Commander

by Kristy Marie

  Life used to be simple.

  Now, it’s complicated and lonely.

  The new Bieber song pops in my head (I know, but it’s so catchy) and I start humming since I don’t know all the words. My arms swing to the beat and I sigh as a shiver runs through me and a chill flows along my skin, leaving a trail of bumps in its wake. I can’t bear much more of this cold.

  I turn back the way I came—enough is enough—and head down the quiet street when something white catches my eye. I stop, spotting a pile of wadded up blankets, tossed carelessly in the ditch. Asshole litterers. Can they not find a trash can?

  I charge over to the trench and grasp the corner of the disgusting material when my hand hits something solid. I squeal a girly noise and jump back. Gross. Did I seriously just touch a dead deer or something?

  Like I’m a total badass, I creep back over, careful not to startle whatever it is. Inch after inch, I close in on the mysterious thing and see the tattered blanket rising and falling rhythmically, almost as if it’s breathing. Oh my God. It’s not an abandoned baby is it?

  My fear forgotten, I jerk back the threadbare blanket and reveal… a man. Well, at least I think it’s a man. Curled in a fetal position with his eyes closed, is a man, his body shivering violently. His sunken skin is draped with filthy clothes, littered with holes.

  He must be homeless, living out on the street.

  I have two options here. I could walk away and pretend I never found him. Or, I can help.

  Argh! The doctor in me insists I make sure he’s okay.

  I reach out, hesitating a moment before I place the back of my hand against his forehead. What if he’s crazy and lunges at me? Or worse, mugs me?

  “Please, Lord, watch over me,” I pray before allowing my hand to make contact. The man doesn’t open his eyes. Not a good sign. His skin is also freezing. He could be suffering from hypothermia, especially if he lives out here. It’s been one of our coldest winters in the past five years.

  I shake the man softly.

  “Sir. Sir. Can you open your eyes for me?”

  He doesn’t. Another bad sign. I lower to my knees, and place my fingers to the side of his neck and feel for a pulse. I can barely make out the shallow rhythm.

  Ready to call 911, I unlock my cellphone and tap in the first number when I hear, “I’ll move. Don’t call the police.”

  I feel my eyes go wide. He’s awake, and he thinks I am waking him to move off the property? His eyes blink. One, two, three times, before his eyelids reveal murky mint irises. Beautiful green eyes blaze back at me in confusion. These are the most magnificent green eyes I have ever witnessed in all my years. They’re gorgeous. I’m staring like a complete moron, my manners going out of the door as I rake my gaze down this man, taking in his strong jawline which appears even more defined with his cheeks sunken and hollow. Strong angular cheekbones, and a dark five o’clock shadow blanket the lower part of his face, giving him a rugged look. Healthy, this man would totally be on my radar.

  Lost in the fantasy of my new rugged friend, I realize his green eyes are settled on my hand, still resting on his forehead. I pull back on instinct.

  “You’re freezing. I think you are hypothermic,” I explain, hoping he mistakes my blush for windburn.

  He frowns, making a soft noise as he shuffles himself into a seated position.

  “I’m fine,” he says all raspy and slurred. He tries standing but groans when he’s unsuccessful, letting his head fall back against the grass in defeat. Definitely hypothermic.

  “You’re not fine,” I admonish, giving him my don’t-argue-with-me look.

  His breathing turns shallow as he drifts off to sleep. Oh shit. “Do not fall asleep!” I shout, startling his beautiful eyes back open.

  He pulls his arm over his face, hiding those gorgeous emeralds. “Leave me alone, lady.”

  Lady? Psh. I’ve never been a lady.

  “I’m calling an ambulance,” I argue, pulling out my phone, finger poised on the nine.

  “No,” he mumbles. “I won’t go.”

  What a stubborn-ass.

  “I’m not leaving you here to die.” I mean, really, what kind of person would I be if I just walked away now, doctor or not?

  His eyes narrow to slits. He’s probably aggravated, but that doesn’t bother me. Get in line, dude. Male assholeness is no match for me.

  “Go away,” he repeats, his words slow and muffled.

