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

by Ashley Logan

  Her eyes return to mine and she gives me a grateful smile. I reply with a wink.

  "I was thinking maybe we could fill the time by giving Alfred a wash," I say to Ry as I show him which section of my toolbox to return the wrench to. "Seeing as it's such a hot day, a little splash might be quite refreshing for all of us."

  "Can we Mom?" Ry asks, setting the bottles of assorted fluids back into their caddy.

  Getting out of my chair slowly, Stace sets it to the side, ready for me. "You want to give Alfred a sponge bath?"

  "It always made me feel better when I was in hospital," I reply with a shrug. "It's just another way to take good care of Alfred while she's not feeling well."

  "He," she corrects me.

  Smiling in challenge, I shake my head. "Maybe you can have a closer look at her curves when we wash her."

  Snorting, Stace heads inside muttering something about a bucket and hosing me down.

  Closing my toolkit, I pull myself back into my chair and start setting up the creeper so I can tow Ry and the tools back to my car.

  "We'll make two trips," I advise him once he's on board with the metal box and the caddy of fluids.

  Nodding, Ry positions himself better. "How long were you in hospital?"

  "Which time?"

  "How many times have you been?" he asks in surprise.

  "A few."

  "Mom says you used to walk."

  "I did."

  Coming to a stop at my car, I start transferring my tools as Ry waits patiently for more information.

  "I was in a few different hospitals. I don't remember how long in each one. A few months all up. Four or five, maybe."

  "Is that a long time?" he asks as we line up our tag-along system so I can tow him back to collect the jack.

  "It felt like it, yeah."

  "What happened?" he asks when we stop again.

  Scratching my jaw, I look to the house, but can't see Stace to rescue me from the inquisition. I don't know how much a five year old knows, or should know about war.

  "You know what a soldier is?"

  Eyes wide, Ry nods.

  "I was one. I was in a war and I got shot. In the back. Right through my protective vest. My spine stopped the bullet from killing me, but it's also what stopped me from ever walking again."

  Setting the jack onto the creeper in front of Ry, I wait until he's holding on before I roll us back to my car.

  "Were you trying to shoot the guy that got you?" he asks quietly as I put the jack in the car.

  Stopping, I turn to face him. "No. I wasn't trying to shoot anybody. One of our Cougar MRAPs - that's a bad-ass, armor-plated vehicle that we soldiers used to get around in - had broken down near a hot zone, so I went to fix it. While I was busy doing that, some other guys were trying to shoot up me and my buddies. They blew up two other vehicles, including the one I'd arrived in, so I had to fix the broken one before we could get everybody out of there."

  "You fixed it while they were shooting at you?"

  Taking a deep breath, I relax my jaw and nod as I untie the creeper and put it in the trunk. "I got shot before I was done, but luckily I could finish up from where I was lying on the ground. I smacked the side of the truck for my buddies to start her up, and when the engine fired, they opened the door and hauled me in. I don't remember the ride back to base, but when I woke up in a hospital bed they told me I had a few extra holes."

  I realize by the look on his face, that I've probably said too much. "Hey, man. I'm okay, right? On the bright side, because my back was busted, I couldn't even feel the holes they put in my legs."

  Still looking rather unconvinced, Ry studies my legs.

  "One beneath this mummy-wrap and the other one is over here," I say, raising the bottom of my shorts an inch to show him the puckered edge of the large scar on my other leg.

  Reaching out, Ry touches it, making me pull away in a rush.

  Quickly extracting his arm, he looks up at me with Stacey's big brown eyes. "Did I hurt it?"

  Pulling the leg of my shorts back down, I shake my head. "I can't feel it. I just wasn't expecting you to touch it."

  "Sorry."

  "It's fine. Look, here comes your mom with some buckets."

  Wheeling slowly back to Alfred, I watch Stace signal to us and disappear back into the house. The relief of seeing her quickly flees. Uncomfortable with the boundaries around what just happened, I wonder what it may have looked like to Stacey's mom. Glancing up at the second floor window, I feel some of the tightness in my chest ease when I don't see a shadow.

  Turning back to Ry, I find him with shock and sympathy still showing on his face. "Would you quit looking at me like that? It's not like I died. I can still do things, like fix cars, and go to the gym, and paint and hang out with my friends, and play at the skate park. I mean it's different, but I can still do it all. Right?"

