by C. L. Riley
Since my so-called luck doesn’t seem to apply to my missing vision, I give myself permission to accept Trina’s ministrations while my mind releases the fever-ravaged hallucinations and floats back in time, searching for clues to my most recent predicament.
For the last two weeks in February, Trina and I worked out a tentative truce. We kept things strictly nurse and patient professional.
After my failed attempts to engage her playful, flirtatious side, that part of her she works so hard to hide, I decided to focus more on my recovery efforts and less on any seduction schemes.
We fell into a semi-comfortable routine of physical therapy, working on memory techniques and ways to promote a healthier mental attitude. Walks on the beach and outdoor yoga were two practices I’d started to tolerate.
Okay, I’ll admit, I was starting to enjoy them.
Who would ever believe, Rowdy, Hells Guardians’ president, is a certified practitioner...of yoga?
Boone believes.
Of course my half-brother would be the one to catch us on our yoga mats, in some ridiculous ass-in-the-air pose.
He taunted me relentlessly over beers that same night, until Trina intervened, explaining the benefits of yoga like she had during our first workout, shutting Boone up and scoring major points with me.
In addition to long hours working on healing my body and mind, I tried unsuccessfully, several times, to coax more information from her about the stalker she left behind in Seattle. She made her own attempts to get me talking about the “secret” workings of club life.
Apparently she’d watched some documentary on the underground world of one-percent bikers, featuring who else but the Hells Guardians. At least they’d used mostly outdated footage and offered a shitload of speculation about our dealings. Regardless, the television special painted a grim picture, giving our club more notoriety than before it aired.
In the end, despite our increasing camaraderie, neither of us was giving an inch, keeping our secrets buried, unwilling to share. She definitely doesn’t know I asked Demon’s family to do more digging.
They’re good at unearthing buried information. Whether it’s a body, a betrayer, or unconventional business opportunities, his family has the manpower and expertise to make things happen when others can’t or won’t.
Truth is I don’t trust my own guys to do certain jobs for me, especially when it comes to my personal life. Not anymore. Not since the mess with Ringo and the developing Crusher crisis.
There’s no way to be sure who remains loyal to Ringo’s ghost. As messed up and depraved as the insane fucker was, he had his fair share of admirers.
Demon swears things have calmed down and everyone is onboard for my return, ready to put last year’s craziness behind us, but I’m not certain Demon realizes the full extent of rebellion within our ranks.
The explosion at Rex’s happened right when things with Ringo were coming to a head. Right as I was preparing to clean house, ridding our club of some less than stellar prospects and looking into the loyalty of certain patched members.
Due to my lengthy rehab that project was put on hold, although Demon is supposed to be keeping his eyes open. Unfortunately, between running the club in my absence and traveling to Seal’s Cove so often, it’s not his priority. Our original VP is creating a watch list while Demon is occupied, but right now it’s a wait and see situation.
Speaking of wait and see...I’m still not sure why the hell I’m unable to open my eyes or talk. What the fuck is wrong with me?
“Rowdy, can you hear me? I know you’re in there.”
In where?
Trina’s words make no sense.
“Please come back to me. I can’t lose you,” she whispers, her declaration sending a signal to my cock, while at the same time, thawing a sizable chunk of my frozen heart.
I might not be able to speak or open my eyes yet, but my dick is in working order.
“Oh...” she half giggles half whispers. “You’re alive.”
No. I’m in Heaven.
I have to be. She’s never spoken to me with such affection. Usually she’s barking orders or acting like some hardcore version of a cheerleader. I haven’t forgotten her screaming my name in the shower though. That vision has been on rewind since I caught her in action with the detachable showerhead.
Fuck.
I’m sure as hell hard now, probably causing whatever blanket is covering me to tent in a noticeable salute to my personal nurse.
“Rowdy, we’ll get through this. The antibiotics are finally working. You’ll be weak for awhile, but I’m here, and I’ll get you up and moving in no time. I promise.”
Again, her words shock me, making my heart rate accelerate.
Beeping noises coincide with my excitement. Footsteps approach, and a flurry of movements tell me there are more people than Trina beside my bed now.
“It looks like the fever’s broken and our patient is back,” a female voice affirms Trina’s observation.
I will my cock to go down, but it takes longer than I’d like. I’m fairly certain I’m in some type of medical facility, which means they’re used to unexpected bodily functions. At least I didn’t piss on myself.
Fucking hell. Maybe I did and don’t know it.
“He hasn’t opened his eyes yet,” Trina offers, using her professional voice and mentioning nothing about any bedtime accidents.
Thank God.
For the next several minutes, I’m poked and prodded. A blood pressure cuff squeezes my arm.
“Good,” one of the strange voices says. “One-twenty-four over sixty-eight.”
I listen carefully to the bedside chatter and determine I’ve been in and out of consciousness for the past week or so.
From what I can tell, I went in for my scheduled surgery. They removed the metal in my knee, but in its place I somehow contracted a nasty infection, one of those hospital strains that are difficult to treat with normal antibiotics. It sounds like I was in pretty sorry shape for a few days.
Wouldn’t that have been fucking ironic?
