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The curtain swooshed and a young man carrying a phlebotomy tray walked in. “Oh, my,” she said in a too-bright tone that hinted at her eagerness for the interruption, “Lab’s here. It’s Dracula time.”
Seizing the opportunity to gain much-needed breathing space, she walked out of the trauma room while the technician drew Adrian’s blood samples. Unfortunately, physical distance didn’t settle her thoughts, as she’d hoped.
Wishing she hadn’t sliced the ball like a novice and landed in her present position, Sabrina idled away the hours while he was poked, prodded, and CT-scanned. From time to time, like any good nurse, she exchanged his magazines from the waiting room’s well-thumbed collection, brought ice chips when he complained about being thirsty, and covered him with a warm blanket when she found him huddled under the sheet, half-asleep. Although she’d like to leave him to his own devices, Dr Mosby would ask Adrian about the care and personal attention he’d received, so she simply gritted her teeth and treated her nemesis as if he truly were a VIP.
Although, she decided with wicked glee, in his case the “I” stood for “irritating” rather than “important.”
Through it all, and somewhat to her surprise because Adrian didn’t accept defeat easily, he dropped the subject and stared impatiently at the clock. His gloomy mood didn’t improve until Dr Beth Iverson returned with his results.
“Do you want me to stay or leave you two alone?” Sabrina asked before the doctor could share anything that Adrian might consider a violation of his privacy.
“You may as well hear the verdict for yourself,” he grudgingly offered. “Go ahead, Doctor. Tell me what I already know—I’m fine. No cracks, no nerve damage, nothing!”
“At the risk of making your head swell more than it has,” Beth said cheerfully, “you’re right. Lab work looks great and no skull fractures or hematomas appeared on the scan. Your cut bled a lot and you can get by without stitches, although I’d like to put in a few to prevent the edges from separating too easily.”
Adrian looked quite smug as he met Sabrina’s gaze. “What did I tell you? I have a hard head.”
In more ways than one, Sabrina silently agreed.
Beth continued. “You’ll probably have a headache and some nausea for awhile—concussions will do that, you know, and as yours is mild, those symptoms shouldn’t last long. Continue with the ice packs and acetaminophen for the pain.”
“Will do. Now, if someone will give me my clothes, I’m going to my home away from home.”
Beth shook her head, her eyes apologetic. “Sorry. John wants to keep you overnight. As a precaution.”
“You don’t need someone as healthy as I am taking up bed space,” he coaxed in the charming manner that allowed him to get his own way more often than not.
Beth smiled. “I have my orders. There’s a bed upstairs with your name on it.”
His smile turned into a frown. “This is so unnecessary,” he groused.
“Take it up with the boss,” the doctor advised. “I’m just the hired help. After I stitch up your head, Sabrina will see you’re settled in your room. If you need anything, call me. I’m on duty until seven.”
She quickly closed the gash with neat sutures. After pronouncing her work finished, she breezed out of the room and left Sabrina to deal with an unhappy Adrian.
“Wheelchair or gurney for the next leg of your trip?” she asked, relieved to know her golf ball hadn’t done lasting damage. She wouldn’t admit it either, but she was privately glad he’d be under close observation for awhile. Problems weren’t always detected immediately and could develop over time. It would be far better for him, and for her peace of mind, to spend his first night in Pinehaven under a nurse’s watchful eye.
“I’ll walk.”
She shook her head. “Not on my watch, buster. Physician or not, you’re a patient, which means I’m in charge for the moment. Nor will I let it be said that I don’t abide by the rules. So what’ll it be? A wheelchair or a gurney?”
He glared. “Wheelchair.”
“Then sit tight and I’ll be right back.”
Transferring him to the medical floor went smoothly and silently, which came as a relief. She wasn’t in the mood for small talk and clearly he wasn’t either. However, once she’d braked his wheelchair and pointed to the hospital gown on the edge of the bed, he shook his head and crossed his arms.
“I may have to stay here unnecessarily, but I’ll do it in my own clothes,” he stated regally.
“And how do you propose they get here?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Need you ask?”
She held up her hands to object, but he didn’t give her the opportunity.
“You landed me in these spacious accommodations with your wicked slice,” he reminded her. “In my books, that’s a debt you have to pay.”
“If every other patient can wear the stylish apparel we so thoughtfully provide, so can you. And if you’re worried about your hiney showing, stay in bed.”
“Hiney? My, my,” he said dryly, “your professional vocabulary is amazing.”
“That’s what continuing education is for.”
“Whatever you call my hiney, buns, or posterior, there’s the matter of you being responsible for my VIP care. As a VIP, I want my own shorts and T-shirt, not a flimsy, see-through, doesn’t-close-in-the-back hospital gown.”
No question about it—the “I” definitely meant irritating.
“But you don’t sleep in anything except your boxers,” she blurted out.
“At home, I don’t. Does this…” he waved his arms in an all-encompassing motion“…even remotely look like home?”
