The Hardest Hit (2 page)

Trevor's vision blurred. His head pounded like he'd been ten rounds with Jack Brady, the heavyweight world champion. Everything ached. He tried to ignore the throbbing in his head, but the vibrations in his skull made useless any attempt to dismiss the pain. Shooting pain blasted his ribs. No doubt he'd probably broken more than a few. Sheer agony filled him with each intake of breath.

His boxing training didn't prepare him to take on three men at once, with one holding a lead pipe and the other kicking the shit out of his ribs with a pair of steel-toed boots.

Yep. Last night sucked.

Behind his head, one machine or another kept beeping. Since he was pretty sure he wasn't going to die, next time he saw the nurse he'd ask her to turn the shit off. Because that's what he wanted to go along with the biggest headache he'd ever had . . . beeping.

At his bedside, people talked.

He managed to peel one eye open at the sounds of a strange melodic voice. Then, he saw her. Spirally blonde hair, deep sapphire–colored eyes and what he hoped was a rockin' body hidden underneath a long white coat.

If his face didn't hurt like a bitch he'd probably give her a smile, but his killer grin would have to wait. However, if he hit the blonde with just the right amount of flirting, she might spring him from this joint and send him home.

The hottie in the lab coat talked to Daniella, which was fine. He trusted his trainer to handle all the paperwork and medical decisions. He'd listed her name on all the forms. He had no one else, and he couldn't imagine anyone having his back as well as she did in times like these. Trevor allowed his one good eye, the one that wasn't swollen shut, to scan a full-body shot of the woman once she came into view.

Thin, healthy, and picture perfect, the tall blonde wore her blue scrubs well. It was hard to look good in those things. In fact, he couldn't see shit for sure, but he could dream. That's what this was. A dream. No real man got a doctor who looked like that. She was probably married. He scanned her left hand.

No rings.

Bingo!

Crap. She caught him looking at her and smiled.

The hot blonde pulled herself away from Daniella and walked to his side. “I see you're awake, Mr. Redding. I'm Dr. Fox. How are you feeling?”

She wasn't kidding.
Fox.
Damn straight she was a fox.

“I'm seeing angels, so I must be doing okay,” he mumbled.

She laughed. Then reached for his arm, glanced down at her watch and timed his pulse.

“Feel that?” he asked. “My heart's racing. I haven't seen a beautiful woman like you in a long, long time. I'm sure you're a great doctor. So good in fact, that you're going to let me go home, aren't you?”

“Maybe tomorrow.”

Air left his lungs. “Tomorrow? Aw, come on. I'll be good. Tell her I'll be good, Daniella?”

“You're never good, Trevor,” Daniella responded. Hell, she probably wasn't joking, either.

He locked eyes with the doctor. “I can be good, but I can be just the right amount of bad.”

Letting go of his wrist, she placed his hand back onto the bed and gave his arm a little pat. “I'm sure you can.”

Good Lord. How had he found himself stuck in a room with the two toughest women in Las Vegas? He struggled to sit up in bed. He knew he looked like shit, probably smelled like shit, too, but had the whack on his head sent his mojo out the window? He knew women. Hell, he worked with them and of all the women he knew, most responded well to a lighthearted flirtatious guy with killer charm.

Apparently, all women except his trainer, and Dr. Fox.

“I've ordered some follow-up CT scans. They're going to come and take you down for those sometime today. Depending on the results, I'll confer with Dr. Evans and we'll give you a time frame regarding going home.”

He grimaced at the news. Dr. Evans? He couldn't put a face with the name. He thought for a moment. Nothing. It felt as if his brain was on a timed delay. Oh yeah, Dr. Evans. Tall guy. Perfect hair. Kind of a prick. One of those guys who got off on being a doctor because one human had power over another. He'd bet stuffy Dr. Evans golfed and wore a smoking jacket by a fireplace at night. Dr. Prick wouldn't last five minutes in the ring. But, if he'd let him go home, he'd find a way to like him.

Since he'd woken up he'd felt like a hostage. Life in the hospital really cramped his style. He'd been poked, and prodded like a science experiment, and naked more times than he could count without a “happy ending.” So far the only good thing about being stuck here was meeting Dr. Fox. So, he wasn't too keen on watching her walk out of his room.

“You know,” he said as she turned away from him, “I've got this pain . . .”

His doctor craned her neck in his direction.

