Lansing stared at Brandon wide-eyed. “Yes, I do.”
“Yes, I do, what?” Brandon raised his voice just slightly, but there was no masking his signature drill instructor demanding tone.
Lansing stood up a little straighter, blinking a little faster. “Yes, I do, sir.”
“Then I suggest you go get him or her in here now.”
“He, uh, he’s not here tonight, sir.” Lansing glanced back at Ms. Brady and down at her ankle again. “But, uh, I apologize for any disrespect. I assure you there was none intended, and, uh, I can get her those painkillers no problem. I just—”
“No excuses, Lansing. Ms. Brady is in a lot of pain. Go get them now.”
“Yes, sir,” Lansing said, nodding at Brandon and then at Ms. Brady.
“I still want your supervisor’s name,” Brandon informed him coldly.
“Yes, sir,” the corporal said again before walking away in a hurry.
The only reason he let him off the hook and didn’t demand he get one of his higher ups, anyone, was because getting Ms. Brady her pain medicine took precedence at that moment. But he had every intention of speaking with Lansing’s supervisor.
Brandon turned back to Ms. Brady. She was staring him wide-eyed.
“Are you really gonna get him in trouble?” she asked, her brows coming together suddenly. “For not moving fast enough?”
This time the little princess’s glare was not quite as amusing. He didn’t expect her to understand, and he wouldn’t bother to explain himself, but it was still annoying as shit that she’d question him. The Marine code of honor and respect was not something you explained. It was something instilled in you by living it. “I said I’d be speaking with his supervisor. It’s up to his supervisor to decide whether or not he’ll be in trouble, but if he were my subordinate, there certainly would be repercussions.”
“Repercussions for what? He did nothing wrong.”
Lansing walked to Ms. Brady’s side swiftly. “I’ll attach a saline lock to your hand in case you need more pain medicine again. That way I won’t have to keep poking you, and the relief will be instantaneous.”
Ms. Brady smiled at Lansing and thanked him profusely for doing what he should’ve done the moment he’d seen the size of her swollen ankle and how much pain she was in. As he worked on getting the saline lock taped to her hand, he asked her quickly about any allergies or reactions to morphine and if she was by any chance pregnant to which she interestingly answered, “Absolutely not.” These were the questions Lansing indicated earlier that would take far more time to get to. “Now you’re going to feel a little woozy, Ms. Brady, maybe even a little like you’re drunk or high. Morphine is, after all, a narcotic, so expect some dizziness and even confusion, but don’t worry. It’s all normal.”
Nodding, Ms. Brady closed her eyes as he inserted the needle in the vein on the top of her hand. Brandon watched her strained expression as Lansing began administering the medicine through the saline lock. Slowly the still-pained expression began to ease as the morphine began to take effect.
“The relief will be almost immediate,” Lansing reminded her cautiously.
Yeah, no shit. That’s why he should’ve given it to her a long time ago.
“Be careful not to move your ankle, though.” Lansing warned. “Just because it won’t hurt to do so anymore, doesn’t mean you should. It’s still injured, and moving it might make it worse.”
After a few moments, she glanced over at Brandon, a silly smile spreading across her face and her eyes already drooping a little. “I feel better already,” she said with a slight slur.
Brandon nodded at her but said nothing and certainly didn’t offer any smiles. He knew all too well from his own past injuries and those of many of his recruits what morphine could do to you—make you feel. He didn’t want to encourage any such behavior from her now that, given the circumstances, Lansing had probably given her a big fat dose of the stuff.
Lansing went back to what he’d begun to do before Brandon had demanded the pain medicine for Ms. Brady. In hindsight, Brandon understood a little now why Lansing had wanted to get all the information he collected now from her before shooting her up with the pain meds. Getting straight and coherent answers from Ms. Brady in this inebriated and confused state of mind took a lot longer than it would have if he’d done so before. Still she was out of pain now, and that’s all that mattered.
