“You’re worth it, Harper Payne.” Chase reaches out and takes my hand, his fingers curling possessively around mine. It’s totally inappropriate, but for once, I don’t fight it. His grip is firm, his touch warm. Everything about it feels right, and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’s going to make some woman very happy one day.
And as much as the realization hurts, it won’t be me.
Chase
By the time Harper returns with Nurse Rogers and a plastic bin full of supplies, my leg is throbbing. At this point, I’d let her stick me a dozen times if it was the price of relief, because cutting off my painkillers? Not the smartest move.
Still, I don’t regret it. Not if it helps Harper.
She may think I’m nuts for removing my IV, but it was time to make a big move. The doc said I’ll be released by the end of the week and so far, Harper’s resisted all my efforts to woo her.
The fuck? Who even says woo?
Great. I’m delirious with pain.
The point is, I’m running out of time. In a few days, I’ll be headed back to Millheim—without Harper’s number.
Unacceptable.
I need to convince Harper this connection is worth exploring. But first, painkillers.
Nurse Rogers gives me the side-eye as Harper lays out her supplies, unpackaging tubes and all kinds of weird-looking shit I know is about to be inserted in my body. I should be used to it by now, but nope, all that crap still freaks me out.
“So the IV just fell out?” Nurse Rogers asks, skepticism lining her eyes.
“Yeah, it was the strangest thing.” Might as well play the dumb jock card, because I can’t exactly tell her this harebrained scheme is a desperate attempt to win Harper over. The fact is, I’m crazy about her, and I’ll do whatever it takes to convince her to give me a shot. “I stretched my arms like this,” I say, lifting my arms over my head, “andpoof!It just fell out.”
Next to me, Harper snort-laughs before breaking into an unconvincing cough, which results in Nurse Payne ordering her to wash her hands again.
When she returns to the bed, her mouth is set in a grim line. She puts on a clean pair of gloves and opens a sterile wipe to clean the site of my last IV, which is admittedly a bit grisly looking from my hack job. She quickly bandages my inner elbow and begins tapping my forearm, looking for a vein.
“I’m going to try to avoid putting the IV in your hand,” she says, not looking up, “but if it falls out again, the hand it is.”
“Duly noted.” She doesn’t state it explicitly, but I’m pretty sure that’s supposed to be a warning. Like, don’t act up or I’m going to stick this mobility limiting torture device in your hand so I can kick your ass at Xbox again. “But you might want to put a little extra tape on it, just in case.”
I don’t actually want extra tape—that shit hurts when you rip it off and I’m not trying to have a bald patch on my arm—but my comment has the desired effect. She looks up, the corners of her lips twitching.
Then she turns to Nurse Payne and they have a brief discussion about catheters and cannulas. The technical talk goes over my head, but I don’t miss the way Harper’s hands shake as she opens the package with the needle and sets it to the side, next to a plunger of saline. That much, at least, I remember from my last IV insertion.
That shit felt like ice water in my veins.
“All right.” Harper flashes me a wobbly smile. It sucks there’s not more I can do to put her at ease, because Nurse Rogers and her scowl aren’t exactly encouraging. “Just try to relax, Chase. I’m going to apply a tourniquet and clean the skin around the vein. Once it dries, we’ll get that IV taken care of, okay?”
“No worries.” I want to reach out and touch her, to squeeze her hand and comfort her, but since it would probably be a violation of the fraternization policy, I settle for the three words I know she needs to hear most. “I trust you.”
Harper gives a curt nod, eyes brimming with gratitude. Then she expertly ties the tourniquet around my arm, miraculously managing not to pull any hair, which, as far as I’m concerned, is a win. Her touch is featherlight as she swabs my skin and fans it dry with her gloved hand. She picks up the needle, which is smaller than I remember, and her hands are surprisingly steady.
She can do this, I know it. In the short time I’ve known Harper, I’ve seen how hard she works, how determined she is to succeed, how much she cares—even when she pretends not to.
Now she just needs to believe it.
I keep my gaze locked on her face as she works. I may have volunteered for this little exercise, but that doesn’t mean I plan to watch. She bites her lower lip and there’s a small pinch when she inserts the needle. It’s nothing compared to the throbbing in my leg, which is becoming more insistent, the sharp jolts of pain pounding in concert with my heart.
I harden my jaw instinctively. Just need to grit it out a little longer. Good practice, I guess, because the doc’s already warned me PT and recovery aren’t going to be easy.
“That wasn’t so bad,” I announce, letting my head fall back against the pillows, ready for the juice to start pumping through my IV. “Nice work, Nurse Payne.”
“That was the local anesthetic,” Harper says apologetically, disposing of the needle in a little red box with a biohazard label. “To numb the site.”
