not sure. I’m scared. I don’t want to leave. I don’t know anyone out there, or anything. I can’t remember.” She starts tapping her head. “Why can’t I remember anything?”
I reach up and pull her hand away, placing my own on top of it beside her. “Hey, hey, you’ll be fine. You’ve got me, don’t you?”
“I don’t know you.”
“Well, I’ll introduce myself properly then. I’m Ethan Meyers, thirty three, paramedic. I secretly enjoy kid’s cereal and movies with less than a seven on IMDB. That good for you?”
She’s smiling wide now. “I don’t know what any of that means, sorry.”
I squeeze her hand, happy it’s warmer than before. “Don’t be, but that’s great news. The less time you spend around here, the better, and that’s from someone who spends a shitload of time here.”
She looks confused. “That’s a profanity, isn’t it?”
“Shit?” I say. “Sure is. So is ‘fuck’ and ‘bastard.’ Try one out, come on.”
“S-shit?” she says, whispering like we’re at Sunday mass.
“Louder,” I laugh.
“Shit,” she says, sharp and quick.
“Better,” I smile, “but we’re going to have to work on your delivery now you’re a certified badass. Usually the only guys who survive gunshot wounds to the head are gangsters and homeboys, not…” I trail off, unsure how to describe her, “supermodels.”
“You think I’m a supermodel? I don’t really know what that is, but I don’t think I am one.”
Given the way it twitched in my trousers, my cock certainly took objection to that. I clear the thought. “You’re definitely the prettiest patient I’ve ever seen.”
Her cheeks flush red. “Why do I feel so weird when you say that?” She waves at her face, fanning it. “I’m so… hot all of a sudden.”
As fun as it would be versing her in the subtle art of attraction, I steer the conversation back to more simple matters. “How about I talk and you just relax?”
“Like before,” she says, “when I was unconscious?”
I have to laugh at that. “I hate to say it, but that’s not the first time I’ve heard that.”
Her eyebrows knit together in confusion. “You prefer talking to people who can’t talk back?”
And there’s a damn truth-bomb if ever I’ve heard one. “Sometimes,” I say, smiling, “but I am glad to see you awake and well, truly. You’re going to be just fine, Sofia the First.”
“The First?”
“The first Sofia I’ve fallen for,” I say, but I can see my words are lost on her. I clear my throat again, looking around the room for inspiration but finding only blank walls. “What about baseball? You want to hear about that?”
The way she smiles back at me, so innocently, so free of all the bullshit that usually goes into courting… God, it’s intoxicating. Bottle that warmth, that smile, and you’d be a billionaire. “I just want to hear the sound of your voice. Is that okay?”
“That,” I have to laugh, “I don’t hear so often, but sure. Hell, I’ll talk about the finer points of pulmonary resuscitation if it makes you happy.”
So I talk. I talk until her eyes start to get heavy and finally close, a look of such peace and contentment on her face there’s a distant pain in my chest I’ve never felt before, a sudden vulnerability that certainly wasn’t there last week.
I know I should leave, get back home and rest up properly, but I can’t pull myself away.
I bring the chair—old faithful— over instead, slide it as close as I can to her bed. “That’ll do,” I tell myself, watching her sleep. “That’ll do.”
CHAPTER FOUR
SOFIA
“Good morning.”
My eyes feel like they’re glued together when I go to open them. Through this half-sight I do not recognize the two people who are standing at the foot of my bed.
I look around, my panic subsiding when I find Ethan fast asleep in the chair beside my bed, his arms crossed and his head hung against his chest.
In truth, I didn’t expect to find him here this morning. I thought he’d be long gone by now.
I return my attention to the two women. “Who are you?” I ask, my croaky throat lined with sandpaper.
The woman on the left is dressed in a dark blouse and matching slacks. I don’t know how, but I know those clothes are expensive. “I’m Nora,” the woman announces. “I’m the billing clerk here at the hospital.”
The woman beside her steps forward, her hair drawn into a tight ponytail and her clothes far less extravagant. ‘Utilitarian’ would be the word to describe her, I realize, giving myself an internal pat on the back at remembering that much.
Or practical, my head interjects.
“My name is Tara Phillips. I’m a social worker. I’ve been assigned to your case.”
“My case?” I ask, confused and trying to sit up. Neither woman moves to help me.
“Yes,” says Tara, her voice far too loud for my liking, “I’m afraid we have quite a bit to get through.”
Ethan stirs, but he doesn’t wake.
Nora smiles at Tara, but it’s artificial. It’s nothing like the way Ethan smiles at me. “Before we get to that, we really must clear up your billing. There’s the matter of your insurance information. Tara here is going to help.”
They’re speaking so loudly, with no concern at all for Ethan. Can’t they see he’s trying to sleep?