I manage to survive all the violence in my life, including the deadly barbershop blast, only to be finished off by bacteria in my bloodstream. At least I don’t remember The Reaper hanging around this time.
“Trina, you should go home and get some rest. You’ve practically been living here,” one of the voices urges.
“Not until he opens his eyes and kicks me out. Even then, I won’t be gone long.”
My lips quiver before bowing into what is surely a strange smile, all things considered.
“I think he just grinned, or maybe it was a grimace,” another unidentifiable female announces.
The conversation comes to an abrupt stop, and I don’t have to see to know all eyes are on me, waiting for some sign that affirms I’m aware of their presence.
Trina’s next words trigger a flood of relief. “If you’re done in here, I’ll monitor him. He might be more apt to—“
“Stop with the excuses. We’re well aware your patient is special,” someone says playfully. “You want him all to yourself. Not that I blame you.”
“Really special,” a second adds. “Please tell him how you feel before he’s snatched up by someone else.”
Trina clears her throat. “Hello-o-o, I’m a professional. I would never cross that line with a patient. I care so much because he almost lost his life...for a second time. And I want him to get well. Helping him recover is my job. He’s paying me, remember?”
“Keep telling yourself that, sister. I overheard a few of your private words of encouragement. They sounded more intimate than—.”
“You must be seriously bored if what I say to my patient is that interesting.” It is Trina’s turn to interrupt, and she sounds on edge. “Try working in a bigger hospital. I guarantee you will have more entertainment than you can handle and then some.”
“You’re wrong about us needing entertainment. We’re relieved things are slower now. For months w
e were bombarded with all the arson-related casualties. So we’re definitely not bored.
“And I can’t speak for my colleagues, but I hate to see a missed love connection when so many folks are searching for that perfect someone. That’s all, Trina. We like you and want you to be happy.”
“All right. Let’s leave Nurse Templeton alone with her patient. He’s stable now,” a male voice I don’t recognize joins the mix.
“We were just heading out, Doctor.” Retreating footsteps make it clear the flock of bystanders are heeding his order.
I can’t see the man, but I sense he’s close by, probably looking at computerized chart notes and checking my status. I’m surprised by his next comment.
“Trina, I want you to know. If you’re ever looking for employment, we’d be honored to have you onboard. We could always use a nurse with your emergency room experience.”
He doesn’t mention anything that alludes to her TBI training, leading me to believe she’s keeping that part of her history secret, even here, amongst peers.
Hopefully Demon has an update about Trina’s past and her stalker. She’s a mystery in the realest sense, and I’m fully committed to solving Trina Templeton. I just need get out of this hospital first.
“Thank you,” she replies warmly. “I appreciate the offer. Who knows what the future might hold.”
“We can’t predict the future, but I do know everyone appreciates you being here now for Mr. Richards. Your personal care and support has without doubt helped him fight the infection. I was planning to transfer him to Portland for more intensive care. I’m relieved it didn’t come to that.”
They talk medical jargon for a few minutes longer before the doctor finally leaves.
With him gone and the gossipy nurses making their rounds, I am ready to leave the darkness behind and even more ready to see Trina’s face.
It takes overwhelming effort to make my eyes open, but after a couple of failed attempts, at last I succeed.
She releases a little gasp but doesn’t call the others back. “Rowdy, thank God. I knew you were aware. Sorry you had to hear all that. The nurses have really taken a liking to you. Though I can’t imagine why.” Her bright smile and light tone tell me she’s teasing, something I appreciate, coming from her.
“I could use some water,” I croak. There’s no way I can have a conversation until I douse the flames in my throat.
“Of course you could. I should have thought of that.” She rushes from the room before I can stop her, returning a few minutes later with a pitcher and a plastic hospital tumbler.
After filling the bottle with ice water and adjusting the straw, she sits carefully on the edge of my bed. A few seconds pass and she wiggles closer, guiding the straw to my mouth. I hold her gaze while wrapping my lips around the plastic. She looks away, her cheeks flushing, something I love to see.
Unable to pace myself, I take long gulps, allowing the water to soothe my burning throat.
Coming to and begging for water reminds me of the time Olympia and Boone invaded my hospital room after the explosion. I wonder if they’ve been in to visit this time around.
“Have I had any visitors?”
Trina meets my gaze and nods. “Only a couple. They restricted visitors to family only. Boone came every afternoon, and I convinced them Demon was another brother. He’s been here a couple of times too. And then me.” She cants her head to the right, and I notice a second bed opposite from mine. It looks rumpled, and there’s large tote bag nearby. “That’s where I’ve been camping,” she adds with smile.
“You didn’t have to stay. What about the cats?” I can’t imagine her letting them go unattended, and the fact she did holds a certain significance I’ll need to examine later.
“I left here each day, for about an hour, to check on the house and feed the animals. I’m sure they miss us.”
“You maybe,” I chuckle, my throat still dry. “I doubt either is eager to see me.”
This time she laughs, the sound sweeter than I remember. “Scrooge likes you. Why do you think he follows you around?”
“Because I give him those cat treats you bought and keep him stoned on catnip.”
