Zander

by Maryann Jordan

  “Like the way you take care of your staff,” Cael added.

  “And the way you still worry about Rafe,” Asher said. “Hell, worry about all of us.”

  “But,” Jayden added, “Zander, you gotta be careful.”

  “Careful about what?”

  “Falling for a story.”

  Rearing back, he growled, “What the fuck do you mean by that?”

  “Look, she’s like a lost waif in one of the fairy tales. You know…like where the big bad wolf attacks and the prince comes to save the day.”

  Jaxon elbowed his twin and said, “Man, you got your tales all mixed up.”

  The others laughed, but Jaxon pressed on. “I’m serious, man. You know nothing about this woman. She could be married…a mom…engaged…on the run from the police…you have no idea. You keep seeing her, you could be setting yourself up for a world of hurt.”

  “I’m not falling in love with her, if that’s what you mean,” Zander bit out, knowing that he could not begin to explain his feelings for her and was not about to try. Leaning back against the cushions, he sighed. “I’m just keeping an eye on a lonely patient, that’s all.”

  “And when she wakes up? Remembers what happened…in your bar? What then?” Asher asked, his quiet voice cutting through the emotions in the room.

  His gut clenched at the thought of her waking and looking at him in horror. Wiping that thought from his mind, he argued, “I’m just keeping her company. She wakes up, then she’s no longer my responsibility.” Looking at his watch, he said, “Hate to break up this little impromptu party, guys, but don’t you have somewhere you need to be?”

  Grins slipping out, they stood, moving to the sink to deposit their cups. Hugs and claps on the back ensued before he could close the door, alone once again. Scrubbing his hand over his face, he glanced down at the book on his table. “So, what’s it gonna be today, princess?”

  9

  Stepping inside Rosamond’s room, Zander halted, seeing the curtain closed. Unsure what to do, he cleared his throat loudly.

  Chloe popped her head around the edge, her smile greeting him. “Oh, hi. I’m just giving her a lotion bath. She’s modest, if you’d like to come around.”

  Nervously, he peeked around the curtain, seeing that she was still lying pale against the clean, blue hospital gown. Chloe was wiping her arms with a cloth, squeezing some white lotion from a bottle onto the cloth as she moved to her legs. Grateful the lotion was not antiseptic, he inhaled the cotton-fresh scent as it filled the room. Assuming Rosamond did not understand what was happening, he was glad to know someone was caring for her so gently.

  “This is a cleansing lotion that both cleans and moisturizes at the same time,” Chloe explained. “It’s like giving her a bath, without the mess of soap and water.”

  Stepping forward, he nodded, but his eyes were stuck on her legs. Petite, but muscular. A runner. I wonder if she’s a runner. A flash of her in running clothes, her long, blonde mane pulled back in a ponytail, and smiling up at him as they ran through a park filled his mind. Blinking, he looked out the window, rain beating against the glass, determined to keep his thoughts on something besides her smile.

  “Okay, all finished,” Chloe said, pulling the blanket up over her body, tucking her in tightly.

  He noticed she left her arms out, one with the IV still attached and the other palm up. Wondering why she did this, he gave her a questioning look.

  Offering an explanation as though she could hear his unasked question, Chloe said, “I saw you hold her hand the other day and thought the touch might be something she could feel.”

  Nodding his understanding, he asked, “Has the doctor said when he thinks she might wake up?”

  A sad expression crossed her face as she shook her head. “No, but I’ll let him know you’re here. He might talk to you in the absence of any family since the police cleared you to visit.”

  “Thanks,” he said, watching as she left the room. Turning back to the bed, he stared, trying to see any subtle differences in her condition. Her skin was still pale. Her hair was pushed back from her forehead and he assumed Chloe had used the wet washcloth to move it out of the way. The stitched skin appeared less raw. The bruises encircling her eyes were slightly more purplish than black. The same could be said for her arms and neck. The lesser ones were turning green and yellow, but the deeper ones were stark against her pale complexion. Her mouth was less swollen, and he noticed her lips were no longer cracked.