Listening quietly as she answered all the pertinent questions, Brandon took note of some of the answers that shouldn’t interest him but annoyingly did. She wasn’t married or living with anyone. Her emergency contacts were her parents, who lived more than an hour away in one direction, and her sister, who lived a half hour in the opposite direction. She was twenty-seven, and the only medication she was on was one she said was for anxiety, but she hadn’t taken it in weeks. He noticed how she lowered her voice when answering that and a few other more personal questions, such as she just finished her menstrual cycle and she had been pregnant once but never full term. She’d lost the baby at six weeks a little over a year ago.
Brandon took a few steps away. “I can wait for you in the waiting room,” he offered, feeling as if he were intruding on her privacy now.
To his surprise, she shook her head quickly, holding her hand up to him. “No, please stay here.”
Seeing her sitting there looking so vulnerable and those big eyes practically pleading, he reminded himself she was on a strong narcotic. Just because her family wasn’t nearby and she was asking him to stay close wasn’t an invitation to take care of her. So why did it feel like it, but most alarmingly, why the hell was he hoping it was?
Already, he’d had every intention of getting her the care she needed and of making sure she got home okay. Hearing she lived alone with no close family made him wonder how she’d manage if her foot was broken.
This had to stop.
He walked back slowly to where he’d been standing previously but said nothing. The doctor finally came in after Lansing finished with all his questions, taking her vitals, and icing her foot.
A couple of hours later, after a thorough examination then waiting for an X-ray to be taken then more waiting, the morphine had worn off, and Ms. Brady was no longer woozy and smiling silly. But she did have one request that made Brandon wonder if it was still the morphine talking. “Will you call me Regina, please? Ms. Brady sounds so formal.” He nodded, but he refused to say it until he had to. “What’s your first name?”
He stared at her for a moment, taking a long slow breath. He should’ve left when she offered him the opportunity. He knew he’d regret this and already was. “Brandon,” he said finally.
She smiled, taking in his name. “May I call you that?”
“No” was his immediate response.
Her expression should’ve had him suppressing a smile; instead, he swallowed hard, feeling a bit panicked. He’d seriously fucked up by still being here with her.
“Okay, Regina,” the doctor said, pulling the curtain aside.
That curtain was the only thing that separated Ms. Brady’s bed from the one next to her in the emergency room, and it still felt too intimate for Brandon. She’d told him it was okay if he wanted to sit on the bed next to her, but he’d passed. Just being here with her this long was a mistake. Sitting next to her on her bed would be too damn cozy.
“Well, the good news is it looks as if there are no broken bones,” the doctor informed them as she placed the X-ray up on the lighted board. “But your ankle is badly sprained with a few stretched ligaments. So you’ll have to wear an air splint for a week, maybe two, to keep the ankle immobile and make sure you don’t further stretch those ligaments.”
“Immobile?” Ms. Brady asked, sitting up straighter. “Does that mean I can’t go to work? I really need to be there.”
“It means you really should stay off your ankle as much as possible.” The doctor turned back to look at Ms. Brady. “What kind of work do you do?”
“Office work,” Ms. Brady said quickly. “I’m a structural engineer, and we’re in a middle of a big project, but I’d be mostly sitting all day in front of the computer, on the phone, in meetings—that kind of stuff—all off my feet.”
The doctor gave Ms. Brady a knowing look, picking up on the fact that she seemed to be trying to convince her. Then she brought her attention back to the lighted board with the X-ray on it and pointed at the area in question. “See that?” She turned back and winced at Ms. Brady. “Those stretched ligaments are causing all the pain. You don’t wanna mess with those. If you rupture or tear one completely, that pain will be so much worse, and it’ll take a lot longer to heal. You really shouldn’t be putting any pressure on it, and driving alone will do that. But,” she shrugged, “I know what it’s like to have to be at work. I’d suggest you at least take one full day to stay off it completely before going back. When you do, make sure that you really are mostly sitting and try to keep it elevated as much as possible.”
Ms. Brady nodded, and Brandon felt something else he shouldn’t be feeling—relief. He shouldn’t care one way or the other if she followed her doctor’s orders or not. Just because he knew the doctor was right—she should stay off her ankle and for much longer than just a day—it shouldn’t be his concern.
