by Alison Ryan
“We had to shave his head once we got the bleeding stopped. It’s standard practice for head trauma.”
She seemed a bit more at ease and receptive to my knowledge and nodded her head.
“I’m going back to my room, just thought we probably ought to meet. I’ll be back later after he gets here,” Mallory excused herself, spinning on her red-bottomed heels and strutting away, her blue designer dress swishing with each step. I wondered if she’d ever in her life looked in the mirror and hated the way she looked. The answer had to be no.
Satisfied that the room was in order, I informed Atlas, and he and I left in an SUV to meet the ambulance at a second location.
Atlas pulled into an alley between an abandoned grocery store and a self-storage place in a neighborhood in North Las Vegas where the number of homeless people easily quadrupled the number of tourists. As we drove between a dumpster and a stack of pallets, he pulled out a small remote and tapped the button. A door on the back of the building, a loading dock where heads of lettuce and gallons of milk were once delivered, rolled open and we drove inside.
As we crossed the threshold, Nathaniel’s head appeared, peeking around the side to scan the alley before the door rolled shut behind us. There in front of us, in what might have once been the cereal aisle, sat an ambulance, one I recognized as belonging to North Las Vegas Medical Center. My former employer, MULV, had the only trauma center in the valley, so I was familiar with all the local ambulances.
Nathaniel gave Atlas a thumbs up as he removed his shirt and began changing into an EMT’s uniform. His torso was crisscrossed with tattoos and he looked to be in fantastic shape for somebody I guessed was deep into his fifties. Randall, one of the men I’d met at the house, exited the ambulance, dressed in a uniform of his own.
“How did…? I mean you can’t just rent these things at Enterprise,” I remarked to Atlas.
“Clara, it’s best not to ask too many questions. We’re performing a patient transfer, right? Nobody got hurt and nobody’s going to bother this ambulance. Good enough for you?” Atlas answered. “You’ll be riding along in back. Once my brother is inside, I need you to monitor him and take care of any problems that he might be having. That’s your job. We’ll do our jobs; can we count on you to do yours?”
I nodded my head and climbed into the back of the ambulance.
“Put these on, the face mask, too. Best if nobody recognizes you,” Atlas handed me scrubs. I’d look out of place in the back of an ambulance, but not so much that anybody would question it. If I was in there, they’d assume I was supposed to be.
We rolled out of the back of the grocery store-turned-secret hideout and onto the roads of North Las Vegas. Within minutes, we pulled into MULV. Randall grabbed a clipboard and told me he’d be back with my patient shortly.
Nathaniel opened the back doors of the ambulance and Randall eased the gurney inside, Odin aboard. Had he been awake, he couldn’t have opened his left eye. It was swollen completely shut, black and blue. His whole head was lopsided with swelling, and a bag attached below his left ear would need to be emptied soon. Despite the injuries, there was no denying that he was a handsome man. Square-jawed like his brother Atlas, cheekbones high and proud, and lips that any woman would love to kiss or have kissing her in… places.
I checked the paperwork attached to his bed, scanning through his vitals and medications. Somehow, the faux-hospital room set up at the house already included a supply of every medication Odin would need. If a Titan needed something, he would get it, I was beginning to realize. Obstacles such as time and money seemed to lack any meaning at all.
Opening his shirt to take a look at the bandaging on his chest, I noticed something I hadn’t when first working on him, a small tattoo right on his pelvic line of five interlocking rings. The unmistakable symbol of the Olympics. I filed that one away in the “questions for later” drawer in my mind, a drawer that was so full it was becoming difficult to close.
I felt us moving, leaving the hospital proper, and soon we were on I-15. We didn’t need the freeway to get from MULV to the house, but Randall reassured me. “We aren’t going directly home. Have to make sure we aren’t being followed.”
I nodded and stared down at Odin. He looked so peaceful, almost like he was smiling. A good dream, I hoped. I reached out and took his right hand in mine, holding it to comfort him. Or to comfort me. I wasn’t sure which.