  Smiling at the thought that he had made a tiny difference, he sought the lip balm again and reapplied it, less tentative this time. Once more expecting her skin to be cold, he was heartened to feel its warmth.

  Satisfied he had done all he could physically, he pulled up the chair and settled in next to the side without the IV. Reaching through the sidebars, he took her hand in his, gently rubbing his thumb over her fingers.

  “It’s me…Zander. I thought we could read some more today.” His gaze drifted to the window, hearing the sound of rain gently pecking against the glass. Unsure if she was able to identify other sounds, he explained, “It’s raining outside today, princess. I looked out your window the other day and you’ve got a real nice view, so when you wake up, you can sit and see trees in the courtyard. Maybe when you’re better, you’d like to go sit out there as well.”

  Opening the book with his free hand, he said, “Okay, Rosamond, what’ll it be today? Another fairy tale or something more challenging? Of course, these aren’t complete stories. Some are abridged so they’re shorter, but I always loved them.” Realizing he was talking to her as though she were an active participant, he chuckled. Turning a few more pages, he stopped on one. “Here, this will be what we tackle today.

  “ ‘It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.’

  “Recognize this? I’m sure you read it in high school. It’s A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens. Gotta admit, the full version was hard to get through, but I love the story. And this version is shorter, so we can finish it today.”

  Holding her hand, he read for two hours, until Chloe came back in to check on her. Determined to not be stopped, he kept reading while Chloe adjusted the tubes and rehung a new IV bag. He nodded as she left, but continued the story.

  The room’s lights were dim and the blinds in the window were mostly closed. As the rain passed, the sun returned, casting light through the slits.

  “ ‘‎And yet I have had the weakness, and have still the weakness, to wish you to know with what a sudden mastery you kindled me, heap of ashes that I am, into fire.’ ”

  Lifting his head from the words on the page, he realized the slight beam of sunlight was lying across her head, catching the blonde strands of hair, making them appear as spun gold. He sat for a moment, mesmerized by her beauty, wondering about the sanity of his continued visits.

  Was I lying to my friends when I just said I didn’t want her to be alone? Or is there something about her that pulls me in…kindles my ashes into fire?

  Giving his head a shake to clear his mind, he stood and lay the open book on the chair, walking over to the window. With the mostly closed blinds, the only real illumination came from the light behind her bed. Glancing out the window, he realized the clouds had passed completely and the sun was attempting to break through the constraints of the blinds. He twisted the bar, changing the angle of the blinds slightly, allowing light to pour into the room, wanting the feel of sunshine on his face and on hers. He looked over his shoulder, making sure it was not too bright on her but wanting more slices of warmth to be on her body. Satisfied, he returned to his chair, picking up the book again. But instead of focusing on the words, he watched her face. Still. Slumbering. The only sounds coming from the hissing and beeping of the machines.

&
nbsp; Reaching over the sidebar, he held her hand, this time lacing his fingers through hers. Her hand appeared delicate next to his as he rubbed his thumb over her skin. On his first visit, he had been almost afraid to touch her, as though she would break into a million pieces. But now, he longed to make some connection that she might feel, willing his strength to seep into her.

  Sighing, he continued to stroke her fingers as he looked back down at the page. As he neared the end of the story, he was once again struck by the quote,

  “ ‘I wish you to know that you have been the last dream of my soul.’ ”

  An audible gasp left his lips as he thought of the previous nights’ dream—each night since the attack he had dreamed of her. Dreamed of her looking up at him in the bar with sky blue eyes, clear and shining. Dreamed of running his hand through her silken hair as he pulled her in for a kiss. Dreamed of tucking her next to him as he offered his protection when they left together.

  Continuing to hold her hand, he lifted his free hand to his eyes, pinching them with his thumb and forefinger, quelling the stinging he felt. I haven’t cried in years…why now? Why her?

  Before he had time to ponder those questions, footsteps entered the room and the curtain was jerked back. Swinging his head around, he saw Dr. Calhoun, his business-like face breaking into a smile at the sight of Zander.

