Chapter 17
Lydia
It’s Tuesday afternoon and I’m sitting in the break room at work after having just come from Colby Morgan’s room... again. Since Colby got off the ventilator and out of the ICU five days ago, other than my day off on Sunday, I’ve been to Colby’s room an embarrassing amount of times. Four times a day. It’s utterly ridiculous, I know. Indefensible. But I simply can’t help myself.
More often than not, I go to Colby’s room to work with him in my official capacity, and during our time together, I help him with all the usual stuff for this stage of the game. I’ve taught him how to sit up in bed. Not an easy thing for someone with Colby’s injuries to do. I’ve shown him how to slowly swing his legs over the side of his bed. To safely transfer into and out of his wheelchair, on and off the toilet, and into and out of his bed.
But, of course, the bulk of my time with Colby has been spent touching his broken body as he’s lain in bed like a beautiful racehorse felled on the track. I’ve massaged his sore muscles and manipulated his stiff and aching joints and done my best to infuse him with every drop of healing energy I can possibly muster. And, through almost all of it, we’ve talked and talked.
But all that accounts for about half the time I’ve spent with Colby in his room. Admittedly, the other half of the time, I’ve been a very bad girl, dropping by Colby’s room to say hello to him and whatever family members happen to be there, just because I love spending time in his room. And on those occasions, despite my best intentions, I always wind up staying much, much longer than intended.
Okay, fine. I admit it. I can’t stay away from Colby Morgan. I crave the touch of his skin under my fingertips. The sound of his masculine voice. Not to mention the sight of his perfect face. Even broken, Colby Morgan is a breathtakingly beautiful man. His blue eyes are mesmerizing. That little cleft in his chin is to die for. Oh, and his lips! The man is a superhero, even when lying in a bed. I swear to God, every time I look at that bruised and battered man, I think: “If Superman had a blonde brother who’d maybe been in a horrible car accident, he’d be Colby Morgan.”
But even better than Colby’s stunning eyes and smooth voice and steel jaw and that swoony little cleft in his superhero chin, it’s Colby’s personality that makes him so damned alluring to me. Talking to him feels like the most natural thing in the world. Now that he’s on a much lower dosage of pain meds, his cockiness has measured off into a kind of humble confidence I find utterly irresistible.
“Well, look at you.”
I look up from the patient file I’ve been pretending to read to find my co-worker, Ramona, another physical therapist, standing next to my table in the break room. Ramona. She’s not my favorite person, to say the least. Indeed, she’s a bitch and a half. She sits her hot little body down next to me and places a coffee mug on the table that reads, I’m not bossy, I’m right!
Ramona smiles thinly and says, “Someone looks like she’s thinking highly pleasant thoughts.”
I straighten up in my chair and clear my throat. “Hi, Ramona. How’s the personal training going?” Of course, Miss Perfect Body moonlights on evenings and weekends as a personal trainer—and, man, does she make sure everyone knows it.
“Great.” She leans back in her chair. “I assume that dreamy smile you had on your face two seconds ago has something to do with the hunky firefighter you’ve been lucky enough to get to work with?”
I sip my coffee rather than reply.
Ramona continues, “I’ve noticed you’ve been visiting the firefighter’s room twice as much as necessary the past few days. Two-a-days, Lydia? Oh my.”
My cheeks flood with color. Good thing she hasn’t noticed I’ve actually been going to Colby’s room four times a day.
Ramona smirks. “Hey, no judgment, girl. If I’d been assigned to the firefighter, I’d find any reason I could think of to sneak into his room, too. And I’d no doubt have a swoony smile on my face and drool running down my chin all day long, the same as you.”
I fight the urge to wipe my chin.
Ramona takes a long sip of her coffee. “Or maybe you’ve been visiting the firefighter’s room so much as an excuse to see his brothers? Holy hot damn. Those Morgan men are smoking hot. Every last one of them.”
“Yeah, they’re a ridiculously gorgeous family, all around,” I say. “His parents and sister are stunning, too. Have you seen them? His sister could literally be a supermodel and his parents could be one of those elegant older couples they always put on Viagra commercials.”
Ramona chuckles.
I continue, “But, trust me, Ramona, no matter how physically gorgeous the Morgans are, it’s nothing compared to how beautiful they are as people. They’re the most loving, funny, devoted...” I trail off. Why the heck am I doing this? Did I just fall off the turnip truck? Ramona doesn’t give a shit about this. Clearly, she sat down here for a reason, and it wasn’t to hear about the good-heartedness of the Morgan clan or to foster a genuine friendship with me.
The first day I started working here a year ago, my boss, Janice, a friend of mine from my old job before Darren died, warned me, “Watch yourself with Ramona, hon. She’ll pretend to be your best friend, but it’s bullshit. She applied for my position at this hospital and was passed over for it, and now she’s a bitter little barracuda about it. She’s gunning for me and anyone she sees as my friend. So just keep your friends close and Ramona even closer.”