The doctor examined her ankle again, feeling around to make sure where exactly the stretched ligaments were before adding the dressing and air splint. After all that, Ms. Brady was in pain again. They gave her another dose of the morphine, which took effect immediately.
“It’s a good thing it’s late because you’ll go home and will sleep like a baby.” The doctor smiled as she finished administering the medicine into Ms. Brady’s saline lock.
The doctor left, and Lansing was back in within minutes to remove the saline lock and give Ms. Brady the prescription the doctor had written up for her pain medicine.
“These are extra,” he handed her a few packets, “in case you can’t get to the pharmacy until tomorrow. You’ll probably be in pain in the morning when this stuff wears off.”
Ms. Brady smiled goofily, taking them from him. “Thank you, Rob. That’s so thoughtful of you.” She reached out and squeezed Rob’s forearm. “You’re a very sweet guy. I meant to ask you earlier. Are you married?”
Lansing smiled, looking as surprised at her question as Brandon felt irritated by it. “No, actually I’m not.”
He glanced back at Brandon, who stared him down hard. If the guy had half a brain, he’d give Ms. Brady her release papers and leave fast. He may know Brandon wasn’t her husband and that she’d referred to him as just someone who worked in the same building, but the guy had to know there was more to Brandon’s interest in being here. No guy, unless he was out of his mind, would walk into that emergency room and demand things like he had then spend all these hours waiting with a girl he barely knew. The last time Brandon had checked he was a sane man. So as much as he hated to admit it, the fact that he was still standing here already anxious to get her out of there so he could have her all to himself again, had all kinds of internal sirens going off—sirens this guy better damn well be hearing too.
Fortunately for Lansing, he did have a brain after all because he quickly changed the subject to instructions on removing and replacing Ms. Brady’s ankle dressing and air splint. He gave her crutches then released her, rushing away to another patient.
Earlier while she’d been getting X-rayed, Brandon had hurried back in the golf cart, leaving it on the side of the building they worked in where it was supposed to be. He brought his Jeep back to the hospital instead.
Rolling her out to the Jeep, he was glad now that he hadn’t lifted the Jeep yet as he intended to. It was already high enough that he knew she’d have trouble getting in. He threw the crutches in the back seat, opened the window, and helped Ms. Brady out of the wheelchair. “Leave everything on the chair, Ms. Brady. I—”
“You said you’d call me Regina,” her voice went a little high as she wrapped an arm around his neck and wobbled onto her good foot.
He adjusted her so he could get a good hold of her to lift her into the Jeep, and their eyes met. He’d never actually said he would, but he wasn’t going to argue. “Just leave your things on the chair. I’ll grab them once I have you in the Jeep.”
She wrapped her other arm around his neck and tilted her head to the side with a frown. “Why don’t you like me, Sergeant Billings?”
He stared at her for a moment but didn’t answer. Instead, he lifted her onto the passenger side of his Jeep and closed the door. He grabbed her things from the wheelchair and threw them in the backseat, walking around the Jeep in a huff.
He fucking knew this was a bad idea.
As soon as he was in the driver’s seat, she was at it again. “Can you at least tell me what it is about me that you dislike so much?”
Her words were noticeably less affected than they had been when Lansing had given her the morphine. She wasn’t even slurring, just speaking a little slower. The doctor must’ve gone a lot lighter on the dose.
He inhaled deeply as he slid the key into the ignition. “I never said I didn’t like you. I just said I had no interest in getting to know you.” Without turning to look at her, because he heard the gasp and he could only imagine the amusing expression on her face, he revved the Jeep up. “Fasten your seatbelt.”
“But that’s mean! You don’t say that to someone unless you don’t like them or are deliberately trying to hurt their feelings, which you did.” She paused as she put her seatbelt on. “And you don’t deliberately try to hurt someone’s feelings unless you don’t like them.”
Refusing to look at her, he pulled forward to get out of the patient pick-up line. “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings. It wasn’t my intention.”
“Yes, it was,” she insisted.
