Small-Town Redemption (7 page)

He stared at the TV mounted on the wall, the images of an old movie flashing by, the sound muted. Concentrated on nothing more than his next careful breath. Inhaling, he filled his lungs, his ribs pinching, and counted to five. Exhaled for another five. Again. And again.

Finally, they returned. “All right,” the doctor said, putting on the gloves Red handed him. “Let’s get this done so you can go home.”

He could do this. He
could
do this. But his stomach turned. His throat tightened.

The doctor put in the first stitch. Other than a slight tugging, Kane didn’t feel anything, but anxiety settled in his chest, growing and growing, pushing even the shallowest breath from his lungs.

Bile rose. He swallowed it down and stared at a spot above the doctor’s head. Tried to forget.

“You okay?”

Red’s voice, calm and concerned. He couldn’t speak, though, and nodding while someone stitched his skin together didn’t seem like the best idea.

She moved to the other side of the bed, brushed her fingers against his forearm. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “You’re doing great.”

And she covered his hand with hers.

He jolted. Met her eyes.

The doctor said something in a sharp tone, but Kane didn’t catch it. Couldn’t. The blood was rushing in his ears, a roar of sound drowning out everything else. Until Red spoke, barely above a murmur, but to him her voice was clear, the low, soothing tones easing the ache in his chest.

“Try to stay still.” She sent him a small smile. Gave his fingers a squeeze. “Only a few more.”

Moving was not an option. He was frozen, held immobile by her light touch, the feel of her cool fingers on the back of his hand, the power of her gaze on his. He should pull away. Let her know in no uncertain terms he didn’t want her assurance. Didn’t need her comfort.

He sure as hell didn’t deserve it.

But he was weak. So weak he turned his hand, linked his fingers with hers and held on tight.

* * *

T
HERE
WAS
SOMETHING
wrong with Kane.

Something other than the injuries he’d sustained, Charlotte amended. Something—dare she say?—deeper. Emotional or psychological or a combination of both. Something that had him clutching her hand as if the link between them, the very basic, instinctive need for human contact—skin-to-skin—was the only real thing in his life. The only thing keeping him grounded.

Keeping him safe.

She would have shaken her head if she hadn’t been afraid to break the eye contact between them. Keeping him safe? Some sort of deep, emotional issue? Please. Her imagination was running wild.

There was nothing deep or emotional about Kane. He was hard, caustic and cynical. Thinking there was more to him was ridiculous. Thinking he needed her to protect him from a few stitches, to save him from whatever had produced the haunted look in his eyes, bordered on delusional.

And she was too smart, too careful and way too afraid of making another grand mistake to let delusions ruin her life again.

But that didn’t stop her from murmuring nonsense to him, careful to keep her voice soft, her tone calm as she repeated how great he was doing, that it’d all be over in a few minutes and he just needed to hang in there. She was there for him.

Time slowed. She had no idea how long they stayed that way, eyes locked, hands clasped. All sound seemed to dissipate so even her own words disappeared, though she kept up the mindless chatter. Her entire world narrowed so the only thing she saw was Kane. Color slowly seeped back into his face. His gaze sharpened, came back into focus. His hand warmed against hers, his palm rough, his fingers twitching with every pull of the thread. He inhaled, quick and shallow.

“You’re okay.” She kept her voice quiet, her own breathing deep and even in the hopes he’d follow suit. “You’re okay.”

“Last two stitches,” Justin said, his low tone mimicking her own.

She stood, but Kane didn’t let go. She patted his hand. “It’s all right now. Dr. Louk is done, but he needs my help.” For a moment, she was afraid Kane didn’t hear or understand what she was saying. But then he slowly, reluctantly, slid his hand from hers.

Wiping her tingling palm down the front of her thigh, she crossed to the hand sanitizer on the wall, cleaned her hands, then walked around the bed, all the while hyperaware of Kane’s intense gaze on her. She held the scissors out for Justin, hating the unsteadiness of her hands, of her heart. The way her mind raced with questions, with concerns. She wanted to get to the bottom of Kane’s behavior, wanted to ask him what had brought it on, what she could do to help him.