  Too bad for him I am the bigger stubborn-ass. I roll my eyes, and with a resigned huff, I reach for his arm. “Come on, dude. Let me get you warmed up then I promise to let you go so you can die another day.”

  He stares at me for the longest moment. I keep my hand extended, waiting for him to take hold. When he doesn’t, I latch on to him and pull. Hard. He grunts from the motion but doesn’t move an inch. For a scrawny guy, he sure is heavy.

  “We can do this my way or the hard way. Either way, You. Will. Do. It. Now, come on.”

  He gives my outstretched hand a funny look before he sighs, and clasps his hand in mine before helping me haul him up. Shit. He’s taller than I thought. He must be at least six-two. Suddenly, this rescue mission doesn’t look like such a great idea.

  My newly acquired friend throws his arm over my shoulder and tries to walk beside me, stumbling several times.

  “We’re going to take it slow. Okay?” I think he nods, but I can’t be sure. It’s taking all I have to stay upright myself. But he does start to take small steps, thank goodness. Have I mentioned the smell? It’s not quite a sewer smell, but it reminds me of an attic that had a wet dog living in it for a month or two. Maybe four.

  We’ve developed a rhythm somewhat after a few minutes and while my back is pissed at me for the added weight, I don’t slow down. This man really needs a doctor.

  “What’s your name?” I ask to keep him talking.

  He grunts and I think he isn’t going to answer me but then he looks over and with chattering teeth stutters, “C-C-ade.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Cade. I’m Anniston McCallister.”

  He nods his head but doesn’t offer anything else to the conversation.

  I try again. “You know, Cade, you’re pretty cold. It would really make me happy if you would allow me to take you to the hospital.” I give him my please-Theo smile.

  It doesn’t work. He just stares at me with those striking green eyes. “No.”

  Okay. I see how it’s going to be. I blow out a harsh breath at his lack of self-preservation skills. Think, Anniston, think. Where are you going to take him? Home? Theo will flip his shit if he finds out you brought a strange man into the house, alone.

  But what am I supposed to do? He won’t go to the hospital. Am I supposed to leave him on the porch like a stray dog, with a bowl of food and an old towel? No, he needs help. Theo will just have to deal. And if he kills me, well, then I’ll be dead and Theo won’t have a chance to scream at me. Problem solved.

  “Fine,” I relent. “But when we get to my house, you will allow me to check you over.” When he continues to stare at me all weird, I add, “I’m a doctor. I can help you.” I give him a hesitant smile. Desperate, I lay it on thick. “Please, let me help you, Cade.”

  As if he’s dreaming, Cade blinks several times like he’s not sure if I am real. But after a moment, I guess he decides he has nothing to lose because he gives me a curt nod.

  One grueling mile-long walk later—with multiple stops to rest—we finally arrive at my country plantation. I help Cade up the front porch steps and prop him against the side of the house so I can get the door unlocked.

  We stumble through the door awkwardly, Cade lethargic and circling the drain quickly. I maneuver him through the expansive hallways toward the main floor bathroom and explain, “I need to get you warmed up, okay?”

  He doesn’t respond and his body is getting heavier by the second. I squeeze us through what seems to be the smallest bathroom door ever, but actually is wider than a normal doorway.
Cade is just so big and pulling him through limp, like a noodle, is a tight fit. We’re finally in, and Cade crumples onto the tiled floor. I leave him in order to start the water in the clawfoot tub.

  “Cade. Cade. Open your eyes for me,” I say from the tub, keeping an eye on his coloring.

  His lips have taken on a bluish tint. Crap. I rush over to the vanity and open the drawers, searching for scissors.

  “Can you talk to me, Cade?” I ask, tossing out the makeup samples I never use but insist on taking.

  Cade doesn’t respond and when I glance over I see that his eyes are heavy.

  “Don’t close your eyes!” I yell, still searching for the damned scissors. Where are they?

  Finally I find them and explain to a very tired Cade, “I have to get you warm. I’m going to cut your clothes off and get you in the tub.” I make the first cut through his shirt as he mumbles something. I’m working at the button on his jeans when he grabs my hand, preventing me from undressing him further.

