Someone to Watch Over Me (43 page)

Now it was gone. It just ceased to exist, a
soul that would never walk this earth, and for what reason, because
some moronic bimbo didn’t know the difference between fantasy and
reality, because she couldn’t take no for an answer, because she
didn’t suffer rejection well?

My throat ached from the strain of crying.
Each breath felt like sandpaper, gritty and abrading. That nurse
was right; the drugs were looking dang appealing. They wouldn’t
make things better, but they’d certainly ease the pain for a while.
I reached up and clicked away.

The effect was swift. My head whirled
dizzily. All my pain faded. A sense of peace came over me. My
eyelids grew pleasantly heavy. The world faded to a fuzzy shade of
black.

♫♪♫♪

When I resurfaced some time later, the room
was aglow. Vibrant orange streams of light filtered through the
blinds and streaked the walls. If I wasn’t feeling so incredibly
crappy, I might’ve left the bed and appreciated the miraculous
sunset hidden just beyond the window.

Gathering my attention, someone cleared her
throat.

I lifted my gaze. A woman stood by the end
of my bed, a doctor, judging by her white lab coat. She had dark
hair and hazel eyes. “Sorry I had to wake you,” she said in a
strikingly melodic voice. “Let me introduce myself. I’m Doctor
Elizabeth Watkins. I’m…Tate’s mother—no no, don’t move.” She
crossed the space, took my hand. “You’re going to be in a lot of
pain for a few days. We’ll return your pain meds when we’re
finished. I needed you lucid.”

In her hands, she held a tablet, and not the
paper kind. It was the electronic kind. She tapped the screen a few
times and then passed it to me. I winced as I lifted my hand. “This
is a voice app. Type in what you need to say and hit play. It beats
carrying a pen and paper. The patients seem to like it. You’re free
to play any games already installed, but for security’s sake, I
wouldn’t enter any personal account information.”

Tapping the screen, I entered my first
question. ‘
Where is Tate
?’ read a robotic voice. I’m sure
I’d be the brunt of many jokes for that. Carter would call me a
true Stepford Wife.

“He stepped out. His home is only a quarter
hour from here. He might have gone to get cleaned up.”

That raised my second question. ‘
Where am
I
?’ I was in Missoula, Montana the last time I remember. Tate
lived in Seattle.

“University of Washington. Tate had you
transferred by airlift this afternoon. He wanted a second opinion,
and we have the best ENT unit in Seattle.”

‘
How long will I be here
?’

“That depends on your rate of healing, but
not less than ten days.” Pulling up a chair, she placed it beside
the bed, smoothed her skirt as she sat down. “We need to discuss
your injuries, the surgery performed to repair those injuries, any
future tests or treatments, and the therapy you’ll need before you
can leave the hospital.”

The bottom line: it was going to be a long,
long
recovery. I was on ‘absolute’ voice rest until further
notice. That meant no talking, no throat clearing, whispering,
coughing or mouthing words, whatsoever. I couldn’t lift any weight,
blow my nose or strain in the bathroom. Oh, and no eating, not that
I would attempt it with the pain I was feeling, nor did I have an
appetite, but the feeding tube running through my nose and into my
stomach was disconcerting.

Last but certainly not least, I had a
breathing tube protruding from my lower neck so that I could
breathe without difficulty and allow time for my throat to heal.
Yes, a fucking tube was sticking out of my neck like a valve on a
beach ball. I thought the feeding tube was bad…

I had to have more tests to check my healing
and assess the mobility of my vocal chords. She wasn’t positive
about anything at this point, but stated scientific possibilities
based on her observations during my initial examination. Because of
the damage caused to my larynx, she warned that vocal
paralysis was a strong possibility. If that was the case,
there were options. I could have a polymer implant surgically
inserted, which would allow my vocal folds to work again. The
alternative was to reroute a nerve from my neck to replace the
damaged one in my throat. But it was all speculation until the
swelling went down and I had a chance to heal.

When all was said and done, there was no
guarantee that my voice would be the same. I might have hoarseness,
shortness of breath and or reduced pitch. In other words, my
singing career was most definitely over. She didn’t say that, but I
wasn’t obtuse or naive.