She must be a complete idiot.

Because no matter what had come over Kane, the last thing she needed was to try to fix him.

One of the most difficult lessons she’d had to learn as a nurse was no matter how hard she tried, no matter her education or experience, no matter how skillful the physicians, how quick the first responders, they couldn’t save everyone.

Some people were beyond help.

And she was done fighting lost causes.

Justin tied off the last stitch, cut the thread and studied his handiwork. He gave a short, satisfied nod at the row of neat, tiny stitches. Stood. “All done.”

Thank God.

Charlotte blocked the sound of his very nice voice giving Kane instructions on caring for the stitches. As she cleaned up, she avoided any and all eye contact with Kane.

Hey, she’d already slipped there for a moment, thinking he was some troubled, tormented man wanting only to escape the mysterious pain dogging his heels.

Wanting only to heal him.

She snorted softly. Realizing the room had gone silent, she lifted her head. Her face warmed. Oops. Guess her snort hadn’t been quite as soft as she’d hoped. Both men stared at her. She coughed gently. Cleared her throat, then smiled at no one in particular. “I’ll get the discharge papers.”

By the time the papers had printed, she was calmer. Clearheaded. It had been a long night, after all. In less than fifteen minutes, her twelve-hour shift would end. She’d go home, get something to eat, maybe veg out in front of the TV for an hour and then get some much-needed sleep.

She’d stop thinking about hard-eyed Kane Bartasavich. Stop worrying about him.

She watched Justin come out of Kane’s room. She’d get back to thinking about her future husband.

“Very good work in there, Doctor,” she called to him.

Humble, wonderful man that he was, he grinned shyly as he joined her. “Thank you. But I doubt things would have gone as smoothly as they did if you hadn’t kept the patient so calm.” He paused, used his fingertip to move a paper clip on the desk from side to side. “Are you two...close?”

“Who?” Realization dawned and she laughed, the sound more horror-filled than amused. “Me and Kane? No.”

“You held his hand.”

Her eyes narrowed. Was that an accusing tone she heard? “He needed me. I would have done the same for anyone.”

“Right. Of course. Sorry. It was just... I thought...” He shook his head, a blush climbing his neck. “I thought maybe you and he were...friends.”

Except the way he said it made it clear he thought she and Kane were more than that. Could he be... Was he...jealous? And if he was, shouldn’t she be thrilled instead of irritated?

“Well, we’re not. Friends, that is.” She doubted someone like Kane even had friends. “He’s my sister’s boss, but he and I barely know each other.”

“Has your sister ever mentioned his problems with PTSD?”

“You think Kane is suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder?” Was it even possible when he acted so emotionless all the time?

“If I had to guess,” Justin said reluctantly, making it clear he did not like something as nebulous as guesswork, “then I’d have to say yes. The hospital where I did my residency had an affiliation with a local VA hospital and Mr. Bartasavich is displaying several signs similar to what I saw during my shifts there.”

“Sadie never said anything about it,” Charlotte said, staring at Kane’s door as if she could somehow see him through the wood. See if he was okay. “Then again, I doubt he’d mention it. He was in the service, though. He served in Afghanistan.”

Though anyone could suffer from PTSD, not just veterans.

“There’s nothing in his history,” Justin said, pointing to the computer screen where he’d pulled up Kane’s medical records. Shrugging, he closed out the program. “Maybe I’m wrong.”

He pulled the next chart in the rotation. Charlotte wanted to snatch it from his hands, toss it aside. Wanted to demand he dig a little deeper into Kane’s past, figure out what had happened to him. But Justin was already on to the next case. As she should be, would be, once she got Kane discharged. It wasn’t up to her to get to the bottom of his problems.

His demons weren’t any of her concern.

