Jenkins and the Naughty Nurse: A Beyond Series Off-shoot

by Ashley Logan

  "I'm full," he says, almost sorrowful.

  "That's okay, baby. I had a good time today, didn't you?"

  He nods.

  "I think you're plum tuckered out. Hop in the bath while I do the dishes super-fast, and then we'll read some stories in bed. No splashing outside the tub, okay?"

  "Okay Mom."

  Rushing back to the kitchen to tidy up, I brace myself for the inevitable.

  "You spoil that boy," she says, as soon as I set foot on the dated linoleum. "You fill him up on junk and then he has no room for good wholesome food. And who was the man in the park? It was that doctor again, wasn't it?"

  Before I even have a chance to answer, she starts in again.

  "Better a doctor than some crippled painter, I suppose. Which one's the father? Or was it one of the countless others?"

  My teeth ache under the effort to hold back my response.

  "You don't even know, do you? That poor boy is going to grow up without a male role model."

  He wouldn't be the first!

  I clamp my mouth even more firmly shut before I blurt out some unforgivable accusation of how she drove my father away.

  "Sad, isn't it?" I manage to utter as I load the dishwasher at record speed.

  I'm just an ungrateful whore, aren't I mother? She'd used that word when I'd come crawling back for help. "But he's five years old, and doing just fine without them so far," I add. So there's no point in worrying about it now if some lousy fuck suddenly wants to play daddy. And stop insulting my friend, you sound like such a stuck up, judgmental, discriminating, old bitch. People don't choose to lose their ability to walk because they're fucking lazy! Gar!

  "Excuse me," I say politely, stepping past her. "I'll just make sure the little guy is getting out of the tub."

  "It's hard isn't it?" she says in a softer tone as I reach the doorway.

  Pausing, I grip the door frame for support. "What is?" I ask, knowing I'll probably regret it.

  "Having to live with your bad choices," she says flatly. "Creating life from a series of reckless actions. I see it in you still," she accuses. "You keep it bottled, but that wildness is still inside you; festering. Your one saving grace is that you love that boy, and I pray it's enough to keep you. I love him too, and I will protect him from any future ill-decisions that you choose to make. If you think for one second that I'd let my grandchild be exposed to your idea of a decent lifestyle, you are gravely mistaken. The last thing I want is for him to grow up like you."

  Because an upstanding citizen in a trusted occupation, who's a damn good mother is such a lost cause? He's fucking mine and you can't have him!

  "Thank you for dinner, Mom. As well as for everything else. I couldn't have got to this stage without you." The stage where I'm about to scream, or hurt you if I don't get out of here this instant. I probably shouldn't be in a room with such great access to knives.

  Turning immediately, I tear upstairs, pausing outside the bathroom door to pull myself together. My hands still shaking a little, I open the door and smile at Ry as he makes motorboat noises while driving a rubber duck around the tub.

  "That duck have beans for dinner?"

  Launching into 'Beans, beans, they're good for your heart', Ry sets his duck aside and climbs out of the tub. Wrapping him in a fluffy towel, I pull him into a hug. I love the way he smells after a bath. Soap, and skin, and love. I need that smell today. Two threats to lose him in one day makes it a bad one by any count.

  Just hang in there Stace. There's light at the end of the tunnel.

  "Mo-om. You can let go now," he says, patting my hair. Bringing my ponytail forward, he flops it over my face. "Your hair is really long," he marvels, tickling my nose with it.

  Releasing him enough so that I can see his face, I let him fashion a beard for me with my hair.

  "How do I look?" I ask, plumping my lips and wiggling my eyebrows at him.

  His mouth twists to one side as he tilts my head one way, then the other. "You look like a pretty man."

  A genuine smile finds its way to my lips. "You are very sweet. Ready for beddy?"

  "Just need my teddy," he chimes in on our routine nighttime banter. "How many books tonight?"

  I pull his pajama top over his head. "Two."

  "Can I have three?"

  I hand him his shorts and fold my arms as if unimpressed.

  "Please?"

  I tap my lip a moment. "Hmm. That is the magic word." Taking my time to deliberate, I have him rushing to please me. Finishing dressing quickly, he grabs his toothbrush, squirts on the paste and starts to brush.