“No, it wasn’t.” Pulling into the exit driveway of the hospital, he finally glanced at her, instantly regretting it because she looked adorable with that little crease between her eyes and her arms mulishly crossed in front of her. Struggling not to smile, he asked, “Which way do I turn?”
“Right,” she said. “And why can’t I call you by your first name?”
He bit down, locking his jaw for a moment before responding. This conversation needed to be derailed and soon because he was not getting personal with her. “Because we know each other strictly on a professional level, and I’d like to keep it that way. Referring to each other by first names would not be professional.” He heard her exhale a bit exasperated, but thankfully she didn’t say more. “Where do you live?”
She told him where, and it should’ve frustrated him further; instead, he smiled inwardly that her condo was only blocks from his apartment. Of course, she lived in an oceanfront condo, and he lived in an apartment building that was a few blocks away from the beach, but it wasn’t as if he couldn’t afford to live more lavishly. He just chose not to.
To his relief, she was quiet the rest of the way, but he felt the tension thickening with every minute they drove in silence. He’d gladly take the tension over getting back into that risky conversation again. After spending several hours with her now, he’d be too tempted to assure her he didn’t dislike her because he hated knowing he’d hurt her feelings. It was better if they left things as they were with him not exactly denying he didn’t like her only clarifying what he’d actually said.
Scrutinizing the two-story building she pointed out as hers, he pulled into the security gate entrance and frowned. “I hope for your sake there’s an elevator.”
“I have crutches now,” she said, still sounding a little irritated with him. “You won’t have to carry me up.”
He turned to her, suddenly overwhelmed with concern. “You’re serious? You’re on the second floor, and there’s no elevator?”
She shook her head. “The code is 7119.”
Frowning, he turned to the security pad and punched in the numbers.
“My condo is on the first floor,” she clarified as they waited for the gate to open slowly.
“Then what did you mean about me not having to carry you up?”
He drove in the gate as she pointed in the direction of her condo. “It’s the last one on the right. They’re all on the first floor. They’re just all two stories,” she explained. “So my bedroom is on the second floor, and no there’s no elevator in my condo. I’ll be hopping upstairs or using my crutches to get up there.”
“Not tonight you won’t.” The words shot out without even thinking. “I mean,” he said, quickly backpedaling, “your ankle is still so swollen, and you’re still under the influence of morphine. You could fall again.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said as he pulled into the parking space just in front of her condo. She turned around and grabbed her crutches.
Before he could open his door, she was already opening hers. “Don’t get out.” His words were far more commanding than she’d obviously expected to hear from him, and she turned to look at him, her eyes confirming his tone had startled her. “I’ll come around and help you.”
He rushed around the Jeep because he was already picking up on her tenacity and decided she may very well ignore his request that she wait for him to come around and help her. He cursed under his breath. Was she really going to try to make it up to the second floor when she could barely stand without wobbling?
Sure as shit she already had the door open and her good leg hanging out, trying to place the crutches on the ground. He held his hand out for her. “Give me your hand, Ms. Brady. I’ll get you down.”
She’d begun to take his hand but took it back. “Oh, can we please stop with that, Brandon? It’s so silly.” Her furrowed brows were back, and Brandon stared at her, trying not to get caught up in those big dark eyes as he had too often tonight already. “We’ve been around each other all night. We may not know each other very well, but I’d say, after the hours we’ve spent together, we can at least be on a first-name basis.”
Moving in closer to her, he saw her eyes widen. “Forget about giving me your hand,” he said, disregarding her previous comments and took her by the waist. “Put your hands on my shoulders instead.”
She didn’t move right away but then huffed and complied. He lifted her off the seat, bringing her body against his as she slid down until her good foot was on the ground.
“Keep holding on to me,” he said, ignoring the way she was staring at him and reached for her crutch. “Here you go.” He placed the crutch under her arm but continued to hold on to her firmly, even as she put her weight down on the crutch and her good foot. “Don’t let the other one touch the ground. Remember you don’t want to put any pressure on it at all yet.” Even after placing the other crutch under her other arm, she still swayed a little and didn’t look at all as if she’d be going too far without taking a tumble. “Maybe I should just carry you. You seem a little dizzy still.”