  “Nnnoooo.”

  I smirk. “I’m not trying to rape you. I’m just trying to get you warmed up. Don’t worry, I’ve seen a small penis before if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

  He passes out, falling into my arms. Well, I’ve never had that reaction before. Most guys don’t pass out when I undress them. Cradling Cade to my chest, I lower him down gently, doing the best I can with dead weight.

  “Come on, Cade. Wake up, buddy.”

  I get his button undone and slide his pants down his thighs, revealing skin that is ashen and blue. Oh fuck, Anniston. You should have taken him to the hospital.

  I leave his boxers on because I am out of time.

  “Cade. Come on, dude. Help me get you in the tub.”

  He groans out something that sounds a lot like just leave me, but I ignore it. I have a rule about people dying on my floor. I keep pulling, and eventually, he becomes more alert and helps me get him over the ledge and into the water, splashing me as his large body hits the water.

  I reach in and lift his head out of the water. Readjusting him is much easier in the water. I keep encouraging him to stay with me as I pilfer through the vanity to find a thermometer. It takes a second, but eventually I coax him to place it under his tongue, which he still does with some protest. A minute later it beeps with a reading of 93.3. So not good.

  Think, Anniston, think! This man is going to die in your tub. How are you going to explain that to the cops? Yes, officer, I picked up this homeless guy, brought him to my home, put him in the tub where he died. Not such a great idea, Ans.

  I get up intending on getting something hot for him in the kitchen and stop. Will he drown if I leave him alone? I shake him once again. “Cade. I need to get you something warm to drink. Can you stay awake for me?”

  He nods. I’m not quite convinced, but I’ll just have to be quick.

  I streak through the house, turning up the heat and grabbing a little space heater I stashed in the closet last spring. A quick peek at Cade confirms his head is above water, his eyes still closed. I’ll take what I can get. I dash into the kitchen, knocking things over as I go. Plugging in the kettle, I rummage around, finding everything I need for tea and bring the water to a boil.

  I take the whole thing, along with a tea bag and cup, into the bathroom. Once I have the heater plugged in, I pour the tea. Yes, in the bathroom. I know it’s gross, but he’s dying and a bum. He’s probably used to this sort of thing.

  I move back to the tub and splash a little water on Cade’s shoulders, while the tea steeps. His eyes open and I give him a small, pitiful smile. My heart aches for this man who doesn’t care if he lives or dies.

  “Thank you,” he mumbles and I try not to act shocked.

  Instead, I keep pouring water over his frozen body. “You’re welcome. Can you drink some tea for me?” His lips aren’t as blue anymore. The water is helping.

  He nods slightly. “I think so.”

  I place the tea carefully in his hands, but they’re shaking. So instead of letting go of the cup, I wrap my hands around his and help him bring the cup to his mouth. “Small sips, okay? It’s hot.”

  He takes a sip and hisses.

  “I told you it was hot,” I admonish. Didn’t I say to take small sips? Why do men never listen? I huff, looking him over when he shocks me by smiling.

  Bright and beautiful, his smile is like looking at the sun.

  “You did tell me. My apologies ma’am.”

  My mouth drops open. Cade is southern, really southern. Ma’am? Only good ole southerners still say ma’am, especially to younger women. Theo doesn’t even say ma’am, and he was born here. I can’t believe he’s talking to me. That’s a very good sign.

  “Let’s try again, shall we?” I offer.

  He nods, keeping that gorgeous smile trained on me. When he sips again, he doesn’t burn his tongue. “Good job. Can you get the rest down?”

  He coughs but manages a yes. I help him get the rest of the tea down before taking his temperature again.

  “Your temperature is coming up. I’m going to add more hot water, okay?” He nods. “How about more tea? Think you can drink another cup?”

  His face scrunches up like he’s in pain. “It wasn’t that bad,” I say with an eyeroll and a grin. He shakes his head but doesn’t lie and tell me it was really freaking awesome tea. “I can add some honey or sugar to it if you promise to stay awake and keep your head up,” I add, cocking an eyebrow at him, patiently waiting for his acceptance. “Deal?”