CHAPTER FIVE

“Y
OU
’
RE
ALL
SET
,” she said as she entered his room. Kane sat on the side of the bed, his booted feet on the floor. How he pulled his boots on, she had no idea. Must have been a painful experience. He looked much better, though; his face had color again, some of it bruising, but still... “Dr. Louk did a great job with the stitches.” They didn’t have a plastic surgeon on staff, but luckily, Justin did excellent work. “I doubt you’ll even have much of a scar.”

Kane just glanced at her, a flick of his cool green eyes saying she couldn’t possibly bore him more.

So they were back to that, huh?

“Then again,” she said, her smile more of a gritting of teeth, “you probably don’t care about a scar as it would make the poor, simpering ladies swoon over your pretty face even harder than they do now.”

“You gonna swoon over me, Red?” he asked in an odd, low tone.

Or maybe it was her reaction to it, to his question, that was odd, the way her stomach tumbled. Her pulse skittered.

“Sorry. My supervisor frowns on us swooning while on duty.” She held out a paper for him to sign. “Here are the rest of your discharge papers.”

She cleaned her hands and put on gloves. Removing his IV, she went over everything he was and was not allowed to do, in order to let his ribs heal. She explained about setting up an appointment with the orthopedic surgeon to have his arm X-rayed a week from now, repeated Justin’s instructions for how to care for his stitches...and realized he wasn’t listening to a dang thing she said.

She set her hands on her hips. “Did you catch all of that?”

“Do this,” he said wearily, “don’t do that, and a lot of blah, blah, blah.”

Really. Why did she bother? “So succinct. Though in the medical profession we prefer to use yada, yada, yada.”

His lips twitched. “As long as we’re on the same page.”

They weren’t. How could they be when he refused to even open the book? But she wasn’t about to argue with him. She’d had her fair share of stubborn patients, and she had gone over everything. In detail. Whether he chose to follow the doctor’s instructions wasn’t up to her.

“Here’s your script for pain meds,” she said, handing it and a prescription bottle to him, “along with enough to get you through until tomorrow when you can fill it at the pharmacy.”

He eyed both warily. “Are they necessary?”

Since he still hadn’t taken them, she tucked them into a small plastic bag. “That would depend on your level of pain now, wouldn’t it? Don’t take them on an empty stomach and don’t take more than two in the same dosing period. If, by Monday, you’re still in pain that’s over a five on a scale of one to ten, call your primary care physician about getting a higher dose or new prescription.”

Still, he hadn’t moved. She shook the bag so the pills rattled and he finally took them.

He stood and she quickly stepped back, but when his face went white with pain, his lips pressed together, she reached out. Steadied him.

“Okay?” she asked.

He nodded. Seemed to have some heavy internal debate before exhaling heavily. “Thanks.”

She couldn’t help it. She grinned. “Wow. So polite. Those pain meds really are miracle workers.”

If possible, his expression got tighter. Darker.

What had she said?

Before she could decide whether or not to ask—or apologize, which for some crazy reason she felt the need to do—he brushed past her, his steps slow and measured, his left arm wrapped around his ribs as if holding them in place.

“Hold on,” she said, hurrying past him. “I’ll get you a wheelchair.”

He pinned her with his flat gaze. “You’re kidding.”

“I don’t kid about the hospital being liable if you fall flat on your face before reaching the exit.”

“Your concern is touching.”

“Hey, I’m very concerned.”

“About lawsuits.”

She nodded. “About lawsuits.”

“I don’t need a wheelchair.”

As if to prove it, he skirted around her, opened the door and walked out.

She debated for all of ten seconds whether or not to just let him go, but in the end, her basic humanity won out.

Stupid humanity.

Catching up with him was easy enough since he’d gotten only a few feet, and now stood glancing around as if unsure which way to go.

“This way,” she told him, gesturing to the right.

They walked side by side down the brightly lit corridor, the harsh lighting only proving how truly horrible Kane looked. They turned left, then left again. She hit the big red button to open the automatic swinging doors and stepped out into the cool early morning with him.

She lifted a hand to the EMTs getting in the ambulance. Behind them, a car pulled in and a young mother holding a crying, red-faced toddler got out and hurried inside. “Where’s your ride?” Char asked, the breeze ruffling the ends of her hair.

