Furious Page 5

  She baked when she felt bad and right now, she felt like absolute garbage. She’d screwed up and he was paying for it. She’d been counting on him to tell her when he needed a painkiller, which was her first mistake. He didn’t like asking for help and she should have been more prepared for that.

  Yup, she was in charge and they both knew it, Sloane thought miserably as she reached up and wiped away a tear that had absolutely no business falling down her face. This was a job, she’d fucked up, learned a lesson and she would never, ever do it again. She was also going to apologize to him as soon as he woke up.

  This wasn’t how she liked to start a job and this definitely wasn’t the way that she liked to treat her patients. They deserved better than that, a hell of a lot better. It didn’t matter how much of a prick he was, he hadn’t deserved the bullshit care that she’d given him and they both knew it.

  But she’d been so damn focused on trying to make him realize that it was okay to ask for help that she hadn’t done her job and now the poor bastard left in her care was suffering. Angrily wiping away another tear that wouldn’t fix this, Sloane scrubbed her hands, checked on her patient and spent the next two hours making a home-cooked dinner that she hoped would help make up for this afternoon.

  Once the brownies were done, she pulled the pan out of the oven, set them on the counter to cool, double-checked the stew, added the dumplings, and went to check on her patient only to realize that she’d seriously screwed up once again.

  Chapter 7

  “You’re fired,” Melissa said, shaking her head in disgust as she looked down at Sloane, who couldn’t seem to stop trembling, not that he could blame her.

  He really couldn’t.

  It had been a long fucking night from what Chase remembered, but at least he’d been passed out for most of it. Sloane unfortunately, hadn’t had that luxury. She’d stayed awake the entire night taking care of him and making sure that he didn’t die.

  Even he had to admit that she’d done a hell of a job, but apparently, his sister, who’d never spent a fucking second in the field, did not. The moment that she’d stormed into his hospital room, she’d been all over Sloane’s ass.

  He should be happy, but he wasn’t. He’d been in her shoes before and knew exactly how fucked up it felt when a patient or a fucking doctor didn’t give him all the information and a patient ended up paying the price.

  “I’m very sorry about what happened,” Sloane said firmly before adding, “I understand if you want to fire me, but I highly recommend that you alert his doctor about his reaction to morphine so that he can send over a more thorough, up-to-date medical history for the medical staff here as well as a copy to keep at his house and for whatever agency you decide to go through. They’re going to need to know so that this doesn’t happen again.”

  “You had no business giving it to him!” Melissa snapped, bringing his headache up to migraine level.

  “Yes, ma’am, I did. We were out of the house and the file that you sent to the agency clearly stated that morphine was one of the painkillers that was used when he needed relief. Your brother is stubborn and refused to tell me that he was in pain, so when he went pale, started to tremble, and began to lose consciousness, I followed the protocol that you provided and gave him morphine,” Sloane bit out evenly, looking pissed even though he could still hear the terror in her voice.

  “You could have killed him!” Melissa snapped, making him groan because her fucking voice grated.

  “No, the file that you gave me could have. No one ever bothered to update his doctor, so when he put in the prescriptions for your brother, he based them on what was in the file,” Sloane snapped back, taking him by surprise because he would have simply told his sister to go fuck herself and walked off. “You can fire me, but I am not leaving his side until I make sure that you get an updated medical chart in here.”

  “Regardless, you’re fi” his sister began yelling again, deciding to take it out on Sloane instead of admitting that she’d screwed up.

  “Shut up,” Chase groaned as he dropped his head back against the thin hospital pillow and did his best not to lose the applesauce that Sloane had managed to shove down his throat. “She’s staying,” he said, in no fucking mood to hear his sister take this out on Sloane.

  “No, she’s not.”

  “If you want to bitch at someone, then call the fucking hospital that released my records or look in the fucking mirror because I didn’t hear you warn her about morphine,” Chase groaned, pressing his hands against his head and wondering when this fucking headache and nausea would go away.

  “Chase,” Melissa said, sounding embarrassed as she should be, “I was only looking out for you.”

  Without opening his eyes, he nodded toward where he thought Sloane might be standing her ground. “It seems that’s what she was doing so fuck off, Melissa, and leave me alone,” Chase said, hoping that she would just get the fuck out of his room so that he could finally pass out in peace.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this fucking sick and exhausted. Oh wait, that wasn’t true because he remembered the last time he’d gone through this hell and that was when some fucking physician’s assistant had given a full dose of morphine, nearly killing him.

  It had been a fucking magical afternoon.

  “Chase” Melissa began again, suddenly sounding like she’d gone to hell and back last night.

  “Get the fuck out! I have help now so get off my goddamn case!” he snapped, forcing himself to turn over, uncaring where he vomited as long as his stomach stopped hurting.

  “Chase” Melissa started again, sounding concerned and not fucking understanding how much it humiliated him for her to see him like this.

  “Get out!” he yelled just as his stomach lost the battle. He continued to gag, praying for it to stop, but it wouldn’t. His stomach cramped while pain shot through his abdomen as he lost everything they’d pumped him full of, including that damn applesauce, but he never heard the telltale sounds of vomit hitting the linoleum floor.

