Chapter Seven
Grace
“Give me one more.”
“I already did,” Hayden said.
“Then give me one more ‘one more’,” I said.
“No.”
“One more and then we can get you a shower.”
“How about we do no more and you keep your hands off me?”
Everyday he was like this. Combative. Argumentative. And always unwilling to let me help. He was paying me beyond top-dollar to keep after him and help him recuperate, yet he fought with me at every turn. It was exasperating, always trudging through his mental state. His anger. His condemnation of himself as a man.
“Fine, how about this?” I asked. “You can give me one more, then I can leave you here on the floor until you ask me to come help. How does that sound?”
I looked into his eyes and he huffed before he rolled his shoulder joint one last time.
“Good,” I said. “Now, do you want a shower or do you want to sit in your own sweat until bed sores develop?”
He shot me a look before he held out his arm for me.
That was how I had to address him. Every single time. Stern and hard, and not at all the way I wished I could talk with him. With the type of war-like relationship we were developing, I had no hope of ever working with him on his mental state. Getting into his mindset and trying to help him see the good in things. He didn’t trust me. And I really wasn’t sure if he even enjoyed me. The more the days dragged on, the more I felt like I was here for another purpose.
Other than to be his inconvenient nurse.
There were days that were better than others. And by better, I meant there were days where we didn’t talk. He would sit by the large windows in his living room and stare out into the world. Refusing to join it, but pining over it when he thought I wasn’t looking. I’d go out to grocery shop and bring things into the house that would promote his healing and I would run to go get his prescriptions. I’d draw blood to make sure his levels were where they needed to be and I would even ask him how his business was doing.
But if he wasn’t fighting me, he was staring out of those windows. Longing for society but unwilling to go out into it.
I’d seen it before in patients I’d served during my nursing degree. Men who found their wheelchair to be a burden, or some sort of comment on his manhood. They saw it as a weakness. A hindrance. Something to be scoffed at and mocked. In their minds, they convinced themselves that it would be a tool used to undermine them. To somehow strip them of a sense of freedom or duty or valor.
Many times I would try to get him out of the penthouse apartment and into the sun, but he wouldn’t have anything to do with it.
“Some sunshine might do you some good.”
“I can feel it from here,” Hayden said.
“If I threw the window open, you’d be able to get your daily dose of Vitamin D.”
“No.”
“That goes a long way in the healing process,” I said.
“No,” he said.
“It also helps with someone’s mental state. The biggest sign of a Vitamin D deficiency is-”
“I said… no.”
“Irritability. And depression, but mostly irritability.”
He slowly panned his gaze over to me and hardened his eyes on mine. There was a park right up the road I could push him to. Or watch him struggle to get himself to. Or whatever the hell he felt was necessary for him to retain some sort of manhood within his own life. But instead, all I got were these dirty looks. Looks that told me I was brazen for even addressing him the way I did. But every time, his silence and unwillingness would win out. No matter how much I thought it was in his best interest to go outside and interact with the world, I couldn't make him do something he didn’t want to do.
But sometimes, I wished I could.
His anger, however, was mounting. His words were getting colder and the moments when he did feel like talking, it was more criticizing than anything. There were nights where I would sit on the edge of my bed and silently cry, wiping at my tears as his words rang out in my head.
Don’t you have something better to do?
Do you not have any friends to go annoy?
What the hell is wrong with you? Why are you always asking me questions?
My business is mine. Not yours. Stick to being a pain in the ass and I’ll stick to being a billionaire.
His words stung more than they should’ve, and I knew that. Days that were particularly rough landed me in the bathtub in my ensuite bathroom, crying into a vat of bubbles. He was difficult and angry. And the only person he had to lash out at was me. I knew that. I understood that. I kept telling myself that.
But it didn’t make things any easier.
“Mr. Lowell?”
I heard him grumbling as he wheeled into his room. He knocked what I assumed was the wheel of his chair against the corner, but I wanted to be sure. I got out of the bath and dried myself off, then pulled my nightgown over my head. Piling my hair high on top of my head, I stepped into the hallway and stood there.
Listening to Hayden grunt with frustration.
“Mr. Lowell? Do you need any help?”
But all that came was silence.
Until a massive thud resounded on the floor.
“Mr. Lowell!”
I dashed into his room and found him face-planted on the floor. Shirtless and struggling, I took in the sight. Hayden was trying to get out of his wheelchair and into bed, and in the process had lost his balance and fallen.
I was going to have to get him off the floor, and he wasn’t going to like it.
I planted my feet on either side of his body and bent down, using the muscles in my back to wrap my arms underneath his. I slid my hands along his chest, cupping his chiseled muscles before I braced my arms.
“On the count of three,” I said. “One… two…”
I pushed with my legs and hoisted him into the air. I helped him to his knees, then slid my hands down his body and braced. I could feel every sculpted ab he possessed as my arms clung to him, trying to get him from the floor to the bed so he could rest.
He’d had such a long day, and I wanted him to get a good night’s sleep.
I braced my legs and slowly lifted him into the air. I could feel him getting his feet underneath him, but his hip was still very tender. It was the part of his body we were struggling with the most, especially since his other surgery was just around the corner.
I sat back onto the edge of his bed, spreading my legs so he was cradled between my thighs.
I could feel him panting as my hands began their search. I massaged every muscle in his torso to check for any signs of strain or tearing. I rubbed each ab individually and tried to ignore the heat burning between my legs. I smoothed my hands over to his sides and felt the padding of muscles that flexed underneath my touch. I smoothed my fingertips up the front of his body, poking away at his godly chest as I bit back a sigh.
But then, something odd happened.
I went to remove my hands to check his shoulders and he stopped my movements.
His hands wrapped around my wrists and held them steadily to his chest. My hands were splayed along his skin, feeling the heat of his body pressing against me. I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath, trying to control the puckering of my nipples. This wasn’t appropriate. I had to find a way to get him to let go of me. My fingertips curled into his skin, trying to prompt him into releasing me.
But instead, he tightened his grasp.
“Mr. Lowell, I have to check your shoulders.”
There were several beats of silence before his hands relinquished my wrists.
I made quick work of checking his shoulders before I was satisfied he hadn’t hurt himself further. I scooted out from behind him and watched him lay down, battling between reaching out to help him and running out of the room. My hands were buzzing with electricity as I stood there, watching the way his strong body moved fluidly underneath the covers.
“You can go now,” Hayden said.
I cleared my throat, pulling myself out of my trance. I moved his wheelchair beside his bed and made sure the brakes were fully locked before I left. I reached for the doorknob and took one last look at him, watching as he shifted over to his side and blocked me out again.
Yet my heart was still pounding against my chest.
“Goodnight,” I said.
And I could’ve sworn as I shut the door I heard him respond.