  “I heard our mystery patient had a visitor,” he said, his voice booming.

  Zander winced as he glanced back down at Rosamond, afraid the doctor’s voice would be frightening, but he observed no change in her sleeping.

  The doctor’s gaze drifted to the whiteboard, his brow furrowed in question. “Rosamond? You found out her identity?” he asked, his words laced with excitement.

  “No, no,” Zander hastened to reply, blushing as Chloe and a phlebotomist came in as well. She looked at the board as well and then turned her questioning gaze to him. “I just hated her being a Jane Doe. I picked a name from a book and thought it was better.”

  Chloe’s face softened into a smile and she said, “The princess from Sleeping Beauty?”

  “My daughter has that Disney movie,” the phlebotomist said, her face scrunched in confusion. “The princess’ name is Aurora.”

  “That’s the Disney version,” Chloe corrected, her eyes still pinned on Zander. “But in one of the Grimm versions, it was Rosamond. I think it’s perfect.”

  He flashed her a grateful smile, but Dr. Calhoun interrupted.

  “We cannot have a fake name on the board,” he protested, taking the eraser in his hand. “It’s not right.”

  “And Jane Doe is better?” Zander snapped, capturing their attention. “If her name’s not Jane Doe, which I think we all agree it probably isn’t, then having another name up there is no worse.”

  “But, Jane Doe is standard code for the fact that we don’t know who she is. It’s common knowledge that it isn’t her real name.”

  Swinging his arm out toward the sleeping patient, Zander argued, “She’s not a nobody. Calling her Jane Doe takes away who she might be. At least giving her a name until we find out her real name makes anyone who comes into this room see her as a real person.”

  “Now, see here. Everyone in this hospital treats all our patients as real people—”

  “Dr. Calhoun,” Chloe interrupted. “Is there a hospital policy that forces us to call her Jane Doe?”

  His brow creased and, after a moment, he shook his head. “I suppose I will have to check with the legal department, but I don’t know of one.”

  “On her official chart, it will still say Jane Doe, so legal and billing will know we don’t know who she is. But, perhaps, on the floor, we can leave her name as something pretty…like Rosamond.”

  Letting out a sigh, Dr. Calhoun nodded his head slowly. “I suppose there is no harm in it. It can’t be any more confusing if she hears us call her that than to hear us call her Jane.”

  Zander’s shoulders slumped in relief and, sparing another glance toward Rosamond, he smiled. Stepping back, he moved out of the way so the doctor could examine her. Looking toward Chloe, he said, “I’ll be back. Gonna grab some coffee.” As he walked out of the room, she patted his arm, and he knew the name Rosamond would stay on the board.

  Walking down the hall toward the elevators, he heard familiar voices and turned to see who was sitting in the waiting area. There were Jayden and Cael, sitting with Miss Ethel.

  She stood with Cael’s assistance and opened her arms wide. “My boy, my sweet boy.”

  Without hesitation, he walked straight into her embrace, his eyes closing as her arms wrapped around him. For a moment, he felt the weight lift, just like when she hugged him as a child. Patting his back, she finally let go and he opened his eyes.

  Smiling down at her, he asked, “I can see how you got here and assume these guys talked to you, but why are you here?”

  “I didn’t want to wait for you to come tell me what’s going on, so once I heard, I made them bring me.”

  “Miss Ethel, I’m fine. There’s no need to be concerned about me.”

  Her sharp gaze held his before a slight smile curved her lips. “Well, then, I came for her. No one should be alone.” She eyed him carefully. “What are you reading her today?”

  With a glance toward Cael and Jayden, he was unable to keep the blush from his cheeks as he admitted, “The abridged version of A Tale of Two Cities.”

  Her face softened and her eyes warmed as she said, “One of my favorite quotes is from that book. ‘A day wasted on others is not wasted on one's self.’ ” She reached up and placed her hand on his cheek. “I’ve lived by that motto my whole life, and what you’re doing for that girl is a good thing, Alexander.”