  “Shhh, it’s okay,” Sloane said as he felt a reassuring hand on his back, gently rubbing the lightly scarred tissue and trying to make this easier for him.

  Since it was actually helping, Chase kept his mouth shut, deciding it wouldn’t help matters if he said something to piss off the temperamental woman rubbing his back. He’d allow her to help him only because it was too much trouble to tell her to stop right now. Normally, he’d tell her to get her fucking hands off him and leave him alone, but there was just something about the pain in the ass that soothed him when nothing else would.

  It was just the exhaustion talking. He’d be fine as soon as they let him out of this fucking hospital so that he could go home and take up his life of soaps, beer, and naps once again.

  When he felt her stop rubbing his back, he growled a warning that had the inconsiderate woman sighing heavily, muttering something that he chose to ignore, and once again commencing with the backrub that helped settle his stomach.

  Closing his eyes, Chase bit back a groan that let her know exactly how much he was enjoying this and let himself drift off, knowing that he was in good hands.

  *-*-*-*

  “Beer,” the man who had given her the biggest scare of her life mumbled as she helped him in bed.

  “Yeah, that’s not happening,” Sloane said, trying not to groan when she shifted his weight off her shoulders.

  God, he was really freaking heavy and it didn’t help that she couldn’t stop trembling. She’d almost killed him last night. Just the thought of seeing his ashen face when she opened his bedroom door to check on him still had the power to make her heart stop.

  As she pulled the blankets up and tucked in the most stubborn man that she’d ever met in her life, she tried to remind herself that it wasn’t her fault. The hospital and his sister had screwed up by not making sure that she had an up-to-date medical chart for him, but she knew that some of the blame still belonged
to her. She should have picked a different battle to have it out with him and let him know that things weren’t going to get better for him until he accepted the fact that his old life was over.

  It seemed cruel considering everything that he’d already gone through and it was, but that was his new reality. As much as she would love for things to work out differently for him, they never would. He would never have his old life back, get back the time he’d lost recovering from his accident, and he would never have the future that should have been his. No matter what she did, what she said, or how badly she wished that she could perform miracles, she couldn’t.

  He had a new life ahead of him, one that was going to take a lot of work, tears, sweat, and pain to build and one that he probably didn’t want but was going to have to work his ass off for anyway. It was either that or accept the life that his sister expected for him and Sloane couldn’t let that happen.

  He also didn’t deserve a beer, but the stubborn bastard had been asking for one ever since she got him in the car and his sister decided to take that as her cue to chew her out again. Sloane had stood there, taking it, because she had no other choice. If she thought that his sister would hire someone else to take her place to take care of him, she would have told the sister where to shove it and walked away, but she was terrified that once she was gone, his sister was going to wash her hands of him and put him in a nursing home.

  “Beer,” the pain in the ass that she was determined to help mumbled with a sleepy little sigh as he turned his head and settled in for the night.

  “Beer?” Sloane repeated as she stood there, rubbing her temples.

  “Beer,” Chase grumbled again, earning a muttered, “Unbelievable,” as she walked away, shaking her head in disgust because she already regretted not telling his sister to take this job and shove it up her well-pampered ass.

  Chapter 8

  “No,” the pain the ass that he probably owed his life to said as he sat there, giving her his most intimidating glare, but she simply ignored him as she piled another pancake on his plate.

  “Yes!” Chase hissed, pushing the plate filled to the brim with pancakes, home fries, eggs, bacon, and toast that had his stomach growling, away.

  “It’s not happening,” Sloane said, barely paying attention to him as she pushed the plate back in front of him along with a bottle of maple syrup, butter, jam, and a large glass of orange juice that actually looked pretty good.

  “It really is,” he said, somehow finding the willpower to push the plate away. “I want my usual breakfast.”

  “And what’s that?” the smart-ass asked as though she didn’t know that his usual breakfast consisted of beer and Doritos.

  “Anything but this,” Chase said instead, hoping to piss her off even as he swiped a piece of bacon off the plate and quickly devoured it.

  “Then make it,” the little brat said with a careless shrug as she turned around just as he managed to swallow that crisp piece of bacon.

  “That’s your job, not mine,” he pointed out as he stubbornly crossed his arms over his chest, mostly to stop himself from grabbing another piece of bacon.

  “So, you think my job is to be your personal slave?” Sloane asked conversationally as she sat down with a large bowl of oatmeal mixed with blueberries and a cup of tea.

  “Of course,” Chase said, just to piss her off as he waited for her to get up and grab a spoon so that he could steal another piece of bacon.

  With a big syrupy-sweet smile and a dreamy sigh, Sloane turned around and said, “I didn’t know that you were delusional, too.”

  “Not delusional,” Chase said, reaching down and releasing the locks on his wheelchair. “I just know the pecking order in life.”

  “Pecking order?” Sloane repeated, sounding more amused than pissed, which of course, meant that he wasn’t doing his job.

