No. Something more sinister had to be at play.
“You might have trouble with your vision, problem-solving, motor skills, and reaction time for a while. You need to keep yourself in a quiet dark room with absolutely no TV or phone screens for forty-eight hours. You’ll also need someone to help take care of you. No driving.” Doctor Stanley crossed his arms.
Bently’s fists clenched.
“Your CT scan showed negative acute injury and no orbital or facial fractures. You got lucky.”
“This pounding headache doesn’t feel so lucky.” Bently winced.
“You might be nauseous and unable to walk unassisted for a while. Best to rest and let your body heal. You can’t rush these types of injuries into getting better or you could end up worse in the long run,” Doctor Stanley said firmly.
“Alright.” Bently waved him off.
“Belle here will dress your flesh wounds and we’ll monitor you for a few more hours. You should arrange for someone to pick you up. Did you want us to alert someone on your team?” Doctor Stanley asked.
Bently grimaced. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Alright. I’ll be back to check on you.” Rick left them alone.
Belle bit her lip, unsure of what to say. Anger rolled off him like waves lapping the shore, each one stronger than the next. She pulled out the tray and laid the items she’d need on the portable table. He closed his eyes, giving her freedom to study him as she prepared. Her heart ached seeing him like this.
“I’ll need this off,” she said gently, pulling open the hospital gown and lowering it to the bed. His broad bruised chest was exposed. The defined planes of his muscles rippled with strength. The ache in her chest grew. Angry black and purple bruises marred his olive skin.
“I’m going to wrap your ribs.” She explained each step as she carefully took care of his wounds.
A myriad of other scars covered his body. Every time she touched his skin, he winced.
“I’m sorry. I’m trying to be gentle,” she said softly as she peeled away the gauze around his head.
He remained silent. Jaw tense, and his face hard.
She leaned in to clean the wound on his head, preparing it for sutures. His breathing sharpened as she coasted the gauze over the dried blood. “What’s your pain level?”
“I’m fine.” His voice was scraping and raw.
“Your ribs are bruised and you have a concussion. I’d say you’re far from fine.”
His hand darted to hers, grabbing her wrist as his eyes snapped open. “I don’t need your pity!”
She gasped, flames licking up her arm from his firm grasp. Was that what he thought she saw when she looked at him?
Belle had her fair share of stubborn patients, but no one spoke to her like that. Her eyes narrowed. “Well, it’s a good thing I don’t have any for you, then. As your nurse, I’m responsible for your care. Pain management is part of that.”
He dropped her hand and sighed before nodding.
“On a scale of one to ten, what is your pain at?”
“Four,” he grumbled.
Probably more like a nine, then. She shook her head. Stupid macho men.
“If I had known you wanted to play nurse and patient, I wouldn’t have bothered with the hike. I can do role play.” He winked.
A crack in his façade, his words pierced her heart nonetheless. Was he trying to cheapen their experiences? Those moments where his kind heart had shone through—was she supposed to believe they were all because he wanted to sleep with her? No, it was his brass reminder of where the lines were drawn between them. Bently was scrambling to find anything to distance her from him. As if she couldn’t see how utterly shattered he was. Whatever he kept buried was eating him alive.
“Should I call your brother?” she asked.
“Nah. Don’t want to wake the kids and Remy.”
So that meant Jasmine was out too. “How about Andre?”
Bently shook his head and grimaced. “He and Mia are in California.”
“Okay, who should I call to come get you, then?”
“I’ll be fine on my own. I’ll get a taxi or something,” he grumbled.
“You can’t go home alone with a concussion.” She could help him. She might be the only one who could. He’d spent his life protecting others, but who protected him? If this man thought he could push her away when he needed her most, he had another thing coming. After all, what were friends for?
Chapter 21
Bently
His head pounded like someone had put a jackhammer to it. The lights had been dimmed in Bently’s hospital room, and the meds had kicked in somewhat, but it wasn’t enough. He tried to sleep, but then he’d catch a whiff of her cocoa butter while she quietly checked his vitals or whatever the hell it was nurses did every hour. He could sense her nearness as she made her rounds through the emergency department like they had some sort of string tethering them together.
Now she’s seen me at my fucking lowest.
She’d run, taking the choice he’d been struggling with away from him. He was powerless again. He’d been helpless when that person had beaten him, leaving him for dead. Why had he drunk so much?
Because I’m weak. I’m like him.
He was angry at himself for his lapse in judgment, lack of control. Furious with the man who’d jumped him. Was it the same one who’d smashed his windshield? His chest ached as he tried to suck in a tormented gulp of oxygen. The heavy weight on his chest made it impossible. He just wanted to escape. Needed to let this pain out before he burst. He grasped for some semblance of control as his world spun out of order. The craving to run away was like acid on his frayed nerves. It was all he could think about.
The machine next to him started beeping, aggravating his headache like tiny spears. Pain radiated and throbbed from his forehead to his neck.
Soft cool hands touched his.