“I got it,” she insisted, but he didn’t let go of her, walking alongside of her as she struggled with every step.
When she nearly fell for the third time, he took the crutch from under her left arm and threw it down on the grassy area in front of her condo.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Keeping you from falling and breaking your other ankle.”
He would’ve preferred throwing her stubborn ass over his shoulder, but he was afraid of hurting her ankle, so he lifted her once again, cradling her in his arms. She dropped the other crutch and wrapped her arms around his neck. Having her in his arms like this just like when she’d slid down his body getting out of the car felt too damn good. He needed to get her inside and get the hell out of there fast. He reached the small porch with a wooden swing bench. “You have the keys on you?”
“Oh, no.” She winced. “They’re in my purse in your back seat.”
Brandon placed her down on the bench, careful that it didn’t swing too much. He rushed back to the Jeep and grabbed her purse, determined to get this over with. Even if she did insist she was going upstairs tonight when she couldn’t even make it from his Jeep to the front door, he wouldn’t be arguing. She wasn’t his concern. He’d get her in and wash his hands of her. He’d already gone above and beyond considering the risk he knew he’d be taking the moment he decided to stay with her the whole time tonight.
Picking up the crutches from the grass on the way back with her purse, he handed it to her, not wanting to dig through it himself. He leaned the crutches against the wall just outside her front door. Regina took the purse, and after looking through it for a few seconds, she handed him the key. He unlocked the front door and opened it. The front room was completely dark, and his hand searched the wall just inside next to the door. “Is this where . . .?” he began to ask, but then found the switch and turned the lights on. He blinked, staring into the nearly empty front room. “You don’t have furniture?” he asked, not sure if maybe she’d been burglarized, because there were a few things in her front room—a couple of plants, a few boxes, and a big antique-looking trunk.
“I’ve only been living here a few weeks. I, uh, left most of my furniture in New York,” she explained. “It would’ve been too much of a hassle to bring. I do have furniture coming, but the front room stuff was special order, so it’s taking longer to arrive. I have appliances and a kitchen table,” she offered with a smile. “Oh and the most important item I had delivered before I even arrived. My bed.”
Brandon’s shoulders slumped and he let his head fall back. No wonder she was insisting she could go upstairs tonight. Where the hell else would she be sleeping if she didn’t? Fuck! As indifferent as he wanted to be about this and help her in the front door then turn around and walk away, he couldn’t in clear conscience just leave her like this. “Maybe you should get a room for the night,” he suggested.
It’d be a lot safer that he drop her off at one, get her in the door, and walk away rather than having to carry her up those stairs to her bedroom. Maybe tomorrow, once she had a clearer head, she could manage making it up these stairs without hurting herself.
“No, I’ll be fine,” she said, already trying to stand on her own.
Goddamn obstinate woman.
“Hold on,” he said as he placed the crutches inside the condo. He hurried to help her up, and within moments, she was in his arms again as he cradled her. “Are you sure?” he asked again. “I can get you up there tonight,” he said, glancing up the staircase. “But what about tomorrow? What if you’re stuck up there?”
“I won’t be stuck,” she said, motioning with her head toward the small table with four chairs around it in the kitchen nook. “And you’re not carrying me up.”
“Why not?” he asked, losing his patience as he set her down on the chair. “You can’t—”
“Because Sergeant—” She caught herself and lifted that stubborn but very sweet chin. “Because, Brandon, I’m starving. I’m gonna make myself something to eat before heading up, and if you plan on carrying me up, that would mean you’d have to wait. I’ve taken up enough of your time already. I won’t take anymore. I appreciate all your help and your offer to do more, but I’ll get up there on my own. It might take me a while, but I can do it. You really should get home. I’ve kept you up so late already.”
Feeling defeated, Brandon leaned against the wall. “What if I go get you something to eat and bring it back? I’ll carry you up, and you can eat it up there.”