“Can you please speak a little quieter?” I ask, looking towards the door for a passing nurse but seeing it empty.
They flank me, one coming around to the left of my bed and one to the right, blocking my view of Ethan.
Nora places her hand on the bed rail. “We’re going to need your full name, to start.”
Why do I feel like I’m being interrogated here? “I don’t remember it. I don’t remember anything. I’ve told everyone that, even the police.”
Nora exchanges a skeptical look with Tara, who says, “Really now, we will need that information. The sooner you provide to us, the sooner you help us out, the sooner we can help you.”
>
They don’t seem like they’re here to help at all. They’re still speaking too loudly.
I restrain myself from matching their volume, not that I’m sure I could. “Please, I can’t help you. I don’t remember.”
Something approaching a sneer pulls Nora’s lips tight. She leans over the bed, her grip on the railing tightening. “Sofia, and we do know that much, you need to start being truthful with us.”
“I am!” I protest, trying to look around her to see if Ethan is awake.
“You need to listen to her, Sofia,” says the social worker. “It’s in your best interest.”
Nora straightens up, letting go of the rail. “Let me tell you a story. Last year, we had a patient here who pretended he had amnesia, a kind of deadbeat. But we have doctors here, Sofia, experts in their field who know when something isn’t right, and do you know what happened to this man?”
They’re speaking to me like I’m a child. I don’t answer.
Another exchanged look, Nora smiling now. “We sued him, at considerable cost. Is that really where you want this to go?”
My heart is thumping, my body tight. I don’t want to deal with any of this right now. I can’t. What do I have to tell them? I am telling the truth.
“Sofia?” Tara presses, louder now.
I whip my head between them. “I, I don’t…”
Nora reaches over and pins me in place. “Calm down now. Tell us. Let this charade go.”
“Please!” I scream, hot tears building in my eyes, overflowing. “I don’t know. I don’t know!”
Nora’s suddenly pulled back, Ethan standing between her and the bed. “What the fuck is going on here?” he shouts.
Nora takes a step back, bumping into the chair he was sleeping on. “Excuse me, sir, but we’re here on official hospital business. My name’s—”
I know who the hell you are,” he says, pointing behind himself to the other side of the bed without looking, “and I really don’t give a shit who she is, you can’t barge in here at the crack of fucking dawn and start demanding things from someone who’s recovering from a bullet wound to their. Fucking. Head.”
He jabs his finger at her as he says it. He’s angry. That’s pretty clear.
Not a morning person, I tell myself, wiping away tears with the back of my hand.
“Look,” starts Nora, her voice firmer, “we’ve got to be sure she has a legitimate case of amnesia. It’s simply policy.”
Ethan laughs, looking between them. “Are you two for fucking real? Like, seriously, is this some kind of joke? Because I’m not fucking laughing. And her,” he points to me, “does she look like she’s in any condition for your early morning inquisition?”
Tara bites her lip, looking down, but Nora won’t give in. “Now, wait a se—”
“You two need to get the hell out right now and come back when she’s ready to be discharged.”
Nora squints at the name patch on Ethan’s jacket. “Look here, Mr. Meyers, we’re both employees of this hospital, are we not? We’re both trying to do our jobs, though I’m not sure this level of after-care is required of an EMT, is it?”
That seems to make him especially angry. He laughs. “You better be real careful.”
He’s so fierce, so protective—a completely different person to the kind, caring individual who’s been by my side for the last few days.
Nora ignores the threat. “We have to receive payment, Mr. Meyers. Your paycheck depends on it. There are no free rides here, as you well know.”
“She can’t remember who she is,” protests Ethan, animated. “Doesn’t the hospital have programs in place for this kind of thing, measures in place to aid a patient in her position?”
“It does,” chimes in Tara, looking smug now, “but we would still have to know who she is to fill out the forms.”
“Out!” Ethan bellows, shuffling Nora towards the door.
She continues to speak, but Ethan ignores her, driving her all the way to the door before turning to face Tara. “You too.”
Tara gives a short, questioning look and casually walks past him to join Nora in the doorway.
Ethan goes to slam the door, but it’s on a pneumatic hinge. It simply wheezes closed slowly.
I expect a knock to come, Nora to continue her assault, but there’s nothing.
Ethan breathes out and runs his hands through his hair, pacing around the room. “Sorry about that. There are some real assholes around here, especially when it comes to money. It’s a hospital, not fucking Wells Fargo.”
I don’t know what Wells Fargo is, but I smile all the same. “You didn’t have to do that.”
He stops, facing me. “They had no right. Someone’s got to look out for the patient.”
“I’m glad it’s you,” I tell him, and I mean it, sincerely.