  Looking at Alfred, and then back to me, he nods before trying to lift one of the buckets. Watching him struggle, I take it from him and empty some of its water into the other bucket before handing it back to him.

  Thoughtful as he watches me, Ry takes the bucket back and swirls his hand in the water. Stace arrives with another bucket and drops a sponge into each of our buckets before she looks between us with suspicion.

  "What's going on, guys?"

  Feeling my cheeks begin to heat, I keep my eyes low. "I was answering some questions Ry had about why I don't walk anymore."

  "You're right Mom," Ry says, squeezing out his sponge. "Brad's a hero."

  "I'm not a hero," I grunt, taking my bucket and rolling closer to Alfred with my free hand. "I was just doing my job."

  "Heroically," Stace adds, ignoring my attempt to close the conversation. "I heard more than a dozen guys crammed into that armored truck."

  Working my jaw, I stare at her while I start scrubbing at Alfred with my sponge. "Like sardines."

  Bleeding sardines in a can.

  Frowning at me, Stace wrings out her sponge as if she might be imagining doing it to my neck. I gulp at the thought, not sure why she seems angry at me. I probably shouldn't have been telling her five-year-old war stories.

  "Would you do it again?"

  "Do what again?"

  "Save their lives, knowing it would cost you what it has," she says matter-of-factly as she wets her sponge again and starts cleaning.

  I've thought about that question a lot.

  Mostly I wished I'd stayed the hell out of the situation. If I had, I would be a regular guy right now; walking around and enjoying all life had to offer. But I knew the guys that were stuck, what danger they'd be in if they stayed there, and I was the only guy available at the time that could do what needed to be done.

  Watching Stace and Ry as they both scrub the car while looking at me, I wonder... What did it cost me really?

  My legs, sure; but I just told Ry I can still do everything I want. It cost me Mandy, which at the time I thought was the end of the world, but now that I know what love actually feels like, losing her was just good luck. I wouldn't have met Shermansky and Jackson, the best friends a guy could ask for. I wouldn't have the amazing relationship I have with my mom. I wouldn't have met Stace unless I'd been in rehab. If anything, my actions that day have only served to enrich my life. And I saved sixteen guys from almost certain death.

  Ry is beginning to grow impatient waiting for my response and I realize that whatever I say will shape his entire perception of me. I've never been in the position of making, or breaking a young person's belief system and I find myself thinking back to times when I'd talked to my father about his work in the army. He'd inspired me to enlist.

  I don't necessarily want to inspire Ry to join the armed forces - God knows Stace would kill me if I had a hand in putting him in danger, but looking at this impressionable young kid, I do still feel the need to inspire him in the general sense.

  Holy shit. I have a chance to be a regular fucking role model.

  "Of course I'd do it agai
n. It didn't cost me anything I couldn't afford to lose. In fact, I feel richer now, than I did before that day."

  Stace tilts her head as she addresses Ry. "See," Stace says, more to me than to her kid. "Hero."

  Blushing, I dip my sponge into my bucket and throw it at her. Hitting her where the crack of her cleavage peeks out of her tank top.

  Squealing, she jumps up, dancing on the spot from the cold water. Her tits jiggle hypnotically, but Ry's laughter distracts me and I see him throw his wet sponge at her too.

  Releasing a war-cry, Stace scones Ry in the butt with her sponge before upturning her bucket over my head.

  "Hey!" Spluttering, I shiver as the cold water drips down my face and body. It creeps into my shorts and just as I'm about to complain, Ry tosses his water over me as well.

  "You're ganging up on me? I'm a celebrated war hero!" Grinning as I pick up my bucket, I slosh it over Stace, catching Ry with half of it as she ducks away.

  "Two for the price of one!" I cry triumphantly as the tow truck sporting the name Hal and Sons, pulls up in front of Alfred.

  Bruno jumps out, already laughing at us as he makes to open the passenger door. It's already opening on its own and Scarlett swings it into him.

  "Watch it!" he cries, jumping back.

  "Well what are you doing right there? I can open my own door," Scar says, swatting him with one hand as she tugs him into a hug with the other. Spinning to greet us, she smiles at Stace and looks warily at Ry. "Hey Brad," she says with a wave as she holds her hand out to Stace. "You must be Stacey."

