by Emerson Rose
“He opened his eyes and is trying to get out of bed. He’s been yelling for you for twenty minutes straight. He won’t shut up, and security is here trying to keep him in bed. I know it’s your night off, but please, can you come?”
“Yeah, of course. I’ll be right there, don’t let him hurt himself.”
She blows out a relieved breath, “Oh, thank God. I’m going to hang up and tell him you’re coming so maybe he’ll calm down.”
I’m halfway to the door of the club trying to get my arms into my sweater.
“Hey!” Lana yells.
“Imani! Where are you going?” Trina shouts at the same time.
“I have to go. He’s awake,” I call over my shoulder.
They have no idea who I’m talking about, but there’s no time to explain right now. I have to get to him. He’s awake, and he’s yelling my name.
He must have heard me encouraging him. I wonder if he could feel me touching him, too? I shake that thought from my mind as I run out the door of the bar.
I don’t even notice the cold as I race into the street and unlock my car door. It’s hard not to speed, but I’m over the limit by ten mph, I’ve recently had a drink, and I’m a nurse. Getting pulled over could mean losing my nursing license, and, God knows, I can't afford for that to happen.
I pull into the parking garage at a dangerous speed, swing into a spot close to the stairs, and jump out of the car.
I’m an expert when walking and maneuvering in heels but running, that’s just dangerous. I need to slow down, or I’ll end up in bed with a broken leg right next to Marcus.
Ok, so that wouldn’t be so terrible.
I fumble for my badge and flash it at the security guard as I fly past him at the main entrance. The poor guy looks confused at first, but then he recognizes me.
He’s used to seeing me dressed in the equivalent of pajamas, not a barely-there miniskirt and stilettos. Surprise, there’s a body under those scrubs.
I punch the up button a million times before it opens. I jump in and jam the number five until it starts moving. Two floors away from the ICU I can already hear him.
His voice is deep, loud, and panicked. I can’t make out what he’s saying, but I feel his desperation. It pulls at my heart, and memories of waking up in the hospital after my attack flood my brain.
When the doors open, I stumble out and race down the hall to his room. At his door, I stop short and hold my breath while I take in the scene.
Sheila is standing at the foot of the bed with her arms extended, motioning and begging Marcus to lie back down. She’s trying to reason with a madman, which is a funny sight because she’s about five feet two inches tall and barely one hundred pounds. He dwarfs her several times over.
Four security guards are at his bedside attempting to restrain him unsuccessfully while he thrashes and screams. Adrenalin can temporarily give a person superhuman strength, and that’s what he looks like right now, a super human.
With no hospital gown on, he must have torn it off and tossed it aside, a thin sheen of sweat covering his skin, and wild messy dark curls, he looks like Superman having a panic attack, only hotter.
The security guards glance toward the door to see who is entering the room. Each one has their own personalized look of shock, mouths gaping, wide eyes. One even dropped Marcus’s arm that he had been attempting to restrain. It takes me a second before I realize why they’re gawking. My outfit, or lack thereof, isn’t exactly appropriate hospital attire.
I didn’t even succeed at getting my sweater on leaving the bar. That’s a lot of skin exposed under the harsh fluorescent hospital lights. The staring only lasts a second before Marcus begins to struggle again and they turn their focus back to him.
The guards grip him tighter after their moment of neglect, and the atmosphere in the room becomes chaotic again. I’m frozen in the doorway. I don’t think he’s seen me, but, then again, he’s never actually seen me. I need to speak to him, that’s what he knows, my voice.
I succumb to the magnetic draw that’s always been there for me. I wonder if he feels it now, too? He continues to struggle with the guards as I cross the room.
“Marcus?” I say his name in a calm voice. I feel like I’m dealing with a cornered wild animal. He stops struggling at the sound of my voice and turns to face me.
Empty green eyes stare back at me while the security guards continue to restrain his arms and his one good leg. They steer clear of his casted leg that he, no doubt, would use as a weapon if given the chance.
He stares at me for what feels like an eternity. His eyes move slowly from my face down over every single inch of my body. He lingers at my breasts and bare legs for an uncomfortable, inappropriate amount of time.
He makes me feel naked, much more exposed than this outfit did only fifteen minutes ago. He’s not only looking at me, he’s leering. After violently returning from a coma less than an hour ago, this man is stripping me down, undressing me with his eyes.
What the hell kind of man have I summoned? This must be what Elena meant when she said he was difficult. I watch as he silently rakes over my body with his eyes.
“Imani?” he whispers.
“Yes, it’s me; your nurse says that you’ve been asking for me,” I say keeping my tone even and calm.
“You told me you were waiting,” he says and turns to stare out the window into the dark forest. His voice trails off sounding hurt, like a child instead of the powerful man I’ve imagined him to be. It’s like he has turned into an entirely different person in a matter of seconds. God, maybe he has brain damage.
I need to figure out what he wants right now and get him settled down. Beads of sweat cover his forehead. His muscles are wound tight, and the sheet covering him is trembling with anger or maybe fear, I can’t tell.
His eyes change again from far away to focused and intense. I’ve never seen such a severe swing in personality outside of my psych rotation in nursing school.