  "I guess because you're getting ready so quickly, we'll have time for three," I concede. "Come along, Mister Lane."

  By book three, Ry's already fast asleep. Pulling up his summer covers, I linger as I kiss him goodnight. Sweeping the hair from his brow, I thank my lucky stars that he doesn't look a thing like Dex. His little chin dimple came from my dad - as far as I can tell, and his brown eyes are all mine. Giving him another, quick kiss, I tiptoe out of his room and across the hall.

  Safely in my room, I close the door and cry.

  CHAPTER THREE

  BRAD

  "What do you mean you need a ride?" Damon grunts into the phone. "Don't tell me you've already crashed your car - it's your turn to be sober driver on Friday. I've literally been waiting for years for you to drive me somewhere."

  Sighing, I look at the state of my leg. "I haven't crashed my car. I need a ride to the emergency department and I don't want to freak out my Mom."

  "Oh fuck. What did you do? I thought you were doing okay! What did you take?"

  "Nothing, asshole. Can you stop being a presumptuous jerk-off? I'm not trying to kill myself. This time," I add - though I have to wonder, after the stunt I just pulled. "Can you come get me or not? I'm at Skate Plaza."

  "You're what? At this time? Are you sure you're not trying to kill yourself?"

  "Just shut your fat head, Shermansky. I don't want to drive in the state I'm in, but I don't need to take an ambulance that some other unlucky person might need. Are you coming or not?"

  "I'm coming. Can you get to the street? Or do I need to come get your broken ass?"

  "I'll meet you at the entrance. My car's parked out front."

  The benefits of paralysis are twofold. The parking is awesome, and when you wipe out on a half-pipe and break your leg, you can't feel shit. This is actually also a negative factor though, because you can't actually feel the extent to which you're fucked up. I could be minutes away from losing a leg without even realizing it.

  Checking my grazes, I see they're weeping freely. Gross. Limping the chair I use for rough sporting activities back to my car, I try not to disturb my leg any further. It slipped out of its restraining strap mid flip and absolutely ruined my landing.

  Popping my trunk open, I unclasp my helmet and toss it in. Pulling out my collapsed everyday chair, I open it next to me and carefully transfer into it. I have to stabilize my injured leg by strapping it to my other one, but with that done, I assess the state of my play wheels.

  A few of the spokes have buckled. I could straighten them, but they'll be weaker on landings. I might be best to remove them completely and solder new ones in.

  "Shit. Look at you," Damon says when he gets out of his car. Shrugging out of his irritating prosthetic hooks, he tosses them on his seat when he ducks back in for his shoulder bag. "What do you need?"

  "Maybe a new set of wheels altogether," I reply, viewing the warp in one, and then the other before collapsing the chair and tossing it in my trunk.

  "I'm talking about your health, numb nuts; not your fucking wheelchair. Your foot should not be pointing in that direction. Be a little more concerned with your legs, would you?"

  "For all intents and purposes, my wheels are my legs," I correct him as I grab my wallet, close the trunk and secure my new car. "And I called you to take me to the hospital. What more can I do? It's not like I'm going to leave it like that so
I can freak out people at the mall or anything. It needs serious hardware to screw that shit back where it goes."

  Wincing as he glances at it again, Damon shudders. "You should be fucking ecstatic that you can't feel that shit," he says, handing me some Clorox wipes and a bandage from his bag.

  "This is my ecstatic face," I counter, pointing at my mug. "Was that not clear?"

  Staring at me a moment, he shakes his head and makes for his car. "You need help getting that thing in here or what?"

  Cursing with volume as I cleanse the abrasion from my elbow to my wrist, I shake my head. "I'll manage."

  "At least you were wearing a helmet," Damon mumbles as he watches me apply the bandage.

  "Always do," I reply, tucking in the end of the bandage and wheeling over. I open the back door for Damon, then move to the front passenger door.

  Damon waits while I get myself in and collapse the chair, then he tosses it in the back as I get myself adjusted properly. Soon enough, he slides in behind the wheel of his Audi, plugs his stumps into his hooks and slides the harness over his head before strapping himself in and getting us moving. We're like well-oiled parts of the same machine. I'm the hands and he's the legs. It works.

