Man Handler (Man Cave - A Standalone Collection Book 3)

by Shari J. Ryan

  He stops about ten feet from where I’m standing, looks up at me, wags his tail, and I already know he’s about to bolt in the wrong direction. “I’ll give you a treat,” I offer. Waldo’s ten years old. I don’t do treats like I used to, so I save them for when he’s being defiant and I’m at risk of being late. Now he’s running toward me, getting ready to plow me over. He’s a buck fifty in weight, which is probably some kind of absurd record for a lab. On top of that, he thinks he’s the size of a small cat. And he’s covered in mud.

  Shit. “Waldo, get inside.” I pat him on the back, and as I open the front door, the clock on the wall catches my eye. I see that I have less than twenty minutes to get to the hospital before my shift starts, and now I’m covered in mud too.

  I get Waldo his treat and quickly change my clothes before running out the door.

  Normally, I walk to work, but with my time constraints, I grab the keys to my truck, hoping there’s a spot for me to park my ass in. Our employee lot has five spots, which isn’t nearly enough, and patient parking is normally filled. The whole small town, small hospital thing doesn’t always work out so well.

  I hop in and take off, leaving nothing but a cloud of dirt behind me. I’ve got this damn jitter in my chest, thinking about that chick from yesterday. Maybe it’s because I enjoy a good puzzle and want to figure her out. She’s probably not going to let that happen, and I’m not the pushy type, so I gotta let the thought go. She’s probably not even going to last in this town for more than a week or two anyway, seeing how she was acting last night.

  With five minutes to spare and a prime parking spot, I lock the truck and jog inside.

  “Good morning, Austin,” Daisy chirps.

  “Mornin’, Miss Daisy,” I respond as I hustle by the front desk and into the staff room where I find Clara. We’re not usually in here at the same time because there are only two of us on the clock most of the time.

  “Good morning, Austin,” she says. Her voice is a little less chipper than her norm, and I assume something’s wrong. She wears her heart on her sleeve and her eyes can tell a whole damn story if someone were looking hard enough.

  “What’s with the sourpuss?” I’m quickly changing into my scrubs while I try to do the friend thing, but suddenly, I see she needs more than just a pick-me-up. Something is wrong.

  “Oh, nothin’, I’m fine,” she says, standing up and walking toward the other side of the room.

  “Bullcrap,” I tell her. “Spill it. You got ninety-seconds before I’m on the clock.”

  “I’m fine, really.” She opens her locker and pulls out a sweater, then takes a seat on the bench behind her.

  “Okay. Don’t say I didn’t ask.” A mom, a sister, and plenty of girlfriends have taught me to ask a girl why she isn’t smiling. No matter how much they say nothing is wrong, something is almost always wrong.

  “I broke up with Derek last night,” she finally spits out just as I finish slipping on my scrubs.

  I close my locker and head over to the bench she’s on. “You okay, darlin’?”

  “No, I’m not,” she says with a hitch in her throat. “I thought he was the one. Maybe I was just trying to convince myself, though. I feel like I’m getting older now, and starting over means I’m still years away from getting married and having kids. It’s like this timer in my head, and it’s making me crazy. Is it so wrong to want a family before I’m too old?”

  “Clara, listen to me, honey. You’re hardly thirty.”

  “It’s thirty, Austin. That’s like reaching the top of the hill.”

  “Okay, that’s crazy. You’re not too old to start over, and if that’s the only reason you’re staying with a man, that’s the worst reason in the world. You’ll surely end up divorced within a few years and left as a single mama. You don’t want that either.”

  She looks up at me as tears shroud her eyes. “That’s quite insightful coming from you, the man who plans to die alone.”

  “I’m observant.” I grab her arm and pull her up to her feet so I can offer her a hug. “It’s going to be okay.”

  “I wish I was as sure as you are.”

