Chapter Two

 

Kaiden

The whir of a blender woke me from a peaceful slumber. Its grating noise an unwelcomed assault to my sense of hearing. I buried my head under the covers and gritted my teeth, biting back every curse word known to mankind.

Every. Fucking. Morning.

Squeezing my eyes closed against the pain, I counted as I waited for it to end. How the fuck long did it take someone to blend some fruit and yogurt? I’d swear some mornings she walked away from it and left it while she did other things. Did she not get the memo about the sensitivity to loud noises?

Sure she did, but it had probably slipped her mind already because it didn’t concern her. She probably didn’t even remember I was injured.

I pressed my palms to my ears in an effort to block out as much of the violation as I could. It barely worked. In reality, the blender probably ran for under a minute, but with the residual effects of a concussion still ailing my tender frontal lobe, it felt like more than a dozen before the house fell into silence once again.

I remained with my head under the pillow as I mentally created a list of all the possible ways to kill a blender. Sadly, “run it over with the car” was no longer an option. It didn’t matter, I could be creative. Too bad we didn’t have a second story because I’d have loved to see it fly out a window.

I waited under the covers for sleep to return, but it drifted away as an incessant headache throbbed relentlessly. Its permanence further grating my already frayed nerves. If it left me that moment, it wouldn’t be soon enough. Submitting to the fact that I was finished sleeping, I pulled myself to sit on the edge of the bed and waited as a brief wave of dizziness passed.

The room tilted, but I was relieved to find it wasn’t nearly as horrendous as it had been over the previous two days or immediately after the accident. The improvement, however scant, should have elevated my mood. If only I could get rid of the blasted pain severing my temple and stabbing into the backs of my eyes. Normal was beginning to feel like an illusion. Nothing more than a fabled state of being I no longer believed existed.

Fuck, I was miserable.

Once I was convinced I wouldn’t end up on my ass, I made my way to the bathroom, a short stint down the hall. The kitchen clatter was louder when I left my bedroom, and I squinted against the clang of a stainless steel something-or-other being dropped in the sink. Probably a spoon.

In the bathroom, I twisted three of the four bulbs loose which sat in a line over the mirror and above the sink. Only then did I flip the light switch on, bracing for the static-like shock to my brain when that single bulb illuminated. It hurt like a bitch changing from dark to light suddenly.

Once my eyes adjusted, I peered at myself in the mirror. My umber-colored eyes were bloodshot and heavy. Tired. Their state directly contradicting the endless amount of sleep I’d had all week. My ordinarily sun-kissed skin was pale, accentuating the yellowing bruises circling both my eyes and bridging my nose. There were traces of purple and blue mixed in, but the swelling had gone down. The two-inch gash above my right eye was angry and inflamed. The place where the stitches worked to re-knit my skin together was red and hot to the touch. I winced as I pressed a finger against the abrasion. It screamed in anger with every pinch of expression across my face.

Inside the medicine cabinet, I found the tube of antibiotic ointment I’d been forgetting to apply and coated the wound with a generous blob. Thankfully, it was the anti-pain kind, and after a minute, the sting from my prodding lessened to a dull, padded ache I could ignore. Once I’d returned the ointment, I searched up the bottle of extra strength painkillers and popped two, chasing them down with water from the tap.

Staring at my reflection again, I contemplated a shower. My jet-black hair was greasy and sticking out all amuck. Dressed in a simple pair of black boxers, I tried to remember the last time I’d bothered cleaning. What day was it? I couldn’t remember. I thought I’d been home from the hospital five or six days, but maybe it was longer. I remembered showering the day I was released, but not since then. A quick sniff confirmed my need for a wash.

I stripped out of my boxers and begrudgingly took a hot shower, moving slowly and washing carefully so I wouldn’t aggravate my headache or irritate my stitches in the process. It felt good and managed to calm my strained muscles and soothe my still-battered body.

Once finished, I found a pair of lounge pants in the mess of clothes on my bedroom floor and shuffled down the hallway to the kitchen.

It was just shy of seven thirty, and I knew Mom would be heading out the door at any moment. Her office hours were regular and unchanging. She’d been working as a secretary in Dr. Purdy’s optometry office since before I was born.

My mother sat on a stool she’d pulled up to the kitchen island, drinking her fruit smoothie and flipping through the news app on her phone. She wore the same customary green scrubs she’d been wearing for years with her name badge clipped over the pocket on the left-hand side. Madison Cartwright.

The picture on the badge was ten years old, but she hadn’t changed a whole lot. Her dark hair had more silver highlights, and the creases around her eyes were more pronounced. Otherwise, she’d aged well.

She lifted her head when I entered, but immediately resumed scanning the local headlines without the courtesy of a greeting. I followed suit and shuffled to the coffee pot. The icy wall of indifference was a permanent fixture in both our lives; something so common neither of us saw it as anything but normal.

The coffee pot was empty. She hadn’t made any.

“Why isn’t there coffee?” I mumbled, staring at the empty carafe.

“Loraine is bringing coffee to the office today since it’s Friday.”

Lovely. Was Loraine bringing me coffee? I was guessing not.