Sensing the futility in arguing—apparently he’d decided that if cajolery wouldn’t get what he wanted, arrogance and his rank would—she heaved a sigh. “OK, fine. I presume you also want a change of clothes for tomorrow and your toothbrush?”
“Yeah. Don’t forget my electric razor either.” He dug in his trouser pocket and tossed a keyring at her before he sank gingerly into the bed. “Thanks. I’d be grateful if you’d bring them within the hour.”
She caught it in mid-air, irritated by his demand. She couldn’t possibly meet his hour deadline even if she’d wanted to because she was due to pick up Jeremy from the hospital’s day care. Chafing under his order, she chose not to warn him she’d be late. Better to ask forgiveness after the fact than to beg permission beforehand.
“I’d also like a pizza,” he informed her.
“Our cafeteria has good food. The patients all agree.”
He eyed her loftily. “If I can’t sleep in a real bed, then I want to eat real food. Sausage, Canadian bacon and mushrooms.”
She ground her teeth. “Pizza it is. Anything else for our most illustrious personage?”
With that detail apparently settled to his satisfaction and apparently not put off by her disrespect, he closed his eyes. “No, but if I think of something, I’ll call you. You do still have a cellphone?”
“Yes, I do. Who doesn’t these days?”
“I’d like the number, please.”
She didn’t want to give it to him, but she really didn’t have a choice. A notepad wasn’t in sight and she didn’t have a pen, so she recited the seven digits from memory.
He listened intently before satisfaction showed on his face. “Same as before.”
His comment caught her off-guard. “I’m surprised you remember.”
“I remember a lot of things.”
“I’m happy for you,” she said tartly, but a new set of questions suddenly popped into her head. If he’d wanted her out of his life so badly, why had he remembered her number? Knowing that he’d never acted on the information at his fingertips only made the intervening months of silence more painful to think about.
The sudden pressure in her chest demanded she escape before he saw this new hurt he’d caused without even trying. Immediately, she pivoted on one foot and headed for the door.
“Sabrina?” he called.
Reluctantly, she paused. “Yeah?” Sounding hoarse, she hoped he’d attribute it to grumpiness.
“For what it’s worth, it’s good to see you again.”
She’d spent the last year shoring up her defenses against his anger and rejection, but had built nothing to protect herself against unexpected kindness. Not trusting herself to speak over the sudden lump in her throat, she simply fled.
CHAPTER TWO
“YOUR father isn’t playing fair,” Sabrina railed aloud as she drove to Adrian’s home-away-from-home while Jeremy fussed in his car seat. “After being such a jerk, he has no right to suddenly act like a decent human being.”
Jeremy chewed on his little fist and grunted as he kicked his legs and squirmed.
“I don’t know what he’s up to, but I’m not falling for it,” she mumbled as she parked in front of the apartment complex next to Adrian’s recognizable black Toyota Avalon. Apparently John Mosby had served as Adrian’s taxi service and given him a ride to the golf course. “I don’t care if he had a change of heart. It’s too late. Too late, I tell you.
“And frankly,” she continued her rant, “I’m glad my ball hit him on the head. He deserves some pain and suffering for everything he’s put me through!”
Buoyed by her thoughts, she lifted Jeremy out of his car seat, hoisted him on one hip, and headed up the sidewalk. “Come on, little man. Let’s get this nasty old errand done so we can go home and play.”
Carefully, she inserted the key and stepped inside.
The place reminded her of a hotel room, but Adrian had only arrived that weekend. He hadn’t had time to stamp his presence on the hospital’s apartment. Certain she’d find personal articles in the bathroom, she headed there first.
His toiletries lay on the counter, but she hardly noticed because the familiar scent of his favorite brand of soap hung in the air.
“What do you want for your birthday?” she asked as she cuddled against him on her sofa. “It’s coming up, you know.”
“I have everything I need right here.” Adrian nuzzled her neck.
She giggled as he focused on a particularly ticklish spot. “I’m serious. There has to be something you’d like or need.”
“Soap. Bath soap, in particular.”
Sabrina pulled away to study his face. “You’re kidding, aren’t you?”
He shook his head. “Nope. My sisters usually shop for me and they’re always buying the girly, flowery-smelling stuff.”
“Ask them to choose a different scent.”
“And hurt their feelings when they’re trying so hard to be helpful?” He sounded horrified. “No can do. But if someone should happen to give me a case or two and I rave about how good it smells, they’ll get the hint.”
“You’re quite a mastermind, aren’t you?” she teased.
“I raised a younger brother and two sisters,” he said matter-of-factly. “It was the only way I could stay one step ahead of them.”
And so Sabrina had bought a dozen bars of sandal-wood-scented soap which, surprisingly enough, he still used. After he’d dismissed her from his life, she would have expected him to toss out all reminders of her, including the soap, but perhaps he’d forgotten she’d gotten him hooked on it in the first place.