“I’m walking. See ya, Red.”

And damn if he didn’t start doing just that. For a moment, she simply stared, her mouth hanging open like a fish washed up on shore. Finally, she snapped out of her stupor—brought on by a long shift, lack of sleep and dealing with more than one bozo. The King Bozo was now making his way toward the road.

She jogged over to him and carefully caught his good arm, stopping him before he could cross the street. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. You can’t walk home.”

“Neither of my legs are broken so I’m pretty sure I can.”

“Yes, but...but...”

“For Christ’s sake,” he said, irritated and grumpy, as if she was the one being a major pain in the butt. “Spit it out.”

“It’s at least two miles,” she said, somehow able to keep the snap out of her voice. It helped to remind herself that he, too, was exhausted plus he’d been in a motorcycle accident.

It helped, but not enough for her to forget his default mode was jerk-wad.

“You’ll be lucky to get there before the sun comes up,” she continued.

“Then I’d better get going.”

“Oh, for God’s sake...” The man took stubbornness to whole new heights. “Don’t you have someone you could call? What about Sadie?”

“I’m not getting one of my employees out of bed on a Sunday morning, especially after she worked until 2:00 a.m. last night.”

“Why not? I’m sure she’d be—”

“No.”

“So call someone else to give you a ride home.”

“There’s no one to call.”

She laughed, the sound dying when she realized he was serious. “Oh, come on, now. Everybody has at least one person they can call, one person they can count on to have their back.”

She had several. Her parents and Sadie of course, but also her cousin Harper. Jenn, her ex-roommate, a couple of girlfriends from college and high school, and even one or two coworkers.

Kane didn’t answer, though, and that, in and of itself, was all she needed to know.

He’d lived in Shady Grove for what...a year? A little less? And he still hadn’t made any friends, didn’t feel close enough to the people he did know to impose on them. Didn’t have anyone he could call to let them know he’d been hurt, to sit in the waiting room worrying while he was being examined and X-rayed. No one to keep him company, to lift his spirits while he was stuck in a hospital bed for hours. No one to take him home, then check in on him every day to make sure he was all right.

He didn’t have anyone.

She had a feeling, a weird premonition his lack of social circle was somehow going to become her problem. Possibly even her undoing.

No. That was silly. This had nothing to do with her and everything to do with his being aloof and unlikable.

“The sooner you let go of me,” Kane said, his words slurring slightly, “the sooner I can get home.”

Her hold on him tightened. She shifted her weight to the left. Then back to the right. Tried like mad to keep the words forming in her throat from bubbling out. She clenched her teeth together. Reminded herself, rather sternly, she was in no way, shape or form, responsible for making sure Kane got home safely. She didn’t even like him, for goodness’ sake. Why on earth would she even consider going out of her way for him?

Because he’s your patient. Because he’s hurting. Because he has no one else.

The first two reasons rolled off her back. The third, however, stuck.

“Come on,” she groused.

“Where are we going?” He sounded merely curious and didn’t resist when she tugged him back toward the hospital. He must be worse off than she thought. Or else those pain meds were making him more amenable.

“I’m clocking out.” They stepped up to the emergency room doors, walked through after they swished open. “And then I’m taking you home.”

* * *

S
HE
WAS
LIKE
some incredibly annoying, stubborn, fiery-haired guardian angel, Kane thought, as he and Red climbed the stairs to his apartment. She hovered at his side, one hand behind his back, close enough that every once in a while, her fingers brushed his shirt, the other under his good arm. As if she and the force of her will alone were enough to stop him, to catch him, should he decide that falling off his bike wasn’t enough for the day and he’d like to take a tumble down the stairs, too.

She wasn’t any happier to be here playing the role of saving grace than he was to have her. Yet she’d still insisted on seeing him home, despite his best efforts to dissuade her.

Not that he’d tried very hard. Not when the alternative meant his walking two miles.

He may not want her help, but he wasn’t stupid enough to cut off his nose to spite his face.