Just as I was about to gripe, my phone’s alarm rang its annoying tune from down the hall in my bedroom. I flinched and dragged my gaze from the coffee machine to the hallway, processing on a much slower level than was typical.

Grumbling, I pushed off the counter and surrendered to the annoying pull, heading back toward my room to silence it.

Why had I set my alarm anyway?

Retrieving my cell from among the debris littering my bedside table, I glanced at the reminder I’d set as I swiped it off.

Doctor’s appt. 8:30

“Shit.” I’d forgotten about that. Good thing I’d set the alarm.

I considered the disaster of clothing all over the floor: inside-out pants, T-shirts, underwear, socks balled into themselves, hoodies. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d opened my dresser drawer. Kicking through a bigger pile beside the bed, I came up with a semi-clean looking pair of jeans and a gray hoodie. I brought them to my nose and sniffed, cringing at the stale mixture of smoke and body odor. With a few spritzes of body spray, they’d have to do.

I needed to do laundry.

Once I’d dressed and doused myself in enough Axe spray I smelled like summer rain or some shit, I returned to the kitchen.

“I need twenty bucks,” I grumbled as my mother packed her lunch bag for work.

“How come?”

“You didn’t make coffee, and I need one. I also have a doctor’s appointment this morning, and I need cab fare.”

She turned from the counter and stared at me with a momentary edge of confusion. I’d have liked to have thought it was because she couldn’t understand my pointed reference at needing to take a cab and wanted to debate that a bus would be cheaper, but the truth was clear when she took in the remaining bruises across my face. She’d forgotten about my accident already and ergo also my follow-up doctor’s appointment.

Big fucking surprise.

Her puzzlement cleared, and I waited for the snappy comment about the bus followed by the ongoing rant over her insurance company and how they were dragging their asses. I went so far as to stare her down, daring her to voice any of it. She didn’t.

Her gaze returned to her lunch bag as she mumbled, “In my purse.” As I dug out twenty bucks, she squirmed and eventually faced me. “Umm… how are you feeling?”

Forced. Not an ounce of remorse or empathy present. Cold, calculated, zero hints of endearment. The dozens of patients she saw daily at the doctor’s office probably saw more compassion than I ever would.

“I’m fine.”

I shoved the twenty in my pocket and returned to my room. She didn’t press the issue; she didn’t really care. My wellbeing was outside her box of concerns. She’d only asked because it had been drilled into her enough times over twenty-three years that she was supposed to care. In her mind, she knew the right things to say and do, but her heart never connected, and it always came off as patronizing or indifferent. That element of motherhood had never existed.

When the front door clicked a few minutes later without a simple farewell or good luck today, I wasn’t surprised. With my eyes closed and an arm draped over the top, I willed my head to stop pounding and for the painkillers to take effect. Only when I started drifting off to sleep did I force myself up again. If I crashed, I’d miss my appointment for sure.

 

* * *

 

“It’s infected.” I flinched as Dr. Rupert pressed a gloved finger to my laceration. It was hot and tender. “You haven’t been doing your post-care, have you?”

“I put cream on it this morning.” After I’d realized how awful it looked… Then, I’d showered and probably washed it all away. Oops.

I sucked air between teeth as he thumbed a new spot and grumbled disapprovingly. His frown brought his bushy eyebrows together, making more than a few wayward hairs poke out long and gangly in every direction.

“You’ll need a prescription-strength antibiotic cream now. I’ll have a nurse come and clean this up before you go.”

He abandoned his examination and returned to his stool on the other side of the small office. “How are the headaches?”

“Bad,” I mumbled. “And I’m still dizzy, but it’s moderately improving.”

“It takes time. Some people complain of symptoms as much as two and three months after an injury. Are you resting?”

“Yeah, it’s all I’m doing.”

“Good. Everything seems to be progressing in a positive direction. No worsening symptoms, so I think all will be well.”

“Am I still limited?”

It was mid-winter, and I’d been missing out on all the fun. Three times that week I’d had to tell the guys I couldn’t join them when they’d planned snowboarding in the valley and hockey out on the lake.

“Yes, sir. Low key activities for at least a month. Another knock on the head at this point can be very bad. Brain injuries aren’t something to mess around with. We need you to fully heal first.”

I curled my nose at his answer but remained quiet. Fucking stupid red-light-running asshole. He’d ruined the rest of my winter. In another month, the town would start to thaw, and spring would be in the air. There wouldn’t be enough snow on the hills for shit, never mind skating or boarding.

Dr. Rupert was still talking, and I refocused on him, having missed the majority of what he was saying. Something about swelling.

“Okay, I’ll send someone in to get that cleaned up.” He indicated to my cut. “Book an appointment with me in three weeks, and we’ll see how everything is going at that time. If all looks well, then I’d say you will be good to resume your activities.”

Dr. Rupert left, and I stared at my hands for a long time feeling sorry for myself. He had no idea how those limitations hurt. I’d already blown off most of my connections over the past four months all for a ridiculous scam that I should have known wouldn’t go anywhere. Another month would put me as a distant memory, and I’d need to kiss some major ass to reinsert myself back in the group. My reputation was tainted thanks to stupid decisions and listening to a fucking chick tell me what to do.

