CHAPTER FIFTY
Tuesday
Rocker’s appearance in Manda's hospital-slash-bedroom was a surprise.
Manda looked up from Billie's tablet on which she'd been watching a movie. A rom com, her favorite, except it was hard to concentrate with her head foggy.
She didn't know what was in the IV the Flyers' medic had given her, but it was every bit as strong as the drugs they'd given her at the hospital. The pain in her healing arm was only a distant throb, and she felt floaty.
"How you doin'?" the Flyers' VP asked her. His handsome face was somber.
Manda smiled vaguely. "Fine...how're you?"
His brows drew together, and he sat on the side of her bed. No wait, it was really his bed.
"You want your bed back?" she asked. "I can move. Got a room at a hotel, y'know."
He shook his head, giving her a dark look. "Jesus, you're high as a kite. Knife needs to cut back your meds, stat. But that ain't why I'm here, babe. Came to apologize."
"For what? I'ma one who brought trouble to you guys and T-Bear." Her chin wobbled as she remembered. "Got my big bear shot. Only he's not my bear... not anymore."
Rocker's eyes narrowed. "Yeah, you wanna explain that?" he asked. "Why you pushed him away when he's into you?"
She sighed deeply. "'Cause... it was so-oo hard but... it'll only be worse later on. Hadda turn him loose before it all went bad. It always does, y'know. Never lasts... not for me."
"Fuck. Me." Rocker's eyes closed for a moment. Then he sighed and gave her a look that her foggy brain could not interpret. "Like lookin' in a fuckin' mirror."
Manda peered around the quiet room. "No mirrors here."
He snorted. "Yeah, there is, and I'm lookin' in it. You're pulling the same shit I did, trying to convince yourself it's better to be alone, be safe, and convince T you ain't into him. Only I got news for you, babe. You blew your cover wide open when you jumped in front of that bullet for him."
He smiled slowly at her. "Now you're in for it."
She frowned at him. "Thass not much of a 'pology."
Rocker's smile widened, white teeth flashing as he chuckled. "Oh, that can wait till you're sobered up enough to remember it. Later, babe."
With that, he rose and sauntered away. Which was a fine sight, although she'd rather watch her big biker-man, anytime.
The next time Manda woke up, she wasn't nearly as woozy, but her arm hurt, and it felt hot and stiff.
The unsmiling Knife gave her a painkiller—a pill this time, and told her she would probably need them for at least another week, along with antibiotics.
Manda did not ask where the pills came from. She assumed they were acquired with questionable legality, but since they were being used for good, she wasn't about to question the source.
"You're gonna want to keep your arm still as you can, till I tell you to start moving it," the Flyer medic told her. "And then you're gonna exercise it so it don't stiffen up or lose muscle mass."
"H-how bad is the wound?" she asked, fear icing her insides. "Is it really big? Will my arm be...deformed?"
He scowled. "Oh, hell no. If it was that bad, woulda got you in to the hospital that night. You'll be fine. Might not wanna wear them little skimpy tops this summer, but the cut's only about four inches long. And hell, you can get plastic surgery done if you want. Or get some ink to hide the scar. Lotta brothers go that route."
Manda blinked. Her, get a tattoo? She liked them, but she'd never considered one for herself. For one thing, the good ones cost a whack, and she always seemed to be short on money.
"Now, you can get up if you feel like it," Knife said. "Just take it easy, get some help when you wanna shower, 'cause you'll need to wrap the bandage in plastic wrap to keep it dry. And for chrissake, stay outta the way of any more bullets, yeah?"
She huffed. "I'll do my best."
He gave her a solemn wink, gathered up his supplies, and left.
Sara appeared in the doorway just as Manda was carefully scooting to the edge of the bed.
"Hold on," the tall blonde said. "I'll help you get up. You don't want to get dizzy and fall. Where are you headed? Bathroom?"
"Yes, please," Manda said, resigned to accepting help for this too. One thing about being injured—a person got used to having veritable strangers witness body parts and functions. "And then, may I please see T-Bear?"
"Sure, hon. One thing at a time."
She helped Manda into the bathroom, where Manda did her business, washed her face with a facecloth, finger-combed her hair and sighed in despair. "I look awful."
"You look alive and on the road to recovery," Sara told her serenely. "Anything else, time will fix. Now let's get you some pants on, and we'll shuffle on down the hall."
Since Manda wore only a man's tee with the sleeves cut off, and a pair of panties, this seemed a good idea. She let Sara help her pull on a pair of yoga pants. Rather than try to change her shirt, Sara draped a soft, fuzzy cream pashmina around her shoulders. "There," she said. "You look fine."
The walk to T-Bear's room may as well have been across the state of Washington. It took every ounce of energy she had—even hanging onto Sara's arm. Once she'd made it to his room, and lowered herself into the chair beside his bed, she nearly wept with relief.
She gazed hungrily at the big man lying on the near side of the big bed. Except for the IV stand, a cord hooked to his arm, and the white bandage visible above the blanket pulled up to his chest, he appeared normal—pale and disheveled, but normal.
He didn't smell like himself, though. The room smelled of disinfectants, not his normal manly scent tinged with soap. Somehow, that was as scary as his complete stillness.
Then she saw his chest rise slowly, and fall. Again, and again.
"See, he's sleeping," Sara told her. "Knife says he's doing really well. He's a strong man, and he'll come through this just fine."
She gave Manda's good shoulder a gentle squeeze, and moved away, leaving Manda alone with her hero.
Manda watched T sleep, the ache of tears behind her eyes mirroring the ache in her heart. She’d saved him from dying, repaid him, at least in part, for saving her.
She just hoped it was enough for him to want to... she wasn't sure what. For them to be friendly, at least. Be more, if they could figure out how to do that in a way that didn't involve instant co-habitation.
Because even on painkillers, she knew that wasn't a good idea.