Each step caused pain to shoot up his side, as if someone thought it would be fun to stab him repeatedly and often with a thick needle. Every inch of his body hurt. His legs felt as if they weighed two hundred pounds each. His muscles trembled.

Kane refused to let any of it show. No easy task, but if Red sensed any weakness in him, if he gave even the slightest hint he was unable to take care of himself, she’d never leave.

He wanted her gone. Needed her gone. He hated that she was seeing him at his weakest—and he didn’t mean physically. When the doctor had done his stitches, there had been concern in her eyes. Pity. Kane had let his guard down, hadn’t been able to hide the panic clawing at him. Had clutched at her as if he was freaking Leonardo what’s-his-name, freshly dumped from the Titanic, and she was sexy Kate Winslet, his only hope for salvation.

Too bad Kane was way beyond saving.

Halfway up the stairs, he paused. Pretended it was so he could scratch an itch near his stitches, but was really so he could catch his breath. Damn it, he’d forgotten how painful cracked ribs were.

He started climbing again and Red was right there with him, watching him like a blue-eyed hawk. Back at the hospital parking lot, she’d asked if he needed help getting into her car. He hadn’t responded, just sent her a hard look guaranteed to let her know he could get into the damn car on his own. She’d rolled her eyes, but had kept her mouth shut while he’d struggled to lower himself into the passenger seat.

She hadn’t spoken since.

He wondered if he could get lucky enough for that to stick for the rest of their time together. Their hopefully brief time together. Or, better yet, for the rest of their lives?

A man could dream.

Finally, they reached his door. Sweat coated his skin, his breathing ragged. He lifted his left arm slowly, wiped the dampness from his forehead with the back of his wrist.

“Aren’t you going to open it?” Red asked in her exasperated, impatient tone. As if dealing with him pushed her right to the edge of insanity.

“I’ve got it from here.” Because she probably wouldn’t leave until he’d displayed the correct amount of gratitude, he added a gruff, “Thanks for the ride.”

“What kind of person would I be if I didn’t see you safely inside?”

“The kind I don’t want around?”

“It’s shocking, really, you don’t have any friends. I mean, you’re so charming and gracious and all.”

Friends. Christ. That was the last thing he needed. Relationships. People with expectations of him. Wanting more from him than he could give.

He’d left his jeans in the hospital, but had remembered to take his wallet and keys and put them into the pockets of his borrowed scrubs. Mouth tight, well aware Charlotte watched his every move, he gingerly reached across his body, tried to slide his left hand into the right front pocket.

He hissed out a breath. Shit.

Dropping his arm, he sent her a narrow look. “Don’t. Say. It.”

She held up her hands. “Say what?”

And that innocent tone wouldn’t fool a deaf man. “Anything.”

She mimed a zipper being pulled across her mouth. If only.

Then she stood there. Silent, yes, but also not making a move to help him.

“Could you get the damn key?” he snapped.

She raised her eyebrows.

“Please,” he ground out from between his clenched teeth.

“How can I refuse after you asked so nicely?” She stepped forward only to pause as if just realizing where she had to put her hand. How close she had to get to him. “I swear to God, if you make one snide comment or a sleazy innuendo, I will poke you in the ribs. Hard.”

Holding her gaze, he brought his left hand up, mimicked her zipping motion.

She ducked her head, but hesitated again, her teeth worrying her lower lip.

Then, resolute thing she was, she inhaled and slipped the tips of her fingers into his pocket. With a sound of frustration that sounded oddly sexual to him, she stepped closer, dipping her hand farther into the pocket. If his entire body didn’t hurt like a son of a bitch, he might be able to appreciate the feel of her knuckles pressing against his hip, how the warmth from her hand seemed to seep through the fabric to brand his skin.

Her fingers curled around the key and she dragged it out. Raising her head, her hair brushing against his chin, she stepped back, a blush staining her cheeks. Then, before he could snatch the key from her, she turned, unlocked the door and let herself into his apartment.

“Well?” she asked, setting the key on the table. “You coming in or not?”