The drive home, which should have taken no more than ten minutes in light traffic, took the better part of an hour. We were on and off the freeway several times and went through a veritable maze of side streets. At one point, we stopped for several minutes and Nathaniel, the passenger, left the ambulance, only to be replaced by a winded and agitated Atlas.
“All well, boss?” Randall asked him.
“Yeah, I took care of it. But the truck took some damage. Nathaniel will take care of it. Metro will be here soon, let’s make ourselves scarce.”
As Atlas said it, sirens rang out in the distance. I watched him wipe his face and look down at his hand. I recognized blood anywhere.
“It’s not mine, doc.” Atlas reassured me when he caught me staring. “We picked up some unwanted attention. I handled it.”
I nodded, stifling a shudder. What had I gotten myself into?
Odin’s hand, even unresponsive, felt good in mine. His hands were large, and just rough enough. I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the stainless steel cabinet across from me. What I saw looking back certainly wasn’t Mallory. I’d long ago given up hating any particular thing about the way I looked, and Callum made me feel beautiful, but women like Odin’s girlfriend were almost a different species. Effortlessly stunning, all the time. I wondered where one goes to school to know how to look perfect instead of like a turnip in no makeup, sweatpants, and a t-shirt, with a messy bun. Despite all my years of school, I missed that class. Mallory got an A++.
We arrived back at the house, and Randall rolled Odin inside quickly, a sheet draped over him to dissuade prying eyes.
Once he was transferred to the bed in his room, I worked on hooking up his oxygen, catheter, and every machine that would monitor his vitals.
Atlas and Piper came in to see if I needed anything, and to tell me that Mallory was taking a shower and would be in soon. After that I was alone with my patient. Alone for the first time in my medical career with my only patient. So strange.
I expected Mallory to rush to Odin’s bedside upon our arrival, but she had yet to make her appearance, which I found odd, and I sat with Odin for the better part of ninety minutes. I wished I’d brought something to read, or my new laptop. It would send the wrong message to leave Odin by himself on night one, so I curled up in one of the two large, comfy chairs and just watched him sleep. It was so intimate, so peaceful, and part of me wished there was room in the bed for me to curl up next to him. I discouraged co-sleeping in my patients with small children, but it seemed like such a wonderful idea now.
I wondered things about Odin. What did his walk look like? How did his voice sound? How long could he last in… I pushed that one deep into the back of my brain. My starved libido had started becoming a problem anyway, and spending a day around so much muscle and testosterone wasn’t doing it any favors.
Sleep had just claimed me when I heard a shriek of surprise. My eyes fluttered open to find Mallory standing over Odin with tears in her eyes.
“My baby, oh my baby, what did they do to you?” She was crying, leaning on the railing attached to his bed, looking down at him and shaking her head.
“He’s not in any pain; all his vitals are good, he’s doing very well, actually. The worst of it should be behind him,” I spoke softly, trying to convey to her how fortunate Odin was to even be alive. “If you want to touch him, to hold his hand or anything, it’s perfectly fine. In fact, human contact and familiar things like sounds and smells have been shown to do wonders for patients in his condition.”
She reached out a tentative hand and
touched his cheek; she immediately recoiled. “No, no this isn’t right at all. I can’t see him like this. When are you planning to shave him?”
“Shave him…? I don’t understand?”
Mallory truly puzzled me.
“Odin is always clean-shaven. He knows that’s how I like him. You have to shave him. Keep him that way. It’s bad enough you took his hair, at least keep his face smooth the way it’s supposed to be.”
I was baffled. “Shaving his head was hospital protocol. It would be anywhere. As preparation in case he required emergency surgery. As far as his face goes, it isn’t medically necessary, but when he gets a bath I can probably work something out.”
“That won’t work. The Odin I know had a smooth face. I don’t like beards. It’s hard enough seeing him like this without all this stubble.”
She sounded like a petulant child. “I’ll see what I can do, Mallory.”