Before she can reply, I recognize Olympia’s voice outside my room, arguing with one of the nurses. Her voice carries through the halls, and I would bet large sums of money the patients and staff aren’t big fans.
“We were notified he could have visitors now. I’ve been pushed aside all week. I’m not leaving without seeing him.”
I can easily picture her stomping her foot to punctuate her displeasure. I can’t hear what Boone says to quiet her down, but it works, for a minute, anyway.
The silence doesn’t last and she continues her tirade, “Do I need to call my father? He is the mayor you know.”
I shake my head.
Olympia sounds like a pretentious teenager. The staff is well aware who she is and who her father is, without any reminders.
I’m surprised she wasn’t able to find a way around the whole immediate-family-only-rule sooner. I suspect my half-brother intervened to keep her from engaging in an all out battle with hospital personnel. From what I’ve gathered, Olympia has never responded well to hearing no.
“Mr. Richards, your brother and his fiancé are here. They’re—”
“He knows who we are. We don’t need an introduction,” Olympia snaps. “And you don’t need to supervise. I’m sure his private nurse will keep us in line. I assume you have other patients to tend to.”
A second later, and the woman I thought I was in love with stands over me, staring down, with my half-brother towering behind her. He catches my gaze and shrugs, wearing an amused expression.
It hits me my public persona in Seal’s Cove features the continued use of Richards as my last name. I guess I am actually a Richards, depending how you look at things. But there is no time now to explore the surname situation because Olympia is just getting started and fills the space with her abundance of energy. I officially shove the name-game aside and make every effort to keep my attention on her.
“Thank God you’re better. They wouldn’t let me visit,” she explains, as if I hadn’t heard the commotion.
She squeezes my arm and turns her attention to Trina, who has a strange look on her face. I’m not sure what she’s thinking.
“You must be Trina Templeton, Rowdy’s nurse. Boone has told me so much about you. I was starting to wonder if you even existed. I’ve wanted to meet you.” She extends her hand across the bed.
Trina takes it and smiles. “It’s a pleasure. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you as well.”
It’s then I recognize my nurse is a bit star struck by Olympia.
I too often forget Olympia’s story was world news for months. Add on the fact her youngest son shot the bad guy and saved Seal’s Cove’s school from Pyro’s bombs, and you’ve got one of those based-on-a-true-story movies waiting to be made.
Through all the unwanted publicity, Olympia has become a celebrity of sorts. Besides starting her own non-profit, she speaks publically about her ordeal. As an advocate for women affected by violence, she’s made quite a name for herself.
It doesn’t hurt she’s gorgeous, classy, and generous with her wealth, not the type of woman most people expect to see on the back of a Harley, dressed in leather; nevertheless, she spends as much time as possible riding with Boone despite her business commitments.
She’s everything I thought I wanted, until I met Trina.
What the fuck? I must be feeling the infection’s lingering effects.
Sure, I want to be balls deep inside my nurse, but anything more makes absolutely no sense for either of us, and considering the massive wall she’s erected to protect herself from anything untoward happening, I don’t see any sex-for-fun in our future.
Before I can brood over my Olympia Trina comparison, Boone steps forward. “If you’re up to it, I need a few minutes alone to go over some club—“
“...
business,” Olympia finishes for him. “Come on, Trina, let’s go grab a coffee and let the biker bad boys share their secrets.”
Boone leans over and kisses her head. “Good idea, babe. That work for you, Trina?”
“Uh, sure. Let me find my purse.” She gives me a look that speaks volumes. My nurse wants to stay with me. Interesting.
“My treat,” Olympia says.
“Go on,” I push. “I’ll be fine. Boone won’t let anything happen to me.” She’ll never know how true my statement is. Boone has guys watching out for us around the clock, protecting us from any possible threats.
It should be my own club brothers pulling shifts, but I’d told Demon no, breaking another cardinal rule by relying on a different club. I’m not sure what I’m going to do about my nonexistent trust in the men I am supposed to lead. Now is definitely not the time for that debate. I add it to the rest of my deal-with-it later shit, which is adding up as we speak.
I refocus instead on the room and see Trina hasn’t moved.
Olympia has noticed as well. “Don’t worry. We’ll be back before you know it. Promise.” She reaches for Trina and gives her hand a squeeze.
After a sigh and another lingering look my direction, Trina relents and follows Olympia out the door.
Boone doesn’t waste a minute. “We’ve got some serious shit to discuss. A lot happened while you were sleeping your life away, bro.”
Trina
I didn’t realize how depleted my energy was until trying to keep up with Olympia’s brisk pace.
The woman moves with confidence and purpose, like she’s intent on giving birth and running a marathon in the same breath. I’m having a difficult time grasping how anyone who experienced so many brutalities can be so energetic, poised, and positive.
Maybe in time I’ll be more like her.
I’m not holding my breath, though. I’m no Olympia Olsen.
From what I remember reading or seeing on the news, she was involved in individual therapy immediately following her rescue. Her biker friends rallied around her, providing the necessary support as she kicked an addiction to heroin and recuperated from injuries suffered at the hand of her abductor, a criminally insane biker called Ringo.