Lance gave a lazy shrug. “Sure.”
Bishop tossed the blanket up from the bottom to reveal Lance’s legs from the knees down, nearly hitting Lance in the chin with the flying end in the process. He took hold of Lance’s foot and leg, gently rolled him a bit side to side, and ran his fingers over the bandages. “When were these last changed?”
Lance lifted his phone from beneath the blanket to check the time. “Six hours and eighteen minutes ago.”
Bishop blinked at him again, then hummed. “I’ll have someone come change these out after you get lunch, then.” He tucked his hands into his pockets as he stepped away. “I’ll pop in on you again this afternoon. Try to get some rest.” Then he was out the door.
Lance dropped his head back and stared up at the ceiling tiles and the ugly fluorescent lights. “For the fairytale,” he muttered. “Put up with this shit for the fairytale.” Then he heaved a breath, bent forward, and grit his teeth at the strain that shot up his leg as he tossed the damn blanket back into position.
Chapter five
Crushing
Lance frowned at thetime that shone up at him on the phone’s display after his call with Jon ended. Lynnette had clocked off for the day, after a damn unreasonable shift, and that meant he wouldn’t see her again for far too many hours.
She deserved the break. Especially since he’d been needier than strictly necessary in the latter portion of her shift. That didn’t mean he didn’t wish she’d walk through his door again.
Now who’s being unreasonable, asshole?
He hadn’t lied to Jon, though. He felt like a lovesick schoolboy every time Nurse Garver stepped into the room.
Lance dropped his head hard against the pillow, gaze rolling up to the tiled ceiling. There was some time to kill before dinner was to be delivered, apparently, and sitting in bed all day made him restless. He envied Jon’s excuse for a good stakeout, despite that he’d always hated stakeouts. Stakeouts required stillness. Lance was a man of action.
There was a reason he’d gone the artillery route.
Lance tapped his fingers absently against the back of his phone. In lieu of being able to go for a run, or maybe chase down the fucker who’d tried tearing off his leg, he supposed he could at least get to work on that research Jon had asked for. Hehadoffered.
It only took a moment to pull up a search engine and type in the address as Jon had recited it. Neither of them knew for certain what they were looking for, but if Jon’s grandfather truly had left some type of inheritance behind—bingo. Campbell Storage Company, a self-storage facility listed as being ‘family run’, located in a smaller community just north of Klamath Falls. That’d be fucking convenient if Lance were mobile. And had whatever information he needed to go dig into the thing.
Still, he screenshot the information and sent it off to Jon for the next time his romantically-stunted buddy checked his phone, then decided he had nothing to lose by making a phone call. The place stayed open past conventional working hours, supposedly, and it gave him something to do for another couple of minutes.
“Campbell Storage,” a male voice said after only a single ring. He sounded the faintest bit distracted … or bored.
Lance slipped into his friendliest tone. “Hey there, off-the-wall question for you.” The more he talked, the faster he realized there was no way he’d get an answer with a cold-call. He swore his leg spasmed in sympathy with the surge of frustration that followed. “I got a buddy recently discharged from the Marine Corps, just learned his grandpa might’ve left behind something in a unit number one-four-three. Buddy’s name is Jon Johnson if that helps. Jon’s probably a day or two out from being able to make a trip himself, so I’d offered to do some research for him. Just looking to verify if there’s anything worth the drive, you know?”
The man on the other end was quiet a moment, as if he were actually looking up the information, before he finally said, “How exactly do you expect me to answer that, sir?”
Lance felt his brows arch up his forehead even as a part of him tipped his proverbial hat at the tone.
The man only paused long enough to let his words carry before speaking again. “We don’t advertise who owns which space to anyone, least of all to people who can’t be bothered to at least show up in person with the fake IDs they printed in their mommy’s basement. The people who have spaces here have keys. If someone uses our units to leave stuff for someone else, it’s their responsibility to pass that key along and to let us know the name of prospective new owners. So, if your buddy is real, make sure you tell him to stop by the front desk and ask for Alex. But don’t try me with some bullshit, I’m not gonna flinch because some gym-bro walks in decked out in store-bought camo, understand?”
Laughing was the wrong response. It was. Lance knew it. And he couldn’t exactly blame the painkillers he wasn’t taking. But damn, he couldn’t not respect that tired-of-this-bullshit attitude.
“You think I’m joking?” the guy he assumed was Alex asked.
“No, man, sorry,” Lance sucked in a breath. “Civilians are so soft, I kinda just expected whoever picked up to stutter an apology over not being allowed to answer me. Did you serve?”
Alex hesitated. “Army, two tours.”
Lance clicked his tongue. “Ah, damn. Not sure I’ve been discharged long enough to make friends with an Army dog.”
Alex scoffed. “Haven’t been called that in years.”
“I’m still transitioning. Only been on the West Coast about a day and a half.” Which was pathetic, considering.
The door to the room swung open, the male nurse on-shift speaking without looking as he wheeled in a cart. “Bumped into your dinner out— Oh, sorry!”
Lance gave him a pointed look and said into the phone, “Apparently my gourmet dinner is early, but I’ll try to put in a good word for you when I talk to my buddy tomorrow.”