He just needed this night to be over already—needed to stop looking into those stunning eyes before she asked him anything personal again. The longer he was around her, the more his interest in getting to know her grew. He knew that the longer he stayed here the harder it would be to get her off his mind. Even before she’d fallen tonight, she’d annoyingly seeped into his thoughts too much already. The memory of having her body pressed against his, the scent of her hair, and those lips so close he could almost taste them would be impossible to forget now. But it felt equally impossible to walk away—leave her here to brave those stairs on her own. He was already too committed, and he was slowly losing the battle to fight this.
“I have leftover pizza in the fridge. It’d be faster if you could help me warm it.” Her eyes opened wide suddenly, and she touched his arm. “Oh my God, you haven’t eaten either. You must be just as starved as I am. You’re welcome to have some of the pizza. There’s plenty.”
She started to stand, but he held her down. “I’ll get the pizza. You stay there.”
He walked into her small kitchen. Somehow he thought a fancy oceanfront place like this would be bigger, but aside from whatever was upstairs, the bottom of her condo wasn’t much bigger than his apartment, and the kitchen was just as tiny as his. He opened the fridge and pulled out the large pizza box. “You ordered this big thing for yourself?”
“I always order a large,” she said. “I like eating it for breakfast and lunch for the next few days.”
Placing the box on the counter, he opened it and stared at the odd-looking toppings. She’d been right about one thing. He was starving, and he was hoping for meat—lots of it. Instead they’d be feasting on a pizza with broccoli, bell peppers, and red onions. At least he saw what looked like chunks of chicken. It reminded him of her pickiness at the airport with her salad.
After a few minutes of searching in her cabinets with Ms. Brady verbally walking him through where everything was and how her microwave worked, he was back in the small nook area with a tray of pizza, napkins, and two mini bottles of Coke Zero.
“I don’t think I’ve ever had pizza with broccoli,” he said as he took the seat across from her.
“No?” she asked, taking a slice and putting it on her napkin. “It’s really good. Well, this place I order from is really good. All their pizzas are amazing. They have this spinach/shrimp one with goat cheese that’s to die for. But I’m afraid my sister’s made me a bit of a pizza snob. I don’t order from anywhere else now.”
Brandon stared at her as he chewed, trying not to be too obvious about watching her lick those plump lips. The pizza wasn’t half bad. Maybe it was just that he’d been starving, but the more he chewed it, the more he realized that it was actually pretty damn good. He debated on whether or not to ask what he wanted to ask because it was bordering on personal, but he figured what the hell. They were just talking food. “You said you just moved here. How do you know so much about this place’s pizza? You’ve been eating pizza this whole time?”
She smiled, holding the napkin to her mouth and shook her head. “No, this is actually the first time I’ve ordered from there since I got here. But I’m originally from Southern California, so I discovered this place, or rather my sister turned me on to it, years ago.”
Nodding, Brandon wondered just what the doctor had shot her up with. She might’ve been a little wobbly on her way in, but she seemed awfully clear-headed now—nothing like how she’d been in earlier in the hospital. Except for her annoyingly friendly behavior with Lansing, asking him if he were married, the near whining she’d done just as they got in her car, and the outright questioning of why he didn’t like her, she now seemed back to acting like her normal self.
“Are you seriously gonna go in tomorrow?” he asked.
She nodded immediately as if she didn’t even have to think about it.
“You’re not even gonna take a day off like the doc said you should?”
“I can’t,” she said as tenacious as ever. “I have lots of work I need to get done.”
He stared at her for a moment before deciding once again she wasn’t his problem. If she was going to insist she didn’t need a day off, then so be it. It wasn’t his concern.
They ate quietly for a few moments. Then she cleared her throat a little too loudly, so he looked up at her. “Are you really not gonna tell me what I did to make you dislike me so much? Because I don’t care what you say. I know you don’t.”
Chewing slowly, Brandon stared at her quizzical and somewhat playful eyes without responding.
“I mean at first I thought maybe you were just like that with everyone, but then I saw you at Gaslamp, and you seemed to be really enjoying yourself until . . .” The playful expression was replaced with a wounded one, and she glanced down at her pizza. “Until you saw me.”
Swallowing down his pizza, he took a sip of his soda. He should’ve left when she told him he should. There was no way he could now, and this was about to get personal.