“You don’t look like a nurse,” he says, with one side of his mouth pulled up in a smirk. He lifts his chin and winks at me, and I am officially a goner.
Like a dragster on the racetrack, he’s gone from zero to one hundred in a split second. He was a vulnerable little boy, and now he’s a sexy predator.
“I was out. I’m not working tonight,” I say.
“Out with who?” he asks, narrowing his eyes. His tone is full of accusation as if he has a claim on me.
“I was having drinks with my girlfriends.”
It’s none of his business who I’ve been out with.
“Oh,” he says. His brows knit together tight and he looks at the security guards as if he has just noticed them standing there.
“Guys, I think I’ve got it from here, you can let him go,” I say.
One of the guards looks at me with doubt. “You sure, Ma’am, this guy’s been going nuts for an hour.”
“Yes, I’m sure, let him go.”
He’s calmer now, and that guard is pissing me off. I know he’s just trying to do his job, but that irrational part of me that lays claim to this stranger wants to protect him. All four guards let go slowly and take a step away from the bed.
I step in close to Marcus and switch places with Sheila.
I ease him down onto the bed with my hands on his shoulders until his head is on the pillows. I feel his eyes on me, but I avoid eye contact.
“See, he’s OK, I’ll call if I need help. Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”
I surrender to the force of his stare and look into his eyes.
“You’ve got this,” he says so quietly no one but me can hear him. “Did you say that to me before?”
“Yes, I did.”
Everyone slowly files into the hall. Sheila, the nurse who called me, is standing outside the door, eyes wide. I move to close the door and shrug my shoulders when she arches one eyebrow high. I don’t know what’s going on any more than she does.
“Just give me a few minutes
to talk to him.” She presses her hand on the door to stop me from closing it.
“Imani, are you two…? I mean, do you know him?”
“No, only as his nurse, but he won’t hurt me.” I have no reasonable explanation as to why I believe that, but I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.
“He’s dangerous, Imani, you can’t be in there alone with him,” she says, taking a step forward.
I’m going with my instincts. He may have brain damage, but I’m willing to risk it. I have no facts to back up my unexplainable, illogical feeling of safety, and, actually, that makes me kind of nuts, too
“Ok, put on the emergency light if you need us.”
“I will, I promise.” I close the door, and when it clicks, I turn to find Marcus lying back in bed staring at the ceiling. I walk to the side of the bed and take his hand in mine lacing our fingers together. When he feels my hand, he lolls his head on the pillow toward me and asks, “Where is Megan?”
“I don’t know Megan; is she someone I should call for you?” I ask. He looks past me over my shoulder. I think he is trying to sort out the details of his accident.
“She was with me in the car. Her hair was floating around her face. She was so still, so quiet, we were under water.”
He must be talking about the person in the accident who was DOA; I hadn’t thought to look up who she was.
“Marcus, can I get you anything, are you thirsty?” Maybe I can steer the conversation away from his dead friend, or girlfriend, whoever she was. He doesn’t need to deal with that right now. Especially since he is still showing signs of shock. He rolls his head back to the center of the pillow and returns to staring at the ceiling.
“Yes,” he says. Good, thank God, baby steps, we need to start with baby steps. Out in the hall, I glance back at him twice to make sure he’s not going to freak out when I leave the room.
My co-workers are staring a hole in my back as I fill a pitcher with ice water. I feel ridiculous being dressed this way at work.
When I make my way back to Marcus’s room, my friends pause their conversations and stare. I focus my eyes straight ahead. I feel like I’m the featured spotlight float in ‘The Macy’s Thanksgiving Day’ parade. I breathe a sigh of relief when I slip back into his room and close the door
I pour a glass of water and peek at him out of the corner of my eye. He’s studying me.
“Here, take a drink.” I offer him the cup and watch him pull a long drink from the cup with his eyes locked on mine.
“I heard you. When you were talking to me,” he says.
“What do you remember?”
“You said you would take care of me. It pissed me off.” His voice has turned unexpectedly cold
“You were angry about that? Why?”
“I take care of myself, I always have. I don’t need anyone, for anything,” he says, spitting the words like they are meant to hurt me.
“Well, you look like you need help now,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest and popping my hip out.
“A smart mouth, I didn’t see that coming. I thought you were a sweet girl.”
Oh, so he’s going to be snarky now, is he?
“Well, I assumed you were going to be a grateful boy, Mr. Castillo. I just left a night out with my friends to come here because of your little freak-out episode.”
Shit, I need to knock it off. I have better interpersonal skills than this. I need to pull myself together. Marcus looks smug, as if he has accomplished exactly what he set out to do: irritate, alienate, and push me away.
“Look, obviously, you were confused when you came around. You probably just remembered my name because I was the last person who spoke to you. I’m sure you’re irritable and disoriented. Let’s get you comfortable, and I’ll be on my way.”
I’m trying to show some compassion, but he’s not making it easy.
He reaches out and grabs my wrist. Every single muscle in my body seizes up. I lick my lips and hold my breath waiting for whatever is coming next.