  "That I am," Stace replies, staring at the two tall and gorgeous people in front of her. Her eyes dart to me and seem to say who are these supermodels?

  "Stace, this is Bruno Jackson and Scarlett Warner - soon to be Jackson."

  Scarlett shakes Stace's hand, followed by Bruno. "Or I might keep my name," she corrects me. "Or Bruno might take mine. We're still in discussion about it."

  Sighing, Bruno rolls his eyes. "We've already had the discussion. Many times. I am, and will always be Bruno Jackson. You may be whomsoever you choose, my lady love. Stop arguing for the sake of arguing. Find a new topic. Setting a date perhaps. How about Friday?"

  Scarlett narrows her eyes at him and I laugh.

  "Anyway, this is Stace's boy, Ryan. He's been helping me give Alfred here a once over before we cart him off for surgery."

  Both Scarlett and Bruno look at us all.

  "Why are you all dripping?" Scar says, flashing a curious smile.

  "You guys didn't hit rain on your way over?" Stace jokes.

  Bruno looks at the sky, his expression serious.

  I lean towards Stace. "Jackson's a-scared of the rain," I whisper.

  "Am not," he says, making himself taller. At six foot five, it's quite a sight and I notice Stace shrink a little.

  Scarlett pats his chest. "That's right," she soothes. "You just respect its potential." Turning back she sees Ry eying the burn scars visible below her shorts. Scar's only recently started wearing clothes that reveal them, thanks to Bruno's influence.

  "Were you in a war?" Ry asks her.

  Taken aback, Scar looks down to where Ry's eyes remain glued and she shifts uncomfortably.

  "Ah, we've just been taking about battle-scars," I explain, raising my shorts to show mine in explanation.

  Looking to Bruno, Scar crouches down to Ry.

  "There are different kinds of battles that people can face. Not all of them are wars, but most of them leave scars. Kind of like proof that you fought and lived to tell the tale. Did you have a good time getting Alfred prepped for surgery?" she asks, smiling as she looks to Stace. "I hear your mom's a nurse."

  "Mmhm," he says, taking Stace's hand and stepping behind her slightly. I think it's the shiest I've ever seen him.

  Scarlett seems to understand this and tries to lighten the mood again. "Did Brad actually let you touch his tools?" she asks, scrunching her nose at me before holding up her hand as if to tell Ry a secret. "Bruno's not allowed to touch them, and he's a bestie."

  "Beastie, more like," I correct her with a grin. "I can't have just any riff-raff touching my prized possessions."

  "Not what I heard," Bruno mutters before honing in on the position of my hands as is his standard protocol for defending himself if he's trying to provoke me.

  Tightening my fists, but refraining from punching him in the leg as I usually would, I shoot him a warning glare. "No need to be jealous twinkle toes."

  "Twinkle toes?" asks Stace, watching these happenings with amusement.

  Pointing at Scarlett and Bruno, I nod. "Both of them. They look strong and maybe a bit lethal, but they both dance for their suppers."

  "Really? Can we see?" she asks. Crouching next to Ry and encouraging him to match her begging face.

  Raising an eyebrow at me, Bruno folds his arms. He looks the militant edition of bouncer - which in a way he is. He's head of security at Beyond; the strip club they dance at.

  "I don't know if their kind of dancing would be particularly kid-friendly," I say with a chuckle.

  Rolling her eyes, Scar yanks one of Bruno's hands free and twirls herself under it. That small gesture is enough to redirect Bruno's attention to Scarlett and he instantly becomes the graceful partner to frame her poised movements. They perform some off-the-cuff routine that ends with Bruno spinning Scar above his head before touching her softly back to earth.

  "Woo-hoo!" Stace claps, and Ry and I quickly join in, because they are seriously talented.

  "You get to work with this guy every day?" Stace asks, jabbing a thumb at Bruno.

  "Yup," Scar and I reply in unison.

  Laughing at me, Stace pats my shoulder. "I was going to make a comment about the presence of amazing chemistry, but I didn't realize you were so enamored."

  Straightening my shoulders, I look at Bruno. "Well who wouldn't be? He's a caramel colored Adonis that paints beautifully, moves like a cat, but could kill you with one punch. And he loves his Mama. He's a total dreamboat."