He pointed to his shoulder.

She walked over to him and put her hand on his clavicle. Her touch glided over his skin. God, she smelled great. Usually the women he'd spent time around either smelled like sweat or drugstore perfume. But, not her. Not Dr. Fox.

He drew in her scent again. She smelled of lavender, clean and flowery. He let his mind wander, imagining that same smell on his sheets, and her slipped between them. He'd forgotten how long it had been since he'd had a woman in his bed. His world was mixed with two kinds of women: sports groupies and strippers. While he had ample opportunity to bang either, he never mixed business with pleasure.

However, he was all too ready to give Dr. Fox a ride on the Trevor train. She had it all, brains and beauty. Not many women like that crossed his path. Almost never.

Her hand pressed into his shoulder, examining his muscles and tendons. “Probably a sprain. You took one heck of a beating.”

“I can take them. I can give them,” he said with as much bravado as he could muster.

Her pink lips pursed. “Yeah, Mr. Boxing Tough-Guy, I'm sure you can.”

Daniella's phone rang and she left the room to answer the call.

His doctor's hand touched his abdomen, checking his ribs. She pressed and he moved. Yeah. That hurt. His bruises were as dark as the color of the guy's shoe who kicked his ribs. Of all the things to remember about getting your ass kicked, shoe color.

Tammy's scream still echoed in his ears. And, if he thought hard enough, he could remember bits and pieces of the conversation before the lights went out, but something else bothered him.

He guessed he should be able to remember what happened before the fight in the parking lot, but his mind drew a blank. Shouldn't he be able to remember what led up to the confrontation? He couldn't remember getting to work that day, only that he'd been there. He'd eaten something on his break, but damn if he remembered what it was. He knew he'd gotten to the hospital, but how? That's what concerned him the most. The dark spots in his memory. The lost moments in time.

It would all come back in time, he thought. And, if it didn't, the memories weren't worth having anyway.

“So,” he glanced up at the pretty doctor, “how about having dinner with me after you spring me from this hellhole?”

She smiled. She was even prettier when her lips turned up from the corners. Keeping her hands on his body, she ran her fingers over his bruised skin. “While I'm flattered, I can't have dinner with patients.”

The part of his face that could move grimaced. “What if I need assistance while I eat?”

“I'm sure there are lots of women who'd line up to help you.” She drew her stethoscope from her pocket. When she placed the metal end to his heart, he drew back. Damn, that thing was cold.

“Okay, so if you can't have dinner with patients, can you come and watch them work? Daniella's scheduling a fight for me. I'm getting on a card right here in Vegas. You're seeing me at my worst. I'd like to show you my best.” He hiked up a brow.

She leaned back from him and propped her hand on her hip playfully. “I'm in charge of putting you back together. Do you think I'd come and see you tear yourself apart again?”

He flashed a smile. “I'll tear myself apart to have
you
put me back together.”

He didn't miss the eye roll, or the shake of her head. Too much? Maybe. But everything about being in the hospital sucked, except for Dr. Fox. She scribbled something on his chart and proceeded to leave the room.

“Don't go,” he pleaded.

She turned around. “I have rounds, Mr. Redding.”

He lifted his chin. “Okay, answer a question.”

Her eyebrows rose.

“Are you married? Do you have a boyfriend?”

Her lips tightened into a thin line. Then, she said, “First of all, that's two questions. No. I'm not married, and no, there's no boyfriend, either.”

Feeling braver, he cocked his head to the side. “I work a lot. Train a lot more. I don't get out much and I don't meet too many beautiful women. One of these days, I'm not going to be your patient anymore and I'd like to take you out. What do you say?”

Dr. Fox stepped to his side. “I can tell you're a guy who gets what you want.”

He nodded.

“I like decisiveness in a man.”

Warmth rolled through his stomach. Now he was getting somewhere.

“And maybe if we'd met under different circumstances, I'd accept your kind offer.”

His one good eye squinted. “Don't reject me so quickly. I'm a guy who doesn't give up.”

She leaned dangerously close to him. “That's a good quality to have.”

“I appreciate beauty,” he told her.

“I appreciate persistence.” Her tongue darted out and wet her lips.

He smiled.

She smiled.

Yeah, baby. This was getting good. He'd thrown out the hook and she was taking his bait. Maybe, just maybe, if he got past her al-business exterior she'd see he was a stand-up guy who could have anyone he wanted, but the one he wanted to get to know better was her.