  “Deal,” he croaks, a tiny baby smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

  I knew he would come around.

  Back in the kitchen, I make his tea like a civilized host, and when I return to the bathroom I find him splashing water over his own chest.

  “You’re looking better already,” I say, observing the pinker color blooming on his skin.

  Cade looks down at his expansive chest and scowls, not agreeing with my assessment at all. I wonder why he suddenly looks so pissed off when I track his gaze to his chest. A chest riddled with scars. Thick, jagged gashes scatter over his entire chest and torso. They must be a couple years old given the opaque coloring.

  I clear my throat, diverting my eyes and hand him the teacup. “Can you hold the cup?”

  I don’t comment on the scars and Cade doesn’t provide any insight as to what caused them. Instead, he nods tightly and takes the cup, sipping while I pour more water over the chest we are not going to talk about.

  “I’m finished,” he announces after a minute. Did he chug the entire thing? Whatever. I take the cup, placing it on the floor, and grab the thermometer. He groans for the nine millionth time.

  “Yeah, yeah. I know.” I thump my chest and mock in my best Tarzan voice, “Me man. Me healed.”

  Cade releases a burst of raspy laughter, and I find myself smiling when he sobers, opening his mouth without any more protests. The thermometer reads out 96.9. Much better.

  I grin, very proud that I basically brought him back from the dead. “I’m going to round you up some clothes,” I add, sweetly.

  He stares, curious and hesitant before he speaks softly. “You don’t have to do that.”

  Uh, yes, I do. I mean, I probably would feel pretty giggly as he lumbered out of the bathroom free-balling, but I think he would be a bit embarrassed. So, yes, I have to.

  I hold back a chuckle and caress his cheek with a quick stroke of my palm, nodding to the side of the tub. “There is some soap and shampoo. Wash up.” And before he can break my heart more, I leave.

  I find Cade some of Theo’s sweats and a shirt to wear. They look similar in size. The bathroom is hotter than the seventh circle of hell when I return and set the folded clothes on the counter.

  “I sure hope you have warmed up because I am about to melt in here.” Eyeing a scrubbed Cade, I wink. “All nice and clean?”

  He grins and tries hard not to laugh. “Yes, Mom.”

  “Good boy.” I prais
e and hand him a towel. “Here are some clothes for you. I’ll wait outside the door.” He nods solemnly as I pull the door closed and consider the guest bedroom down the hall.

  I push aside the memory of my father, and the pain that haunts my childhood memories. It’s only now that I realize why I felt so compelled to offer Cade sanctuary in my home. It wasn’t because of my ethical duty as a doctor. It’s because—I can’t even finish the thought, the memory still too raw. Deep down, I understand the reason behind my actions but still, I can’t believe I am about to tuck a homeless man in my guest bedroom. I’ve officially lost it.

  In the spare, I check the sheets and pull on an electric blanket. Being that it’s an old house, there is a fireplace in every room. I converted them to gas a couple years ago because I am not a wood-chopping girl. I flip the switch and the fire roars to life.

  Satisfied that Cade will be comfortable, I make my way back to the bathroom and notice the door is still closed. I give it a couple raps to check on him. “Are you alright?”

  Very slowly, the door eases open, as Cade stands there awkwardly and a little shaky. I wedge my body up against his like before. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

  We reach the guest room and his tired eyes take in the space languidly. I push him to the bed and pulling the blankets back, encourage him to lie down. He complies slowly, his freshly washed body stretching out to fill the full-size bed, his eyes already drifting closed.

  “Not so fast, Gorgeous.” I reveal the thermometer in my hand. Cade grimaces but opens wide.

  I frown at the results and pull the blankets over him.

  “I’m going to get you another blanket. Your temp is dropping some.”

  He stills my hand from fussing with the blanket, his face haggard, cheeks red from the elements. “This is more than enough. Thank you.”

  Completely ignoring him, I pat his hand and stand. “One more.”

  He sighs. “I’m guessing you don’t get told no very often.”