  The sting of tears hit the back of his eyes once more and as his gaze lifted from her to Jayden and Cael, he noted their raw expressions.

  Sucking in a deep breath through his nose, he said, “We’re all awfully glad you did, Miss Ethel.” Pulling her in for a hug, he kissed the top of her head, deciding to change the subject. “The doctor’s in there now,” he explained. “I was just going to go get some coffee.”

  “Nonsense,” she said, patting his hand. “Come on and sit down.”

  Looking at the table next to her chair, he saw a cooler. Dropping his chin, he grinned, shaking his head. Leave it to Miss Ethel to know what he needed.

  Moving to the table, he assisted her to a seat, while shooting a pretend glare toward Jayden and Cael, ignoring their grins. Twenty minutes later, a full stomach of her chicken salad sandwiches, chips, a slice of her apple pie, and a large sweet tea, he looked over as Chloe walked into the waiting room. Introducing her to his family, he breathed a sigh of relief when she said the doctor had left and they could visit Rosamond now.

  Walking back down the hall, he hesitated at the door, worry creasing his brow as he glanced down at Miss Ethel.

  “What is it, Zander?”

  “Miss Ethel, she looks pretty bad—”

  “Goodness gracious, boy. You think I haven’t been in hospitals before? Now let’s go in.”

  As he led the way, he moved to Rosamond’s side, taking her hand as usual. Bending low, he whispered, “It’s me…Zander again. I’ve brought some friends. More like my family. This is Jayden, Cael, and this is Miss Ethel.” Looking over his shoulder, he understood the stunned expressions on Jayden and Cael’s faces—her injuries were shocking when first seen. His gaze shot to Miss Ethel’s face, soft and composed, as though this was an ordinary visit with a friend. He explained, “They say she might be able to hear us.”

  “Of course, she can,” Miss Ethel agreed. “Her body’s just healing and she’s in a calm place letting it do that.” Walking to the other side, she lay her hand on Rosamond’s leg and said, “Sweet girl. You are strong. So strong. The Psalmist said, ‘God is our refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble.’ I pray that for you, sweet girl.”

  Feeling the sting of tears hit the back of his eyes, Zander blinked while swallowi
ng deeply. Someone place a hand on his back and he knew one of his brothers was offering him strength. Lifting a hand, he swiped his eyes and nose, clearing his throat.

  Looking over, he smiled at Miss Ethel. “Thank you,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “I’m sure she heard you.”

  Tall grass, filled with wildflowers blooming. The stems swish as I walk through a beautiful meadow. A breeze lifts my hair from my shoulders. The light feels warm on my face, but when I lift my head, I can’t seem to see the sun. Darkness floats around me.

  I hear deep melodious tones. It sounds so familiar…the words…best of times…worst of times. Last dream of my soul.

  Words swirl about me like dust in a sunbeam. The sound is still soft…but higher. A prayer…a kind voice…God is my strength…so is my prince.

  10

  Zander lifted his chin toward Zeke, taking a look at the clipboard in his hand. “Looks good,” he commented. “Real good.” Zeke had completed the stock inventory and was ready for Zander to show him how to order what was needed.

  After an hour, they hit send on the order and sat back in their chairs in the office. He noticed Zeke had opened his mouth several times, but nothing ever came out. “You got something on your mind?”

  Looking down at his hands, Zeke finally said, “Some of us were wondering what happens if…well, if…”

  “Spit it out, man.”

  Sucking in a quick breath, Zeke blurted, “What happens if she doesn’t wake up? Or wakes up…not right?”

  His breath left his lungs in a rush and he rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the tension radiating down his back. Used to moving around a lot, sitting for hours each day with his head down while reading had given him a stiff neck. Nothing to complain about considering her injuries.

  Lifting his head back up, he stared at Zeke and shook his head. “Honestly, man. I got no plan with this. I don’t want her to be alone. So, I’m just taking it one day at a time.”