“Take a chance,” he said. “You just might like it.”

She opened her mouth to speak, and a woman's squeal echoed from his doorway.

“Theeeereee you arreeeee. You're finally awake. I was so worried.”

Trevor glanced past the beautiful doctor and Chantel stood at the foot of his bed. The woman couldn't have had worse timing. His eyes wide, he flashed a look that said, get out.

Dr. Fox stood straight. “I'll be back to check on you later.”

He blew a rush of air from his nostrils. Chantel dropped all her crap on his visitor's chair and threw a pile of magazines in his lap. Then she started talking. Rambling off nonsense he didn't care about, much less wanted to listen to.

Adrenaline rushed through his system. Dr. Fox had been about to respond when Chantel entered and cock-blocked him. He'd made progress. He felt it, and by the grin on the doctor's face, she felt something, too. Despite the bruises, the pain, and Chantel's constant talking, Trevor had gotten somewhere with her.

And that was all he needed to know.

She couldn't help herself. All morning Chelsea snuck up to the fifth floor for one obscure reason or another. Trevor's room sat across from the nurses' station, making stealing a glance at the handsome yet bruised boxer as easy as diagnosing a case of conjunctivitis. Her day was going quite well. He slept. And his interaction with the dark-haired woman who'd interrupted their conversation hadn't lasted long. At first she thought the woman might be his girlfriend, but she didn't even kiss him good-bye.

Then came the bad news.

A multicar pileup on the Las Vegas Freeway overwhelmed the emergency room.. For almost four hours, it was all hands on deck, and Chelsea had two able and very talented hands. She answered the call for assistance. There were so many patients being admitted that the ER staff needed help sorting through those that required immediate care.

She was good on her feet, that she knew. Decisive and with a take-charge attitude, she gave orders, dispensed medications, and sent those who needed surgery into pre-op. She was very good at triage, but these weren't the days she loved. Sure, she wanted people to heal and get back to their lives, but she preferred patients like Trevor Redding. She liked getting to know them, and helping them navigate the difficulties of the healing process. And by the look of his earlier scans, Trevor had a long way to go.

The flood of patients into the ER had its own ramifications. The overload stressed the other departments. The lab and blood bank notified the emergency room personnel of heavy processing delays. And Radiology? Forget about it. Anyone who wasn't critical waited.

That meant, like it or not, Trevor was going to have to wait another day to have his scans repeated. She wasn't discharging him until his results told her it was safe to. If anything good came out of the horrific accident, it was that she got to deliver the news of the delay herself.

After a tiny knock on the door, she walked into the room and caught him reading the latest issue of
Ring Magazine
, the official bible of boxing. Trevor squinted his one good eye, presumably in an effort to focus.

“Don't strain your eyes to read,” she cautioned.

He looked up from his magazine and held her gaze. “I have to.
Ring Magazine
named Jack Brady Fighter of the Year.” He flipped the pages around so she could see them. “Look. That's my dream, right there. Me, in the ring winning the world championship, and then being named Fighter of the Year.”

Chelsea recognized the man as Daniella's husband. Nice guy. Totally dedicated to his wife. She had no idea just how good of a boxer he was until now.

Her lips turned up at the corners. “Wow. That's fantastic. He and Daniella must be thrilled.”

“All of us at Stamina Gym are proud.” At her sigh, he focused on her, more intently this time. “Got something on your mind, champ?”

She laughed. “Well, I don't think you're going to like me very much after what I have to tell you.”

The part of his face that wasn't swollen moved. “That doesn't sound good.”

“There was an accident on the freeway, with lots of injuries, straining the Radiology staff. We're not going to be able to have you repeat your scans until tomorrow.” Her bottom lip protruded.

“So I'm stuck here one more day?” He allowed his eyes to roam around the room.

“I know it's not ideal, but I can't discharge you until we see what's going on inside that head of yours.”

“There's a lot, Doc, and most of it has something to do with you.” He flashed his pearly whites. What a devil.

She crossed her arms in front of her. “Regarding your history, have you ever been in a hospital before for a head injury?”

A skeptical look crossed his face. “Um, Doc, I'm a boxer. What do you think?”

“So that's a yes.”

He nodded.

“How many concussions have you been diagnosed with over the years?”