  "What are the odds I'll get to have surgery tonight?" I ask him.

  "You want an exact algorithm to apply to hospital waiting times with variables such as surgeon availability at this hour, triage systems, unexpected emergency cases and your medical and psychological history?"

  "Forget it. It's impossible to predict."

  "Not impossible, but not one I can do in my head. Too many variables. I'd be willing to wager a guess though."

  He'll wager alright. Smiling out the window, I nod. "Five bucks says it takes three days."

  "Ten bucks. It'll take just over two days from the agreed start time of... 2300 hours, but you'll be kept in longer than necessary while they do a psych evaluation to determine whether or not you broke your ankle on purpose and if you intended to do worse. I reckon you'll be in for four and a half days total."

  "Man. You try and top yourself a few times and they never let you live it down. I'm not fucking suicidal. Flipping off ramps make me feel alive. How much more counter-productive to suicide can that be?"

  "Sorry dude. I'll put in a good word. You know, you're going to have to call your mom."

  "I know. I just didn't want to spoil her evening. She only goes out with her friends once a month." Looking at the clock, I sigh. "I'll give her a few more minutes of freedom."

  BATTING AWAY THE HAND that shakes me, I mutter for it to 'fuck off'.

  The hand grabs my nipple through the thin hospital gown and twists, wrenching me wide awake in seconds to release a few more curses at my abuser.

  Stacey folds her arms and raises her eyebrows and I stop mid-insult. Staring at her a moment, I rub my tenderized nipple and reach for the bed adjustment controls to raise my head.

  "That how you wake all your patients?"

  "Only the ones who tell me to fuck off," she counters, making me smile. "Technically, you're not my patient. I'm on a break, so came to check on you," she says, sitting in my chair and wheeling herself up to my bedside. "I see you managed to get a private room."

  I shrug. "A history of aggression affords me some luxuries," I admit guiltily, rubbing my eyes and trying to wake up. "Unfortunately, it also earns me generous levels of sedation without warrant."

  Frowning slightly, Stace glances at my chart. "Sleep helps with recovery."

  "Hmm. I remember you saying that a lot back in rehab, but I was pretty sure it was a ploy to make it easier to steal my wheelchair so you could time how fast you could do laps around the ward."

  "Borrow. And I had it down to 38 seconds," she informs me as her fingers trail along one of my tires. "I thought I was doing great until you blitzed me with only one test lap under your belt - and in a borrowed chair, and after I'd already tested them all and found your chair was by far the fastest."

  Keeping my smile mostly to myself, I shrug. "I'd made some adjustments. How are you?"

  "How am I?" she asks, seeming surprised. Looking at the leg sticking out of my blanket, she scrunches her nose. "I don't have a leg held together with large, shiny pins, so I'm going to say... better than you. A skate park?" she says, giving me the same look my mom had given me when I'd first started going. "Really?"

  "It's fun." My response impresses her about as much as it had my mom.

  "This is fun?" she says, pointing to the pins sticking out the sides of my bandages.

  "It's not like it hurts," I mutter, pulling myself up a little higher.

  "What about that bit?" she asks, poking the dressing that covers the big graze along my arm and making me wince. My pain appears to amuse her. A smug, but very sexy little smile curls her lips.

  "Did you wake me up just to torture me?" I mumble, unable to pull my eyes away from her lips. It sure seems torturous to not be kissing them. Looking to the ceiling, I think un-sexy thoughts as just the idea of her kisses threatens to wake up my dick. "How did you even know I was here?"

  "No-Handsky stopped by my ward and informed me," she says, rolling herself back and forth slightly. "He seemed to think I might be interested."

  My eyes meet hers for a moment and I swallow roughly. Looking out the window, I clear my throat.

  "And are you?" I ask. "Interested?" I clarify, not wanting to meet her eyes in case the answer is no.

  "Why? Are you?" she asks, her poker face firmly beyond my ability to read.

  "Very," I whisper.