PTSD’s no joke, whenever I feel threatened my mind is instantly thrown back to the dirty house that smelled like urine and mold where I was held against my will for three long, torturous days.
A layer of perspiration breaks out all over my body, and I imagine I’ve turned a lovely shade of gray from the look on Marcus’s face. He eases his grip, but he doesn’t let go.
“Don’t leave me,” he says in a deep, quiet voice.
Slowly, I take my free hand and remove his from my wrist and step out of his reach. Any other time in my life I would have run away and never looked back. But today is different. Today I sit down in the chair next to the bed.
“I’ll stay, but do not grab me like that again.”
The panic leaves his eyes, and he relaxes until I see what a handsome man he is when he isn’t anxious and threatened. This is my Marcus, the one I knew before he woke up and started terrorizing people.
“You’re staying?” he asks, with a touch of irresistible vulnerability.
“Yes, I promise. You should close your eyes now and rest, I’ll be here when you wake up,” I say, and against my better judgment I reach out to cover his hand with mine.
“I don’t want to sleep anymore; how long have I been out?”
“Eight days.”
“Eight days? Fuck, I have a business to run. Where is my phone? I have to find out what’s going on.” He snatches his hand out from under mine, and I feel the panic rising in him again. His wild eyes scan the room for his phone, and he clutches the sheets.
“Hang on, let me see if I can find it for you. It may have been destroyed in the accident, though.” His eyes lock with mine, and I know he doesn’t want me going anywhere, even if it’s just to search for his phone. No matter how badly he needs to contact someone at work, I sense having me stay with him takes priority over anything.
“Is there a phone in here I can use?” he asks. I hand him mine, and he holds it in his palm staring at the keyboard.
“I can’t remember the number,” he says, shocked that his memory has failed him.
“You probably use your contact list when you call familiar places,” I say.
Frown lines deepen on his forehead. “No. I never forget anything; I have a photographic memory.”
“Who do you want to call? I’ll look up the number for you.”
“Dominus, I need to talk to Elijah. Now,” he says, with a demanding bark.
Ok, ok, Mr. Bossy Butt. Keep your gown on. I bite my tongue to keep from saying something that could set him off and Google the number for Dominus. I dial the number and hand the phone over to him.
It couldn’t have rung once before he starts snapping at the person on the other end of the line.
“This is Mr. Castillo, give me Elijah. Right now.” No warm fuzzies with this man. I’m glad he’s not my boss. Seconds later he’s talking to Elijah who must have been close by unless the person answering the call knew how to work some serious magic.
“Elijah, I need you to update me. No, I am fine, get here as soon as the kitchen closes. Kimberly can handle the club. I have been down for eight fucking days; I want to be filled in on everything. Bring my laptop and get me a new phone.” He disconnects the call without so much as a thank you, have a nice night, glad you kept my business going while I was in a coma.
Marcus Castillo puts the boss in ‘bossy’.
He drops the phone on the bed next to him and turns his attention to me.
“What?” he asks.
“You’re a grouch. You’re lucky to have somebody like Elijah to keep your business running smoothly during a crisis.” His outburst on the phone intimidates me a little, but not so much that I won’t speak my mind, and that takes him by surprise.
“No one talks to me like that. You would be smart to remember that.”
What? Ok, I’m all for keeping the peace, but this guy is too much.
“Mr. Castillo, you would be smart to remember that you’re incapaci
tated and require help doing the most basic of things.”
His bright green eyes narrow and one corner of his mouth twitches as he studies me for a beat.
“I’m going to enjoy your smart mouth, Miss Imani.”
I feel the heat of my blush creeping up my neck. What does he mean by that? A powerful combination of incredible attraction and overwhelming irritation clash inside me. A vision of Marcus and I entangled in an erotic kiss, our naked bodies pressed together, flashes through my mind.
He is so cocky it drives me crazy. He makes me want to shout at him and straddle him at the same time. How does a man in a hospital gown with a cast on one leg turn me on with the twitch of a lip and a provocative word or two?
For the first time in my adult life, I feel a yearning so deep it’s impossible to ignore. He knows he’s affecting me this way. He’s doing it on purpose to throw me off balance, and it’s working. What he doesn’t know, though, is that I am a master at deflecting and now seems like the perfect time to put that skill to use.
“Mr. Castillo, you’ve had a stressful night. I think you need some rest. If you don’t want to sleep, just close your eyes. Now.” I throw in the ‘now’ just to prove he’s not the only one who can be bossy.
My mom says I’m a good nurse because I have an excellent, authoritative voice. It’s served me well over the years, and it certainly came in handy today.
I look him straight in the eye and grasp for a shred of control when he shrugs his shoulders and obediently lowers his head back down onto his pillow. That was too easy.
He closes his eyes and says in his oh-so-irritating way, “Wake me as soon as Elijah is here with my things. I have work to do.”
I roll my eyes and blow out a puff of air disgusted with his arrogance, and he opens one eye to give me a don’t mess with me look.
This guy is going to have to get used to being told what to do. Yeah, right.
When he goes to sleep, I’m not waking him again. I should be careful what I wish for from now on. Marcus Castillo is much nicer when his eyes are closed and his mouth is shut.
Lesson learned.