She sighed. “Please do. I’ll visit him again in the morning.”
With that, she was gone.
Mallory, for me at least, would be an acquired taste.
I was awake now, and figured that if she was so adamant that he be clean-shaven, that I’d do my best to make it happen. I assumed she’d want to spend the night in the room with him, but if she wasn’t comfortable with it, I’d stay and try my hand at shaving Odin’s face.
I’d shaved patients before surgeries, sections of abdomens, that sort of thing, but that was easy; a few passes with the clippers and it was good to go. Same with a head, Odin’s for example. A face would be a much more delicate procedure. At least I knew he wouldn’t be moving.
I found Piper and had her borrow a razor from Atlas after explaining to her my run-in with Mallory. She rolled her eyes in and nodded her head; we were co-conspirators in the anti-Mallory club.
I filled a bowl with warm water and gathered some towels. I thought of shaving my legs and tried to duplicate the process, sans bathtub. A wet washcloth covered his face, and I patted on shaving cream. My first few passes with the razor were so gentle that they only removed the lather, barely touching his face. To me, the stubble made him look grittier, tougher, more handsome than he already was, a considerable feat. I also considered how that stubble might feel in…certain places.
No, I’d never ask Odin Titan to shave. Not that it seemed likely to ever be within my purview to have a say in such matters.
Once I got the hang of it, and realized one wrong move wouldn’t sever his carotid artery, the scruff disappeared easily beneath my blade. I rinsed away the remains of the foam and patted him dry, inspecting my work, touching up a spot near the corner of his mouth and another just beneath his chin. I let the back of my hand slide down his cheek, staring at his face and wishing he’d open his eyes and look back into mine.
“If the whole doctor thing doesn’t work out, I think you have a future as a barber.”
The voice of Atlas startled me. “Looks good. Sorry about Mallory, she’s having a tough time with all this. I’ll stay in here with him tonight and you go get some sleep. You’ve had a long day. Is there anything I need to do? IVs to change, anything like that?”
My face burned crimson with embarrassment at being caught touching Odin so tenderly. “No, everything should be fine, there shouldn’t be anything to change. I… Mallory asked me to shave him.”
“I know, Doc. You did a nice job. He looks smooth as a baby.”
“Well, good night, Atlas.”
He sat down in the chair opposite from where I’d been sitting, slumping down and folding his arms across his chest and dropping his chin to his chest.
“Night, Doc.”
I returned to the guest house, looking up at what stars I could see through the Vegas smog. Shaving Odin’s face was as close to a man as I’d been since Callum died. Odin had Mallory, drop dead gorgeous Mallory. And Odin was my patient. Reasons we could ever be together eluded me. But my attraction to him wouldn’t wane, no matter how I tried to reason it away.
I tried to sleep that night, but I found myself constantly checking the screens that monitored Odin’s vitals and his IVs. This new life of mine would take some getting used to.
6
Odin
Time is a funny thing. Twenty minutes in a dentist’s chair, with a drill buzzing away, seems like an eternity. Vacation in North Carolina’s Outer Banks? That week goes by in the blink of an eye.
Time for me has lost meaning.
I pick up bits and pieces through conversations I overhear, snippets of news I catch on the television, but I don’t have a clear understanding of what day it is, or even what month. Not to mention that I have no earthly idea where I am right now.
Three bullets hit me. That much is certain. Two to my chest and one to my head. Any of them could have been fatal, but I was fortunate. I suffered a collapsed lung and my pecs will never look quite the same, but my heart evaded any major trauma.
The bullet that hit my head entered behind the left ear, hit my skull, and somehow took a turn up and out the top of my head. Something about the angle, the way the car was turning, everything combined to make it a one in a million shot.
If you skip over the fact that I’m in a coma, I seem like a damn lucky fellow. If Atlas had as many brains as muscles, he’d roll me into a casino, put some money in my hand, and translate that good fortune into cold, hard cash.