  “You’re a pretty little thing, and one of the sweetest people I’ve ever met, Clara. You aren’t going to have a problem finding someone to love you. I promise.” There was a time when I couldn’t keep my eyes off this woman. She’s always been taken by another man, but I learned over the years that I wouldn’t be a healthy choice for her. I carry a lot of baggage, and I’m not too good with the sensitive folk. She’s the one who taught me looks are only skin deep, and it’s good to be attracted to a woman, but if I want someone a little more permanent in my life, I need to find someone I’m internally compatible with too. It wouldn’t just be for my sake, but for my partner’s too.

  I notice the blush in Clara’s cheeks after my comment. I didn’t mean to make her uncomfortable, just trying to boost her esteem. “You’ve always been here for me, Austin. Thank you.”

  “What are friends for?” I throw that in there quickly to clear up any cause for confusion, thanks to my filter-less mouth.

  “You’re going to be late,” she says.

  I look up at the clock, seeing I’m already five minutes late. “Shit. I’ll catch you in a bit. I have to prep my patient for surgery.”

  “You’re floating all the way up to Orthopedics today. How unusual for you,” Daisy says with a snarky attitude. “Oh, you must be doing that for that hot little badass from Boston?” She smirks at me and chuckles.

  I point at her, trying to hide my smile in return. “Shut it.”

  Just as I make my way upstairs to the waiting area of Orthopedics, I spot a nervous Scarlett fidgeting in her seat next to Brendan.

  I grab her charts from the desk. “Come on back, darlin’.” The moment I call her darlin’, I realize how many times that pissed her off yesterday. Oops.

  Brendan stands up too. “Can I come back with her until you’re ready to start?”

  “Of course,” I say, waving him on.

  “Sorry for calling you that,” I tell her.

  “It’s fine,” she says. Scarlett is much quieter this morning than she was last night. I know she’s scared. That’s common. “You work upstairs here too?”

  “I float around since the hospital is small.” Well, not usually to Orthopedics, but someone owed me a favor and I called it in for today. I bring her into a patient room and hand her a johnny. “Okay, so when was the last time you had anything to eat or drink?”

  “Last night before I went to bed. That’s what you, and the discharge papers, said yesterday,” she answers.

  “Perfect. Right now, I’m going to need you to undress and put this on. The ties should go in the back. Also, you’ll need to remove all jewelry, contacts if you wear them, and there’s facial cleanser in the bathroom over there. We ask that patients remove cosmetics to keep the surgical area sterile. I’ll be back in just a couple of minutes unless you need any help or have any questions?”

  “No, I think I know how to take my clothes off, but I appreciate the offer to help,” she says, raking her fingers through her loose hair.

  I did sort of just inadvertently offer to help take her clothes off. That’s not what I was intending though.

  Everything I’m saying sounds robotic from memorization and saying the same statements over and over each day, but maybe I should think about what I’m saying on repeat sometimes. “I’ll be back in just a few minutes then.”

  As usual on a Monday morning, this floor is fairly quiet and Scarlett is the only scheduled surgery until this afternoon, so I head to the coffee station for a cup to get me through the first half of this shift.

  I give Scarlett about ten minutes before I head back and knock on the door of her room. “Come in,” Brendan says.

  Scarlett is sitting on the edge of the bed with her legs dangling and crossed. Her hair is loose and her face is clean of all makeup. She doesn’t need to wear makeup. She looks great without it. I still
don’t understand why women put themselves through all that extra effort when they’re more beautiful without all the fakeness plastered across their faces.

  “The anesthesiologist will be in shortly, but for now I’m going to get your IV set up.”

  Brendan is sitting in the corner of the room again, but with his head between his knees this time. “Bud, if you have a weak stomach, you might want to go take a breather for a minute,” I tell him.

  “I’m fine,” Scarlett tells Brendan. “You can go.” If I were with her, and I heard the way she just basically said, “I’m fine,” I wouldn’t be moving an inch. Brendan isn’t attached like that though. However much he cares about her, he still stands up and excuses himself.

  “Do you have a fear of needles, or are you cool?” I ask Scarlett. I like to ask in case I have a patient who may black out or get sick.

  “No,” she says. “I have a couple of tattoos. I’m sure an IV can’t be much worse.”