‘
Can I have my pain meds back now
?’ I
asked. ‘
I think I’d like to live in oblivion a little while
longer. I feel like someone just amputated my right hand
.’

Sarcasm was completely lost on the robotic
voice.

“Then we’ll teach you to write with your
left.” Standing, she grasped my hand, squeezed it. “Don’t throw in
the towel yet, Cooper. I haven’t.”

Before she left the room, she turned back.
“Your pain meds are programmed. You’ll just need to press the
button to dose yourself if the pain gets too severe.”

I tapped out a succinct ‘
thank you’
and closed my eyes.

I forbade myself to cry. For number one, it
hurt like a bitch. But more importantly, I didn’t want Tate to come
back and find me red and swollen…well, more swollen than I already
was. From what I was told, it was another after effect of the
surgery, that and the few good hits to the face I took during the
brawl. In any case, Tate was already mourning the loss of our baby.
He didn’t need to find me blubbering every time I woke up. I had to
be strong for him, for us. Because the only thing worse than being
sick or hurt was seeing someone you love sick or hurt.

I was just falling asleep when Tate strode
into the room, juggling several large and rather bulky shopping
bags. He was wearing green hospital scrubs and a brand new pair of
classic, black and white Chuck Taylors. When he saw that I was
awake, he stopped dead in his tracks.

“You’re awake.”

‘
You’re highly observant
.’

A smile spread across his face. He dropped
the bags on the floor and leaned over to kiss me. Despite my
qualms, I let him. Dodging his kiss was out of the question. Any
movement above my shoulders hurt like the fuckin’ dickens, and I
was by no means a sadist.

‘
Please don’t do that again. Not until I
brush my teeth. And I warn you that that might not be in the
foreseeable future
.’

“Ah.” He held up his index finger then dug
through the bedside drawer and pulled out a plastic stick with a
sponge on the end. He dipped it in a cup of water, pressed most of
the water from it and handed it to me.

‘
That’s it
?
Water
?’

“Just hold your horses,” he chided, rustling
through the bags. A second later, he produced a pack of breath
strips. “Put this on your tongue, and then swab your mouth. It’s
not the best, but it’ll do until you’re not in so much pain.”

‘
You’re the bomb
.’ Gently opening my
mouth, I placed the breath strip on my tongue. Just swirling it
around my mouth hurt. ‘
This sucks
.’

I wasn’t getting anywhere with the breath
strip, seeing that I had no saliva to dissolve it, so I moved on to
the sponge. It helped a bit, but offered little satisfaction. I
ended up swabbing most of the breath strip out. ‘
They took my
tongue ring out too
.’

“I have it. You can get it repierced.”

‘
After this, I don’t know if I want
anything sharp near me again
.’ Stifling a frown, I shifted my
weight. My ass was asleep and my back was stiff. ‘
Where is
Levy
?’

“My dad has him. They’re driving back on the
bus. Emily is with them too. She didn’t seem in too much of a hurry
to go home anyhow.”

‘
What about the tour
?’

“Tour is done for now. We’ll reschedule the
last three shows.”

‘
There’s not much you can do here.
There’s no point in you sitting around
.’ He might cope better
if he were busy. I would. ‘
I’ll be sleeping most of the time or
in therapy. You won’t be missing anything
.’

“I’m not going anywhere, Cooper, so just get
it out of your head.”

We had a five second stare off before I
surrendered. ‘
How bad do I look
?’

Tate grimaced, looked away.

‘
That bad
?’

“Truthfully, yes. You look pretty damn bad,
and I’ve seen you hurt before. Too many times, in fact.”

‘
Well, I’ve escaped death once again. Now
take a picture so I can see for myself
.’

“Are you serious?”

‘
I’m vain, remember
?’

Sliding his phone from his pocket, he lifted
it, centered the frame and snapped a photograph. With obvious
reservations, he passed me the phone. Wow…well, I can’t say he
didn’t warn me. I had a gauze turtleneck, several bruises on my
cheek and jaw, a tube running from my nose, and another larger tube
protruding my neck, just above my collarbone.