Could life suck anymore right now?

A moment later, the door to the small exam room pushed open. I expected Aria to come through. She was older than me by about four years, but cute as a button. I remembered her being in my brother’s grade during his last year of high school. I’d crushed on her so hard back then, but she didn’t even know I was alive. She’d gone to nursing school in another city but had returned to take a job at Dr. Rupert’s office a few months back. When I’d heard the news that she was in town, my heart had done a little flip. Then, I’d heard she’d returned with a husband, and the butterflies died and rotted in my belly.  

It wasn’t Aria. A nurse I didn’t recognize waltzed through the door, studying my file on his clipboard. A young man with light brown hair that curled around his ears. He was tall and slender with a gentle face, kind eyes, and a crooked smile.

“Good morning,” he referred to the clipboard, “Kaiden. I’m Harper, Dr. Rupert has asked that I clean up your injury there.” He indicated to my head with a nod and proceeded to find gloves and supplies on a nearby counter.

I could tell immediately, I didn’t like Harper. He was one of those postcard-perfect people without a flaw to be found. His voice was silky smooth with the exact amount of reverberation in his tone to make him sound sexy, but not like he was coming on to you. His skin was ivory and dotted with a faint smattering of freckles that girls would swoon over. The color of his irises reminded me of maple syrup, and fuck if they didn’t shimmer in the light. He probably had a perfect life, too. University diploma. Two loving, doting parents. Well-paying job. Friends.

He reminded me of Emery; not in looks, exactly, but in every other way.

Yes, I definitely hated Mr. Put-together Harper.

As he pulled his stool up in front of me and eyed the cut above my eyebrow, he tsked and shook his head.

“That’s looking rough. I think I might pull a few of these lingering stitches. They are dissolving, but some of them are embedding under the skin, and it’s not helping. This may hurt a bit, but I think it will help in the long run.”

I mumbled something that resembled agreeance as he found a pair of tweezers on his tray of instruments. With an alcohol-soaked cotton swab, he gently rubbed the area as I cringed and waited for the impending attack.

But, no. Not only was Harper the embodiment of physical perfection, but he was also incredibly delicate in his approach and managed to remove a number of ailing stitches without hurting me at all. Bastard.

“So, this looks like it was some pretty nasty bruising. What happened?” I flinched when he dragged his thumb over the bridge of my nose.

“Car accident. A guy ran a red and clipped me. Sent me sliding on the ice, and I hit a pole.”

Harper’s face turned sympathetic.

“Wasn’t wearing a seatbelt,” I continued, drawing in on his concern, yet hating him even more. “Bashed my head pretty good. Windshield shattered. Took glass to the face, I guess. Don’t really remember it.”

“Mmm.” He put the tweezers aside and swiped again with the cotton swab, leaving it to sit on my skin for a few extra seconds. “I’m glad it wasn’t any worse. Those roads can be awful this time of year. People should slow down and pay attention.”

I couldn’t speak anymore and simply gawked as he studied my head and nodded, satisfied with whatever he’d done. Fuck if I didn’t get more compassion from a stranger in a doctor’s office than I did my own mother.

As I worked to swallow a sharp pang of misery, Harper applied ointment over the tender flesh above my eye. I remained silent as he worked, forcing my thoughts elsewhere as I avoided staring directly at my pathetic life. His tender touch pulled at something deep inside, unearthing a wistful craving for something I no longer had.

No longer want or need, remember? Fuck!

Pressing my teeth together, I shoved all those thoughts away and ignored the affection the stranger in front of me showed. Affection I’d craved and yearned for all my life. The same affection I’d once had which vanished four years back in an explosion of anger and confusion.

Once finished, Harper stood from his stool and shed his gloves, tossing them in the trash. His smile was honest and his gaze penetrating.

“Clean it with a gentle soap and warm water twice a day and ensure you apply some of that prescription cream as well. It should clear up and be good as new in a few days. It’s healing nicely otherwise. With luck, you won’t scar too badly.”

Nodding, I stood and put on my jacket. “Thanks,” I mumbled, avoiding that gaze. Those eyes.

He started penning on my chart as I pulled the door open to leave, but before I got far, he called out, stopping me.

“Oh, and Kaiden.”

I flipped back and tensed as I waited for him to continue.

“Smarten up and wear a seatbelt next time.”

He didn’t follow the statement with an okay. He delivered it with a firm tongue and piercing gaze, not allowing room for argument. In the faraway reaches of my brain, it was Emery’s voice I heard, not Harper’s. They were Emery’s fierce eyes. Emery’s unchallengeable stance. 

The hairs on my arms stood, and I gulped down a mouthful of nervous tension as I nodded, wide-eyed. My stomach flipped, and a funny warmth radiated through my entire body.

The battle inside my mind played out, the same way it had for more years than I could count. I didn’t hate Nurse Harper. Instead, I loathed him with every fiber of my being for making me remember.

For making me yearn and miss something I should never, ever be yearning and missing. 

I didn’t remember leaving the office, making my follow-up appointment, or calling a cab to pick me up. All I registered was my racing heart, and with every thud, my headache pounded in sympathy.