  “A tattoo is definitely worse,” I assure her. Her eyes spark open and she eyes me with wonder. The same thing I’m wondering about, most likely. Where are the tattoos? “How is your pain level today on a scale from one to ten—one being the lowest, and ten being the worst pain you’ve ever felt?”

  “A five,” she says.

  “We’ll take care of that today. Let’s get that number a little lower for you.” I take a pair of gloves from the box hanging on the wall and pull them on before preparing the IV. “I’ve been told I’m one of the best vein locaters in the town.”

  “Did you get an award for it?” she asks.

  “I did. I have it hanging on my wall at home.”

  “I’ve been told I have hidden veins,” she says.

  “For real?” I ask. The girl smiles. She fucking smiles, and it’s like heaven’s gates just opened. Damn. “No, no one has said that to me.”

  I run an alcohol-filled cotton swab over the center of her arm, then tie a rubber tourniquet around her triceps. “Finding veins on Bostonians is way easier than locating them on a tanned arm.” I run my finger down the center of her arm and her muscles tighten within my grip. “You need to try and relax.” Her hand unclenches and the vein I need shows perfectly beneath her pale skin. I reach over for the syringe and quickly insert the needle. I have the drip set attached and her arm taped up within thirty-seconds, hoping I caused the least amount of pain. “How was that?”

  “Best I’ve ever had,” she says with another smile, but one with a snippy edge to her voice.

  “Oh, you’ve never gotten an IV before, have you?”

  “No, but that still means you’re the best I’ve ever had. I mean the IV.” She’s blushing. I knew I’d break her down a little. She’s a bit of a challenge and I like challenges.

  “I was going to say, where was I when I earned that title?” Being in this role has allowed me to let confidence roll smoothly at all times, even when my heart is pounding in my chest.

  “Oh please, you’d know,” she says, rolling her eyes.

  “You’re right,” I tell her. “Here, let’s make you a little more comfortable.” I help her lie back on the bed and cover her with the sheet. Her long hair catches under her shoulders, and she struggles to move enough freely, so I slide my hand under her back and sweep her hair aside, sending a delicious scent of coconut and flowers back my way.

  Just as I get her comfortable, the anesthesiologist and surgical nurse enter the room. “The anesthesiologist is here to give you some medicine that will make you feel good. I’ll see you in recovery,” I tell her.

  Her eyes fill with concern and fear, which pains me to see. As much as I’ve been picking on her, I think I gave her a bit of comfort, but I have to let the others take over now. I didn’t warn her I wouldn’t be sticking by her side during surgery. “You’re not going to be in there?” she asks.

  “Sorry, darlin’, I usually only float between the ER triage and recovery.”

  “This isn’t triage or recovery, though,” she tells me, highlighting an obvious fact that I didn’t hide too well.

  “I know.” I head out before I get another look from her that makes me melt with guilt.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Scarlett

  There’s a blur I can’t see through and a weakness running through my body. Where am I? There’s a whole lot of white walls and lights, and that’s all I know. I’m moving down a hallway and lying on a bed. I’m not at home; my apartment isn’t this long. I don’t even think I was drinking last night. There’s a man’s calm mumbling voice buzzing around my head, but I don’t recognize it. I can’t even figure out how to freak out, but I sort of want to.

  “You made it,” he says—the man’s voice I don’t recognize.

  “Mav why?” I say, knowing it didn’t come out right.

  “Just relax. You’re going to be okay,” he says.

  “Who you?” That was a little clearer, and so is my vision. Maybe I died because this man was in my dream but I don’t know him. He has pretty eyes, a nice smile, and a deep voice that’s smooth like a big string instrument. “I know you.”

  “Do you?” he asks, laughing a bit.

  “Yeah.”

  “You’re pretty.”

  “Gee, thanks.” He smiles, and I close my eyes to keep the memory to myself because I think I am dreaming. Those perfect man dreams happen to me all the time. Why can’t dreams ever be real? There’s no such thing as a perfect man. They’re all the same—the ones I meet. They talk so nicely. Then they just want to take me home. I’m not real estate; doesn’t anyone know that? I don’t want to be rented or purchased. “We’ll let her sleep a bit longer. She’s pretty out of it.”