He shrugged. “I don't know. I fight. It happens.”

She felt her brow furrow. “Did you ever sustain a concussion before you started boxing?”

He made a grunting sound. “I don't know. Maybe.”

“Have you always engaged in rough sports?” At that question he grinned and she knew she should've rephrased.

“Some of my activities are rougher than others.”

And they were back to square one.

She hovered over his bed until she realized she was acting like a worried mother. She took a step back and he reached out for her.

She averted her eyes to his hand extending from over the bedrail. When she didn't take a hold of it, he motioned with his fingers for her to step closer. She did.

“Have dinner with me tonight.” His voice sounded almost pleading.

Giggles erupted from her throat. “Here?”

“You get a break, don't you?” Oh, how he coaxed and teased.

She nodded. “I do, but I'm usually catching a few zzzs in the doctors' lounge. I'm counting on you not to tell anyone my secrets. I'm twenty-eight and I require a power nap.”

He cocked his head to the side as if it was his turn to diagnose her. “Do you exercise?”

“Not really; I run around here all day.”

“Are you eating enough? Getting any B
12
in your system?” he asked with concern.

Her mouth hung agape. Now look at who was becoming a doctor.

He didn't let her respond. “I bet you're just like those doctors I see come into the club. They care about everyone else's health while they smoke, drink, and eat red meat. Heart attacks waiting to happen, those guys.”

She scrunched up her face. “Hey, I'm not that bad.”

“It's time for you to get healthy, Doc. Maybe once you spring me you can join me down at the gym for a workout. Not a date. Not dinner. Just some strength and endurance training.”

Was he actually hitting on her under the guise of healthy living? Sounded like it.

“I'll think about it.” Granted, he'd taken the news of the delay better than she thought he would and turned it into another opportunity to ask her out.

“Guess you're off and running?”

She pulled the visitor's chair beside his bed and sat down. “Mind if I stay for a bit?”

He sat up in bed. “Stay as long as you want. The more time I spend with a beautiful woman, the better I feel.”

She crossed her legs. “Do you hit on every girl this hard?”

“No.” he said flatly, “just you.”

She laughed. “I want to talk to you about the injury to your head. Concussions aren't anything you should mess around with. If I release you tomorrow, I want you to take it easy.”

He gave her a sly grin. “I'm all kinds of easy.”

“I bet you are.” She shook her head. He was an incurable flirt. She loved that. “Seriously, no hard training. No running. And no sparring. I don't want you to do anything that could jeopardize the healing process.”

His grin flattened. “What kind of boxer would I be if I couldn't take a hit?”

“Right now, you're a recuperating one.”

He leaned over to her. “You know, there are parts of me you haven't examined. I think we should see if I'm in good working order before you let me go.”

Her chest heaved with a chuckle. “Oh, I have examined you thoroughly, Mr. Redding, and what I saw checked out just fine.”

He peeled back his bedcovers. “You want to crawl in here for a follow-up?”

With that she busted with laughter. “No. I'm quite good. Thank you.”

He flashed a boyish grin. “What is it with the customer service in this place? I can't seem to get anything I want.”

“You poor man,” she teased, and got up from the chair. “I'll be back to check on you later.”

She looked back at him, lying in bed and he gave her a tiny wave. Cute. Tempting. Sexy.

Gosh, she hadn't been chased this hard since high school. Junior year. His name was Stephen Yulo. He'd come on so strong it was scary. So different from Trevor's pursuit. She wished she'd met him under different circumstances. She wished she could accept his offer—not for a quick go under the covers, but she liked the idea of dinner or a workout at his gym.

Stupid policies and laws prohibited such contact. The only way she could date him was to pass him fully back to Dr. Evans and release him as her patient. His case interested her too much to let him go that easy. Something was going on inside his head. There was trauma there. Real damage. She wanted confirmation of what she saw on his initial scans. His body didn't lie. He couldn't flirt his way out of what may await him. Somewhere in his past he'd suffered, and it looked as if his injuries had compounded. She'd hoped he would have told her specifics of any accidents, former head trauma, but instead he'd been coy, playful, and a flirt. With a light sigh, she walked to the end of the hallway and pressed the elevator button. She couldn't wait to finish her shift and head home, so that she could return fresh and ready to dig into Trevor's case. Tomorrow's follow-up scans would tell his story, even if he didn't want to.