“I’ll call in the morning to see if she’s ready for discharge then I’ll take her home. Thanks, Dr. Young. Dan, I’ll see you around. I have paperwork to fill out.” Then, gaze skimming past me, he dips his head and walks out the door.
Sliding down in the bed, I slip the cool sheets up and over me, contemplating the sudden loss of warmth with Noah’s departure.
“Are you sure there’s no one I can call for you?” Ranger Dan reaches toward his chest, removing a business card from his uniform’s front pocket.
I shake my head, wincing with the movement. Sleep. I need sleep. I’m exhausted. My head continues to pound even while Dr. Young and Ranger Dan exchange words I don’t hear.
When they exit the room, I roll my head toward the tiny window situated in the far-left corner. The desire to write presses me, but the heaviness of my eyelids wins out.
For the moment, I’m safe. And whether I hate the thought of it, Noah is the reason for that.
They took my soaked clothes when I got to the hospital and put me in one of those barely there gowns. As I roll out of bed in the morning, feeling hit by a semitruck, the chilled air bites my exposed ass and I curse, fumbling to close the fabric behind me. If it could even constitute as fabric. More like a paper napkin.
I shuffle to the en suite bathroom to relieve myself, which is a breeze with the spotted gown. At least it hasthatgoing for it.
When I exit, my door is cracked open. A thin slice of light shines along the dingy floor and, on instinct, I search the room. There’s no one here.
Voices trickle in through the sliver, muffled and deep. The clock on the wall opposite my hospital bedtick, tick, ticksbut it’s only 8:00 a.m. The familiar voice of the male nurse who interrupted my sleep seventy-five times last night to take my blood pressure and other vitals says words like, “she’s up” and “I’ll get the discharge papers.”
I tiptoe on the cold floor, sockless—which is just lovely—toward the door. Quietly, I widen the gap enough to poke my head out. Fitted pressed pants in that awful forest green stand at the nurse’s station. Noah’s stocky thighs fill them out, and my gaze roves over his backside until I’m staring square at his wide shoulders. He’s in full ranger uniform today, including the hat, which makes me cringe.
He nods as the nurse hands over a packet of papers, and I scowl.
A cart squeaks in the opposite direction, and I scan past the cafeteria lady rolling breakfast trays down the hall and spot the large EXIT sign at the end. The stairs. I wonder if I’d make it there before someone noticed me.
My feet slap against the tiled flooring as I hightail it over to the heavy door, gown flapping open be damned.
I make it all of four long strides before?—
“Ms. Parker!”
Shit.
When I turn, the male nurse runs up to me, and I chance a peek at Noah who leans, unfazed, against the nurse station with raised eyebrows.
“Ms. Parker, I’ve got your discharge papers right here. We need to go over them before you leave, and I believe Ranger Sullivan was going to drive you home? And, um”—he swallows, eyes dipping down my front—“wouldn’t you like to change first?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I don’t exactly have anything to change into, but I guess … what the hell.”
The nurse lets out a breath and chucks a thumb over his shoulder. “Let’s get ya back then, huh?”
I give him a pointed look, spinning around him to move toward the room I’d just attempted to escape.
It’s impossible to ignore Noah as he enters the room behind us. His sand-colored boots scuff along the floor and he stands, feet spread wide, as close to the door as possible.
The nurse drags a clear bag off the counter and hands it to me.
There, clumped in a soggy wet ball, are my clothes. They’re so wet, a small pool of water has accumulated in the corner of the bag. I stare at him.
“These are the belongings you came in with.” He gestures toward my backpack resting on the chair. “And your bag of course.”
I hold up the plastic bag, balancing it on my pointer finger. “These are soaked. What am I supposed to change into?”
The nurse looks flustered, and he glances at Noah who shrugs.
“What about some scrubs, Sam? Surely there’s an extra pair floating around she could wear out of here.”
The nurse, Sam, I guess his name is, grimaces. “I’ll go check.”