  "Back off wheels; he's mine," Scarlett says with a grin as she steps in front of him. "You want this car out of here, or what?"

  "Yes. Hook her up and get her over to Hal's. I'll follow in my car."

  Picking Scarlett up in a hug, Bruno sets her down in the direction of the truck before waggling his ass at me. "Anything you say, Mr. Jenkins."

  Shaking my head, I lower it to my palm. Sneaking a look at Stace, I can see her grinning at me.

  CHAPTER TEN

  STACE

  "I should probably get going," Brad says with a sigh as Bruno and Scarlet drive off with Alfred.

  "I like your friends," I say, unable to keep from giggling quietly.

  "Me too," says Ry stroking the rim of Brad's left wheel.

  "Me three," Brad agrees.

  Smiling, he quietly watches Ry's hand and it makes me wonder at the things that might be running through his head.

  His eyes lift to mine, then roam over my body. "You two might need to get changed."

  "I agree," comes a voice behind me that makes me cringe. Brad doesn't fail to notice, but he smooths the annoyance from his face and smiles politely as he holds out his hand.

  "Good afternoon, Mrs. Lane. Pleasure to meet you."

  Mom leaves his hand hanging as she accosts him with her judgmental gaze. Her very presence makes me shrink, but Brad doesn't seem that fazed.

  "And you seem to be short one shirt, Mr..."

  "Jenkins. Bradley Jenkins," Brad says, shifting back in his chair. "Best part of being a man is wearing no shirt when the sun's out in force."

  "And here I'd heard it was to urinate whilst standing," she says, looking down her nose at Brad's chair.

  "Mom!"

  Brad just chuckles. "Touché."

  Wheeling backwards, he gives Ry a wave. "Thanks for your help bud, but I'd better get to the workshop and get started on the big stuff if I'm going to get it done today."

  "Not offering up your whole weeken
d to the task, Mr. Jenkins?" Mom asks, viewing me with an appraiser's eye. "Losing your touch, Anastacia?"

  Brad's brows twitch, but he maintains a pleasant expression. I doubt I'm doing the same.

  "Actually, I don't work on Sundays. I spend the morning with my mom, attending our church service and I stay on into the afternoon for Father Franco's art therapy classes. Then I'm hitting the gym with a friend. Sunday's are pretty full."

  "As they should be," Mom affirms, considering Brad with more interest. "I suppose anyone in your condition might have some serious purpose with religion."

  "Oh, you can believe I've had some fairly hefty chats to the guy upstairs," Brad say unabashedly. He rolls back and forth on the spot, taking in me and Ry, and the house looming behind us. "I've come to understand that he works in mysterious ways."

  "That he does," my mother agrees. "Ryan is doing very well with his Sunday school classes. Anastacia on the other hand, believes she can avoid the eyes of the Lord by hiding in a hospital ward."

  Biting my tongue, I hold back the argument that God would probably approve of my saving people's lives.

  "There are many ways to serve, I suppose. I couldn't say He'd entirely disapprove of Stace's choice of occupation. I'm certainly glad of the care I've received over the years. Faith can be shown in so many ways - such as Stacey here recognizing my abilities and offering me a job that others mightn't believe I'm capable of. Anyway, I'd best be off. Things to do. Stace," he says, looking at me with little more than vague acknowledgment, "I'll send my bill after the car has been returned. Thanks again for the opportunity."

  "You're welcome," I say automatically.

  He's put a charitable spin on the situation that we hadn't discussed, but as I look at Mom, she seems almost... placated? The harshness of her glare has ebbed and while she doesn't come across as friendly, she certainly seems warmer and more open than she had when she'd first appeared. I don't know what to think about it, but as Brad rolls away towards his car, I find myself hoping he'll look back; hoping I'll see some secret look in his eyes meant just for me.

  He doesn't.

  Doesn't even look in our direction when he raises a 'farewell' hand as he drives away.

  "I hope that's not disappointment I can see on your face Anastacia. Don't tell me you wanted him to acknowledge you. Even a man like that has standards. I hardly think he'd stoop so low. Ryan, be a dear and collect those buckets before I trip over one and end up in a chair like Mr. Jenkins. Bad enough I'm forced to use a cane before my time because of those damn trucks of yours."