Idly, she grabbed his razor and his toothbrush and headed toward the bedroom. As Jeremy reached for the things in her hand and grunted his give-me noise, she allowed him to clutch the fluorescent blue toothbrush in his fierce, baby grip.
Adrian’s suitcase lay open on the queen-sized bed, still containing the clothing he hadn’t taken time to unpack. As she rummaged through the contents one-handed in search of underwear, socks, and the athletic apparel he’d requested, it was as if his fragrance had followed her, evoking more bitter-sweet memories—memories of soaping his back in the tub because he’d won their round of golf, celebrating her pay raise with champagne and strawberries, watching TV in his bed while feeding each other popcorn.
“You can’t go back,” she scolded herself. “You’ve moved forward, remember?”
Pushing those memories aside along with the pile of clothes she planned to deliver, she grabbed a pair of dress slacks and a short-sleeved pale green shirt from the closet, as well as his highly polished dress shoes.
He’d always polished them while he watched the evening news, she recalled, just as his father had taught him and just as he’d taught his brother Clay.
The question was, who would teach his son?
She glanced down at the bouncing twenty-pound joy of her life. “Sorry, kid, but spit-shining shoes wasn’t part of my education. It’ll be sneakers for us.”
He waved the toothbrush and chortled, scraping her face with the brush end before accidentally running it through his hair like a comb.
“Be careful with that, young man,” she said, smoothing down the light brown wisps on his scalp as he stuck the smooth end into his mouth.
She placed him on the floor with his temporary toy and her set of keys while she went in search of a bag to hold Adrian’s clothes. Coming up empty, she returned to the bedroom, dumped the rest of his clothes on the bed and refilled the suitcase with the things she’d selected. But when she took Adrian’s toothbrush away from Jeremy, he screamed. She closed her ears to his vocal protests until she noticed several distinct tooth marks on the handle.
Great. As observant as Adrian was, he’d see the ridges and wonder how they’d gotten there. Unable to dream up a plausible explanation—it was too bad he didn’t own a dog she could blame for the marks—she simply had to purchase a new one, even if it meant fighting the crowds at a store with a baby who didn’t handle shopping trips very well.
By the time she had loaded Adrian’s suitcase and her son into the car, Jeremy was yelling for his dinner. Adrian’s specified hour was nearly over, but he’d have to wait a bit longer, she decided grimly. Jeremy’s needs were more important than Adrian’s comforts.
Two hours later, after dinner and an unscheduled bath to wash the strained peas out of Jeremy’s hair and after she’d ordered Adrian’s pizza and ran into a drug store to select a bright purple toothbrush from the hundreds on display, she pulled into the hospital parking lot. With any luck, Adrian had either slept the entire time or had gotten so engrossed in television that he hadn’t noticed she was late. If he had, though, too bad. Impressing him with her efficiency and dancing to his tune weren’t on her list of things to do.
Balancing a well-fed and now-happy Jeremy on her
hip, she went inside.
* * *
Sabrina was late. By nearly two hours. Adrian had dozed off and on during the three hours she’d been gone, but with all the staff fluttering around him, checking his vitals, quizzing him on what day it was, did he know his birth date, how his headache and nausea was, he hadn’t been able to rest for more than fifteen minutes at a time.
He grumbled aloud at how he could look forward to this well-meant but unwanted solicitous care for the remainder of the night as he pressed an ice pack to his head. The situation was enough to make a congenial man grumpy, and for the past several months he hadn’t been known for his congeniality.
Oh, he may as well be honest. His good humor had disappeared about the time he’d driven Sabrina away a year ago. Most people had attributed his curtness to his concern over Clay, but as time had marched on and Clay’s condition had improved, Adrian’s mood had not. In fact, it had worsened.
His siblings had compared their amateur psychology notes and had decided he needed a woman in his life to smooth his rough edges. However, after one date, he’d realized he’d spent the entire evening quietly comparing her to Sabrina. He’d suspected the poor girl had known it, too. Because no other female had interested him, his dating days had ended as abruptly as they’d begun.
Their next theory was that subconsciously he was expressing his latent anger and frustration over his broken relationship with Sabrina. That he was still mourning his loss and taking out his emotional distress on his hapless colleagues and staff members. Their answer? To get him back together with Sabrina.
Naturally, he disagreed. He was simply working too hard and doing too much. As for the ER staff, the skills of the people being hired simply weren’t up to the hospital’s formerly high standards.
As for his relationship with Sabrina, he believed he’d taken the high moral ground by ending it when he had. Clay needed his attention and he didn’t feel it was fair to expect Sabrina to put her life on hold or be relegated to the fringes of whatever life he was free to give her. For all he knew, Clay would never leave his wheelchair and would require years of intensive therapy and personal attention from experts as well as his family.
Fortunately, his fears never panned out. While he was glad Clay’s health problems hadn’t turned into the worst-case scenario, as his doctors had warned, Adrian couldn’t undo the past. He simply had to console himself with the knowledge that he’d made the best decision based on the information he had at the time and live with the consequences.