  The voice again. See, only in a dream would a man sit next to me while I sleep. I try to stretch out so I can roll over, but I can’t. Instead, my hand flops on top of another hand and it isn’t mine. It’s a man’s hand. Did I take someone home with me last night? Was I drugged?

  I’m too tired to figure it out. I feel around the hand and slip my fingers between his, pulling it up so I can fall back to sleep comfortably. “Um, Scarlett,” he says. “That’s my hand. It’s me, Austin, your nurse.”

  I force my eyes open again, finding the same man sitting beside me. “You’re so real,” I tell him.

  “Shh, it’s okay. Go back to sleep.”

  “See, I knew you were a dream.” I hope I never wake up from this dream.

  “Oh, you dream-boy, you,” I hear another man’s voice call out from the other side of wherever we are—his voice doesn’t sound familiar at all. What the hell? Whoever the other person is … he needs to step out of my dream. This is my dream, not his.

  “Go away. This is my dream.”

  * * *

  “Scarlett, can you hear my voice?” It’s him again. The nurse man. “If you can hear me, I’m going to need you to open your eyes.” He’s talking to me. A hand rests on top of mine and the sensation of coziness forces my eyes to open with panic.

  “Where am I?” Instinct has taken over and my loss of memory and delay of incoming thoughts are scaring me. “What’s going on?”

  “You’re okay. You just had surgery on your wrist. You’re in recovery now.” The familiarity of his voice charges through my mind and my vision clears up enough that there’s now a sharpness to the few people around me. “Austin,” I say. His name feels weird on my tongue—unfamiliar—yet I know him.

  “Scarlett,” he says.

  “Aussstin. Do you hear the s’s? They sound weird, right?”

  “You’re just a bit loopy from the anesthesia. It will wear off in a bit.”

  “Are you my hero?” I ask him. Someone put me here. Yet, he’s sitting beside me.

  He chuckles and I watch his mouth curl into his dimples. “You’re pretty,” I tell him.

  “You already said that,” he says with a silent snort.

  “You have blue eyes. They’re blue like what the moon looks like when it’s lit up at night. You have moonlit eyes, Aussstin.”r />
  He takes in a deep breath because I must be taking his breath away. That’s why. “Are you my—”

  “Nurse, yes,” he replies instantly.

  “No, no, no, silly. Are you myyyyyy—luvah?”

  He’s laughing at me again. I don’t understand what is so funny. I’m just trying to understand what’s happening.

  “No, Scarlett. I’m your nurse.”

  I wave him off with my free arm, which makes me look at my arm that doesn’t feel free. “What the—what happened to my arm? Who did this to me?”

  “You fell yesterday and broke your wrist. You needed surgery to repair the bone, but you’re on the mend now, so everything is going to be okay,” he tells me.

  “How? Aussstin, how? How is everything going to be okay if my wrist doesn’t work? Do you know how many things people need their wrists for?” No, why is this happening?

  “I know you’re confused at the moment, but everything will make more sense soon.”

  I grab his hand. “Do you even love me?”

  “Scarlett, I’m just your nurse. I think you’re a tiny bit confused.”

  “No,” I argue. “I like you. I know that. You—you are pretty, and you’re not mean. Oh, and your hand feels nice, and your voice is like a nice sound that’s tickling the inside of my ear.”

  “Your friend Brendan is here. Do you want me to go get him for you?”

  “No, no, you can’t leave me. No one wants to be around me. Everyone leaves. Do you want to know why?” I feel the need to whisper because I don’t want anyone besides Austin to know the truth.

  “Why is that?” he matches my volume.

  “I say what I feel when I’m thinking it. My mind doesn’t give me time to weigh the consequences of what comes out of my mouth. Plus, I’m kind of bossy, but it’s just because I get nervous when I don’t have control. Are you like that?”

  Austin is looking around the room, but I don’t know what he’s looking for. He clears his throat and repositions himself in his seat. “I am like that,” he says. “Control protects people from pain.”