Frowning, I passed Tate back his phone.
‘
You can delete that now
.’ It could go to pixel heaven,
where it would never be seen again by the eyes of man. Good
riddance.

“I’ve had a plastic surgeon come in. He
closed the lacerations. He said with the right care, your scars
shouldn’t be bad. He prescribed some creams and ointments. You’ll
need to stay out of the sun, and use sunblock when it’s
unavoidable.”

That was the outside. I could’ve cared less
about the scars. I cared about what was happening on the inside,
like my vocal cords, but I bit my tongue. He had meant well.

‘
What’s in the bags
?’

“Clothes and some other stuff to keep you
from getting bored.” From the bag, he pulled a bright red negligee
lined with marabou trim. He tucked this under his arm while he
pulled out a matching red teddy and heeled slippers.

‘
What the hell is that
?’

Straightening his back, he blinked.
“What?”

‘
That
!’ I pointed at the travesty
under his arm. ‘
That is not exactly appropriate hospital attire,
Tate
!’

“Well, there’s this adage that if you look
good, you’ll feel good.”

‘
I can’t walk around in that
!’

“I had a feeling you’d say that, so I bought
you this one too.” From the same bag, he pulled a pair of
multicolored, polka dot, footed-pajamas. They were hideous and
fleece and my feet would sweat terribly in them. He looked proud as
a peacock holding them up.

‘
You’re kidding
.’ I had to stifle a
smile.

“Yeah, I am. I thought it would make you
laugh.” He tossed them and the sexy red number to the floor then
pulled two packs of boxers and a handful of tees from another
bag.

‘
I am laughing—on the inside
.’

“For real, I bought you these. You’re always
wearing mine.”

‘
That’s because you’ve been in
them
.’

“I’ll wear them first if it makes you
happy.”

‘
You make me happy
.’

Tate looked at me suspiciously, his hands on
his hips. “What kind of drugs did they give you?”

‘
Shut up. What else did you buy
?’

His hand disappeared into another bag. He
pulled out an iPad Mini. “This is all your own. Everything you
need’s installed. I set you up with iBooks, iTunes, Sirius,
Netflix. There’s even a voice app on there. It’s better than the
one you’re using. Has twenty different languages and fifty
different voices to choose from.”

‘
Gimmie gimmie—I’m going to be
British
!’ Tate handed me the iPad. I fiddled with the lid of
the box, but since I wasn’t fully sitting and I was reluctant to
move my head, I was having a difficult time. Tate finally lost his
patience and took the thing back. He popped off the lid and pulled
the tablet from the box. I snatched it from his hand and was
delighted to find he had it powered and waiting. The voice app was
idling.

‘
It’s perfect
,’ I said in a
deliciously accented, yet robotic voice. ‘
Look how it fits in my
hands
.’ With the split keyboard, my thumbs could tap away
without losing balance of the device and having it waggle
dangerously toward my face. I was typing recumbent, after all.

Tate must’ve noticed my awkward position. He
pressed the button on my side rail and raised the bed. The slow
incline had my head swimming with the redistribution of blood
flow.

“It’s momma bear size,” he told me. “This
one—” he waggled the large iPad at me “—is too big. It’s a broken
nose waiting to happen. Your phone is too small. You hit the wrong
keys all the time. Even your auto-correct can’t keep up with you.
Last week, you sent me a text that said you wanted to fuck my beans
out. It’s true the beans play their part—”

I had to place my hand over my trachea to
keep it from rupturing. ‘
Please
,’ I begged. ‘
Don’t make
me laugh. It hurts too much
.’

“I’m sorry. Should I show you what else I
bought?”

‘
More
?’

“Lots more.” Reaching into the second bag,
he extracted a bottle of dry shampoo. “I was told this was the
best.” Oribe Dry Texturing Spray. It wasn’t exactly a dry shampoo,
but I read that it worked wonders. “I figured until you can wash
your hair…”

Next, he presented a tube of Clé de Peau
Beauté Lip Gloss, a small black and white striped tote full of
makeup and skin cleansers from Sephora, a pack of Juicy Couture
hair ties, a big teddy bear so soft I couldn’t stop petting him, a
few pairs of thick, chenille socks, and a Memory Foam mattress
pad.