Ramona coils a lock of her auburn hair around her finger and flashes a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “Did you know I asked Janice to assign me to the firefighter when he first got here? But she said nope, it had to be you. I reminded her I’ve got seniority by almost three years over you, not to mention everyone knows I always call dibs on any hunky first responders. But Janice said, ‘I think Lydia would be a better fit for this one, Ramona.’ She assured me she’d assign me to the next single, hunky first responder, but something tells me no one will ever compare to Colby Morgan. He’s the holy grail of hunky first responders, don’t you think?” Ramona pauses, apparently waiting for me to agree with her. When I say nothing, she adds, “Any idea why Janice would think you’re a ‘better fit’ to work with the firefighter over me? I’ve racked my brain about it, especially given my seniority, and just can’t seem to come up with a plausible answer.” She shoots me another fake smile.
I return Ramona’s plastic smile and say, “I have no idea why Janice assigned me to the firefighter. If you’re curious about it, ask her.” Screw Ramona. I have zero desire to tell her about Darren. My life’s biggest tragedy is none of her fucking business.
Ramona narrows her eyes and drops a booklet onto the table in front of me. “On a totally unrelated topic... ever seen this before, Lydia?”
I look down and see a booklet I’ve never seen in my life.
“It’s the hospital’s employee handbook,” Ramona explains, her tone frosty.
My stomach clenches. I say nothing.
“I’m just wondering if you’re aware of Section Three, Point Two-A? That’s the policy prohibiting all caregivers, including physical therapists, from engaging in ‘romantic relations’ with any patient they’re currently treating.”
My stomach flips over. My chest feels tight. Shit.
With a devilish smirk on her face, Ramona opens the handbook to a specific page and points. I glance down briefly, just to confirm she’s not completely full of shit and, yep, it appears to state I’d lose my job and possibly my state licensing, too, if I were to engage in any sort of “romantic relations” with a current patient.
Crap. How have I never heard of this policy before? I guess somewhere in my brain I’ve always known sexual contact with a patient wasn’t allowed. Of course. But since I’ve always been married and never in any kind of situation that would even remotely have led to me having sex with a patient, I’ve never given the rule much thought. Suddenly, my mind is teeming with a thousand thoughts. What constitutes “engaging in romantic relations”? That sure sounds broader than having sex itself. Oh, crap. Have I violated this policy by brazenly flirting with Colby? Could someone claim I’ve acted inappropriately toward him?
Ramona closes the handbook with relish. “I hope you know I’m only looking out for you. I’d hate for you to do something stupid, just because he’s so gorgeous, and lose your job.”
Holy shit. Colby’s made it abundantly clear he’s attracted to me. Indeed, the other day, he said something brazen about his plan to seduce me the minute he’s physically able. He was joking around, sort of, but his message was clear: he’s gunning for me. And I didn’t dissuade him. On the contrary, I encouraged him. Subtly, of course. But it was there. Have I unwittingly made myself a target for Ramona’s vindictiveness, just because I’ve been so sloppy about my attraction to Colby?
Obviously, I’d never engage in any inappropriate touching or sexual contact with Colby while he’s still so broken, both emotionally and physically. But, yeah, if I’m being perfectly honest, maybe I was kind of imagining myself jumping his bones one day down the line, when he’s healed and strong again. When he’s stopped having those horrible nightmares and flashbacks he’s been telling me about.
Of course, I’d never engage in romantic relations with Colby or any other man before first telling him about the existence of my three kids. Unless, I suppose, if I was just looking for some meaningless sex... not that I can imagine sex with Colby being anything other than deeply meaningful to me. But, yeah, back to the point: I wouldn’t engage in “romantic relations” with Colby unless I’d told him about the existence of my kids—which is something I haven’t yet done because it just hasn’t seemed like the right timing. Mentioning my three kids to Colby will undoubtedly prompt him to ask me about the status of my relationship with their father. And I have no desire to talk about Darren with Colby. The man has been going through enough emotional trauma of his own without me dumping my baggage on him, too.
“. . . and so that’s the only reason I said anything,” Ramona is saying, drawing me out of my rambling thoughts. She’s got the employment handbook open again and she’s pointing at something specific in it.
“Ah, yes, I see,” I say, pretending to look at whatever she’s pointing out. “You’re so sweet for looking out for me, Ramona. Thanks.” I push the employment handbook back toward her across the table. “But I assure you, there’s no need to be concerned. I’m well aware of my ethical and professional obligations and the rationale for the rules. Colby Morgan is my patient and nothing more and he’ll stay that way throughout the entire course of his physical therapy with me.”
Ramona shoots me a fake smile. “Great, but if you find yourself having a hard time maintaining professionalism with the firefighter, I’d be happy to step in for you.”
“No, thanks,” I say. “I think I’ll keep him.”
Oh, those were fighting words, apparently. Ramona leans forward, her eyes blazing. “Watch yourself, Lydia,” she spits out, her smiling morphing into a sneer. “Temptation can get the best of anyone. I’d hate to see you lose your license because you couldn’t control your hormones.”
I lean forward and mimic her exact facial expression—which ain’t pretty. “Colby and I are just friends, Ramona, and we’re going to stay that way until he’s cleared for work again. When he’s no longer my patient, will I ‘engage in romantic relations’ with him? Quite possibly. But until then, I suggest you stay the hell out of my business.”