He runs another hand through his hair. “So am I.”
“You’re not afraid of me, are you? Because I’m a bit more Hyde than Jekyll.”
I still don’t know what he’s talking about, but I reply, “I’m not afraid of you, no. I don’t think I could ever be afraid of you. You’re kind and caring. You’ve been so nice to me.” I’m sniffling again, close to crying and I don’t know why, only that the emotion is welling up somewhere inside me, some dark corner that’s as unfamiliar as everything else.
Ethan sits on the end of my bed, hands on one knee. I notice how broad his shoulders are underneath that jacket, the impressive physique lurking below. Do you need to be Mr. Olympia to be a paramedic?
“Mr. Olympia… Arnold Schwarzenegger,” I blurt.
Ethan smiles. “O-kay then. I hate to let you down, but the Governator I am not.”
“The Terminator,” I continue, on a roll now, images and memories flooding back and snippets but still too loose to pull together into any kind of cohesion. “I think I’m starting to remember things.”
“Not Hercules in New York, I hope. That wasn’t his finest hour.”
“I like coffee,” I announce. “I like, really, really like coffee.”
Ethan’s beaming as he stands. “Well, alrighty. That’s a start. How about I go and get you something from downstairs. Calling it coffee’s a disservice to good coffee everywhere, but it’s something, yeah, might trigger another memory?”
“Right,” I reply, for the first time in days feeling energized and excited that maybe, just maybe, I’m going to get my memory back.
Before he leaves, I call, “Ethan?”
He turns. “Yes.”
“Maybe I should leave, leave the hospital before my bill gets any higher. I’m pretty sure head surgery isn’t cheap.”
He approaches the bed solemnly. “No, but, like I said, you don’t need to be worrying about that. Worry about getting better, resting up. We can deal with the vultures after that.”
“I don’t even know if I’m rich or poor. Maybe I’m homeless.”
“I don’t think so,” he says. “The clothes you wearing when we found you… They’re designer, and your friend, the locket… No, someone’s missing you out there. Someone knows who you are.”
“Do you think I’m in danger here?”
“You probably didn’t see the metal detectors downstairs, the security. We had a shooter here a few years back. Guy was disarmed before he got a chance to do any damage, but the entire place has been Fort Knox ever since. No, if anyone wanted to hurt you they’d have to get to you first… and then get through me,” he smiles. “Good fucking luck with that.”
“So you think I should stay?”
“I don’t think you have a choice, but yes, I do. This is the safest place for you, with the best care in the city on hand. Forget about billing and social services, but the doctors, the nursing staff? You won’t find finer. You’re in good hands, and you’ve got me. I’m not going to let anything happen to you, understand?”
I nod, a tear falling from my cheek, but this time it’s one of appreciation… I think. Ethan comes up beside me and brushes it away with th
e back of his thumb. In the morning light his eyes are cerulean, deep and vibrant. “There’s no need for that. You’ll remember. Just give it time. They’re not going to boot you out with a hole in your head.”
He smiles before starting to walk towards hallway.
I reach up to the gauze. “Do I really have a hole in my head?”
“Better than a hole in your heart.”
He doesn’t turn around when he says it.
CHAPTER FIVE
ETHAN
I place my hand against the shower tiles and look down towards the drain, soapy water spiraling around my feet.
I’m home, but all I’m thinking about is getting back to Sofia.
The water’s cool, not hot. I like a shower, not a skin peel.
I run my hand through my hair and resist the temptation to grab my cock with the other. It’s rock hard down there, stiff and straight—all dressed up for prom with nowhere to go.
Every time I close my eyes all I see is Sofia. It’s gone way beyond a patient-paramedic relationship. Ethics and professionalism are out the window, but does it really matter? There’s no rule that says we can’t follow up with patients, even date them if that takes our fancy. No, there has to be a separation from the job versus one’s personal life eventually.
You’re forgetting she’s still hooked up to an IV, lying there in a hospital bed, my better self reminds me. Dinner and a movie are probably off the table.
It’s not the first time I’ve been attracted to a patient. I’ve been with a few who’ve followed me up, something like ‘savior syndrome,’ they call it. Those panties fell fast. But the moment I had what I wanted, it all disappeared—the thrill, the attraction.
I’ve considered if Sofia might be the same, another case of ‘bed, eject, rinse, repeat,’ but it’s not just a sexual attraction I feel. There’s more to this I don’t know if I’m ready to unpack yet. I want to care for her, protect her from whoever tried to put that slug in her head. I’ve killed men before. I realize I wouldn’t hesitate to do it again if she was in danger.
That is the difference here.
I push off from the shower wall and let the water stream over my face, cool my aching cock even though I’m pretty sure it’s not about to rest easy anytime soon.