I pushed the door open and stepped inside quietly. The room was dim, the blinds were halfway closed with a little bit of sunlight reflecting across the floor from them, and the TV mounted on the wall was playing football highlights while Marvelous was awake, sitting up in bed with the blanket pulled to his waist. He had both of his hands on the side of him like he was scared to move too much. He looked a whole lot different without blood all over him. His face was still bruised, and his lips were still a little busted, but he had color now. He was clearly observant too, because the second his eyes landed on me, he looked me up and down like he was trying to figure out where he knew me from.
“Good morning,” I said, walking over to the sink to wash my hands before grabbing a pair of gloves.
He didn’t answer right away. He just kept staring. “I know you,” he finally said, in a rough and scratchy voice.
I dried my hands and turned around with a polite smile. “You probably saw me in the ER.”
“Nah,” he said, shifting a little before pain made him stop moving altogether as he winced in pain, but he tried to play it off like I didn’t see it. “I ain’t probably do nothing. I know I saw you.”
I reached for the vitals machine and rolled it closer to the bed. “Well, you were in a little distress, so I’m surprised you remember anything.”
He looked down at the blood pressure cuff when I wrapped it around his arm, then looked back at me. “You was the one talking slick to me.”
I paused and raised a brow. “Talking slick?”
“Yeah.” He gave me a half grin. “Telling me to stay still like I was yo’ child or something. You wasn’t doing the most, but I still heard you at one point.”
I shook my head and pressed start on the machine. “Sir, you were trying to fight half the trauma team while leaking blood all over my floor. Somebody had to tell you something.”
“My floor?” he repeated, catching that quick. “Damn, you own Jackson?”
“On my shift, yes.” I grabbed the thermometer and held it near his forehead. “Don’t move.”
He stayed still, but that grin didn’t go anywhere. “Whole staff bossy as hell.”
“And you’re alive, so clearly it worked.”
He chuckled, but that little laugh didn’t last long before his whole face frowned up again and his hand went straight to his stomach. He tried to hide it just like the first time, which made me look at him even harder because men loved doing that. They could be shot, stabbed, bleeding, laid up in a hospital bed with tubes coming out of them and still wanted to act like pain was a sign of weakness.
“See,” I said, glancing from his face down to the dressing across his abdomen. “That’s why you need to stop laughing.”
“I barely laughed,” he mumbled, still holding his side.
“You should probably take it easy. Your abdomen will feel sore for a while.”
He looked down at himself like he was remembering that part all over again and for the first time since I walked in, that little playful look left his face. I didn’t say anything right away. I just let the blood pressure cuff finish squeezing his arm while I watched the numbers pop up on the screen. His pressure looked good, but his heart rate was a little higher than I wanted, but not enough to make me panic. Considering everything he’d beenthrough, he was doing better than most people would’ve been doing.
I wrote the numbers down and reached for the pulse ox, clipping it onto his finger before looking back at him. “Pain level?”
He didn’t answer right away, and that told me he was about to lie so I lifted my brow. “And don’t give me any tough answers either.”
His eyes fell back on mine, and that grin tried to show up again even though his body clearly wasn’t here for it. “Damn, you don’t trust me?”
“Not with that question, no.”
He slowly shook his head like I was getting on his nerves, but he wasn’t mad. If anything, he looked entertained, which was crazy to me because he was laid up in ICU after almost losing his life and still had enough energy to be charming.
“I’ll say a six,” he finally answered. I gave him a look letting him know I didn’t believe it one bit. “A real six,” he said before I could even ask again.
“Okay.” I wrote it down. “That sounds more believable. Well, your oxygen looks good.”
“That mean I’m doing good?”
I looked over at him. “It means your body is doing what it’s supposed to do right now.”
“Right now?” he repeated, wondering what that was supposed to mean.
“Yes, right now,” I said, typing everything in the system before looking back at him. “You’re still recovering from surgery, however good vitals doesn’t mean you’re clear to move too fast Mr. Williams.”