  "Oh! You're super into me?" Placing a hand over her heart and feigning joy for about three seconds, her expression hardens. "Is that why you immediately sought me out after our little reunion last month?" she challenges. "Oh wait. You didn't." Climbing out of my chair, she returns it to its place. Her heavy dose of sarcasm doesn't faze me in the least.

  "Actually, it's because I'm super into you that I didn't," I confess, scratching my chin and wishing I was clean-shaven. "I needed some time to improve my situation; to um... maximize my chances of scoring another kiss from you."

  "It's just a kiss you're looking for?" she asks, sitting on my bed and coming in so close I can smell the hospital sanitizer on her skin mixing with the sweet scent of her shampoo, and something else. Something even more mouth-wateringly feminine that seems to be coming from her every pore. It's got me; by the balls. I think I belong with this woman; as if she's been made just for me.

  "Not just a kiss; no." Reaching up and brushing her cheek with my fingertips, I gulp when her eyes close and a faint, but appreciative hum escapes her. Leaning forward, I softly press my lips to hers, testing. She doesn't back away, and I venture further, tasting her delicate lips with the tip of my tongue.

  With a quiet whimper, Stace plows her hands through my hair and pulls me in hard as she opens to me. Rumbling my own approval, I wrap my arms around her and haul her into me as I lower us into the pillows and deepen the kiss.

  Her fingers stroke my scalp and leave tingling, heated trails down my neck as she matches my hungry efforts to devour her. Running my hand over her back, I slip beneath her scrubs and trail my fingers up the achingly soft skin of her back, moaning as I pull her even closer.

  A rattling clunk at the door stops and a throat clears.

  "Uh, sorry," a youthful voice says as we break apart abruptly. "Dinner has arrived." The lanky teen sets a food tray on my wheeled table as he looks warily at Stace.

  "I'm not his nurse, if that's what you're thinking," she says, straightening her scrubs and standing up.

  Looking somewhat relieved, the kid nods and retreats.

  Stace wheels the little table into the spot where she'd been only moments ago, covering my fading erection and defining an end to the best kissing session I've ever had.

  "Sorry. I baited you. I shouldn't have done that," she says, crossing her arms over her stomach as if cold and uncomfortable. Her lips are swollen from our kiss, and so gorgeously rouged, I can't c
omprehend anything she's saying.

  "What are you talking about?" I say, pushing the table away. "Come back. Please."

  "I have to get back to work."

  "Liar." I pat the side of my bed. "Please tell me what just happened."

  Glancing at the door, Stace edges closer and perches on the edge of my bed, further away than I'd like.

  "I do have to get back to work," she says, twisting her hands in her lap.

  "Yeah, but not yet. What just happened, Stace? - Apart from the most fantastic kiss I've ever had in my life."

  Her cheeks become pink and her warm brown eyes dart away, focusing on the hospital linoleum.

  "Stace?"

  Her eyes return to mine, but she remains silent.

  "Why shouldn't we have done it?" I ask softly, wanting to take her hand in mine, but she's sitting just out of reach. On purpose.

  "Because I... I can't. I have Ry to think about."

  "What does that mean?" Frowning, I pull myself up a bit. "You don't trust me?"

  "I trust you," she says with a shrug as she looks away again. "Others don't."

  "Who gives a fuck what other people think? I'd never hurt a kid. I don't even hurt adults, unless I'm on the wrong pills. Or they ask for it. I like Ry."

  Puffing out her cheeks, Stace releases a long, slow breath. "I'm walking a fine line, Brad. I can't step in any direction without dire consequences," she says, lowering her head as her eyes take on an unnerving sheen.

  "Stace, what's going on? Is someone bothering you?"

  "Life is bothering me," she says, taking a deep breath and looking at the ceiling as she brushes at her cheek. "But in a few months, things will get better." She shrugs again.

  "What's bad now and how will it change?" I ask, rearranging my lower half in preparation of scooting myself close enough to hold her hand.

  "In a few months, Ry will be in Kindergarten. After that I can better manage the cost of the extra childcare I'll need when I escape my mother and her threats to steal my son, and find a place of my own. I'll have saved enough to fix my car, pay a month's rent up front, and cover the first few months of after-school care. My boss loves me, and has unofficially agreed to adjust my roster to make things work for me and Ry when the time comes."