Although the Nevada Gaming Commission would probably frown on a comatose man being allowed to gamble. Even one with a multi-million-dollar credit line.
I never stopped to consider what being in a coma might be like. Who would? But the way this one works, I’m alert and aware of my surroundings, those that don’t require eyesight to interpret, anyway. Oh, and I don’t seem able to move a muscle. Can’t open my eyes, can’t crack a smile, my big toe won’t even wiggle.
I’ve learned about my condition because people feel free to converse about me in my presence, believing I’m completely oblivious. The only person who seems to think I might be in here anywhere is the doctor.
Her name is Clara. I’ve picked that up through her conversations with my brother, Atlas, and Piper.
Dr. Clara talks to me whenever she’s here. She tells me everything she’s doing. She plays music for me, lots of jazz, some classical, and now and then she surprises me with hip hop. I wish I could put in a request for some Prince, but she’s broadening my horizons.
She also reads to me, and that’s the absolute best. Atlas and Piper sit with me and watch television, but have you ever tried just listening to your favorite show? Or, in this case, somebody else’s favorite show?
Clara reads aloud to me, and there’s something soothing and motherly about it. I don’t get any say in the material, and I’m not necessarily a fan of romance or YA, but she is and hearing the genuine emotion pour out of her as she narrates stories to me gives me something to look forward to, something to take my emotions somewhere other than the deep pit of despair in which they’ve resided since I realized this might really be the rest of my life.
Now and then she surprises me with something more up my personal alley. Thank God she’s avoided Joyce. And Melville.
I sometimes smell Clara before I hear her. I don’t know if she’s bringing me flowers or if it’s her shampoo or perfume, but the scent of daisies means Clara is nearby. When I smell sweat, I know it’s Atlas. Piper smells the way pretty girls do, and since I haven’t heard the cry of a baby yet and her grunts and groans when she gets up or sits down are getting more intense, I assume she must still be pregnant, which gives me a rough idea of time.
You’ve probably noticed that I haven’t mentioned Mallory. But I have gone on at some length about Clara, a woman I’ve never seen and, frankly, know very little about.
At first, I’ll admit, I felt guilty about hearing the door open and hoping it was Clara rather than Mallory. I figured that I must be experiencing some sort of Florence Nightingale Syndrome, falling for my caretaker, but in short order Mallory made her intention
s clear and absolved me of all guilt.
One of my first memories after arriving wherever “here” is involves my girlfriend. Well, ex-girlfriend.
I was just becoming accustomed to my surroundings, the fact that I was being fed through a tube, that I could hear, but not see, that I was a prisoner in a body that didn’t work, when it happened.
Her phone rang, and I was privy to half of a conversation that shattered my heart.
“Hey, baby. Tonight? Yeah, I think so. Oh yeah, La Cirque is fantastic,” Mallory gushed.
She laughed, a giggly, flirty sort of laugh, with which I was intimately familiar and thought reserved solely for me. Then she was too quiet to hear very well. I only caught snippets. She’d either walked out into a hallway or started to whisper. But she was clearly making some sort of plans.
She sat and held my hand a while, watching something on E!, but when Clara arrived, Mallory excused herself. Which was actually fine, because Mallory wasn’t the best conversationalist I’d ever met, and when her role increased from doing half the talking to all of it, she didn’t have much to say at all.
Clara read Hemingway to me that afternoon. The Old Man and the Sea.
The next day, afternoon as far as I could tell, all hell broke loose.
Atlas had been sitting with me when Mallory walked in.
“Hey, you disappeared last night. We were worried about you. Is everything okay?” he asked her.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I met a friend of mine for dinner, that’s all, then it was late, so I just spent the night. I stayed over at her place.”
“Let me know if you’re planning something like that again. I can’t keep you safe if I don’t know where you are,” my brother explained.
“I can’t just sit here, day after day. I have a life to live,” Mallory protested. “Besides, I know plenty of people in this town who I can trust to protect me. I know you’re supposed to be some big deal SEAL or whatever, but I don’t know you.”