  “Mmmhmm, pecking order,” he murmured, rolling over to the refrigerator.

  “And what’s this pecking order?” she asked with a curious smile as she took a small sip of tea while he opened the fridge.

  “It’s nothing too complicated,” Chase said, reaching for a beer only to narrow his eyes on the rows of water that were now lined up where his precious beer had once been.

  Realizing that she’d just scored a point, he grabbed a bottle of water and acted like that’s what he wanted. She simply sat at the small kitchen table, calmly eating her oatmeal as she watched him, waiting for him to react. Too bad for her, he knew how to play this game better than she did.

  “So, then explain it to me,” Sloane said, sounding curious as she took a sip of tea.

  With a shrug, he simply said, “You’re my bitch,” which should have had her flipping out, throwing her tea in his face and storming off, but instead, the woman that he’d stupidly refused to allow his sister to fire smiled.

  “Oh, and how do you figure that?” Sloane asked, chuckling.

  “Because you work for me,” Chase said, placing the bottle of water between his legs so that he could roll over to the kitchen counter that better still hold his precious junk food.

  But of course, it didn’t.

  That would be two points for the little demon, he mused, barely resisting the urge to grind his teeth and let her know just how pissed off he was that she was fucking with his well-balanced life. Accepting the fact that he wouldn’t be having a delicious breakfast of beer and Doritos, he rolled his wheelchair back to the table, grabbed a piece of bacon and shoved it in his mouth, all while keeping his eyes locked with hers.

  “I see,” she murmured, reaching over and helping herself to a piece of his bacon, which almost got her hand slapped.

  “I’m glad you do,” Chase said, still keeping his eyes locked on her as he reached over, grabbed the bottle of syrup and poured half the bottle over his pancakes.

  “I really do,” Sloane said, picking up his fork and stabbed it into a large piece of syrup-soaked pancake and popped it into her mouth.

  Eyes still locked on her, he reached over, snatched the fork from her, stabbed an even bigger forkful of pancake and shoved it in his mouth, thoroughly chewing the delicious morsel.

  “So,” he said once he was finished chewing, “then we have an understanding.”

  Reaching over, she stole his freshly squeezed orange juice, raised it to her lips and said, “We most certainly do.”

  *-*-*-*

  “Get the fuck out!” came the lovely roar that signaled the end of Chase’s first, and probably last, physical therapy appointment.

  Sighing, because she’d foolishly thought that she’d have enough time to finish her iced tea before the screams for mercy began, Sloane took one last sip of the refreshing beverage before placing it back on the nightstand, picked up the remote control and shut the television off all while wondering why his sister refused to back off and let her do her job.

  She’d tried to explain that it wasn’t a good idea to rush Chase, but his sister had apparently talked to her friends who knew better than Sloane and had decided to take Chase’s recovery into her own hands. Again. Sloane had done her best to make the other woman see reason, but since Melissa sort of hated her and wanted to see her head on a pike, she’d refused to listen to anything that Sloane had to say, which was going to be a problem.

  She could care less if the woman hated her. Actually, she really didn’t care and probably wouldn’t lose any sleep over it, but she did care that her only means of making sure that her patient was provided with the right type of care was now gone. She’d experienced this before when she did or said something that pissed off the person signing her checks and knew that it was only a matter of time before she had enough and said the hell with it.

  She really didn’t need this shit, Sloane mused as she stepped into the hallway and just as quickly, was forced to jump out of the way as the physical therapist that Melissa hired to come to the house four times a week to work with Chase, ran past her, stumbling along the way as he raced to the door, losing more than h
alf the items in his backpack in the process. Knowing that there was no point in trying to stop him, especially since he looked as though he was about to cry, Sloane sighed as she stepped over a bottle of water that was slowly rolling to a stop and headed to the living room where her day was guaranteed to get better.

  “Get the fuck out,” the man that made every moment of the day oh, so special, said before she had a chance to step into the room that looked as though a tornado had swept through it.

  “Rough morning?” Sloane asked dryly as she walked into the room, grabbed the small wastebasket by the couch and began the tedious job of cleaning up the living room for the second time that day.

  “Fuck off,” Chase snarled as he shoved a Dorito in his mouth while he pointedly glared at the television, letting her know in his own special way that he’d like some quiet time to enjoy his shows and perhaps take a little nappy-poo later on.

  “I’d love to,” Sloane said with mock cheer as she grabbed the last empty soda can and shoved it into the wastebasket before putting it down, stepping up behind him, unlocking his wheelchair, and–

  “Think fucking again!” Chase snarled as he reached down and tried to throw the brakes back on, but unfortunately for him, she was moving the wheelchair too fast for him to manage that feat.

  “We can either do this on your bed, outside, or on the floor,” she explained to him as she headed for the front door, deciding to kill two birds with one stone by taking him outside for his PT so that he could get some fresh air.

  “Do what?” Chase demanded as he continued to try to set the brakes and put a stop to her plans for the day.

  “Your physical therapy,” she explained, only to sigh when she realized that she forgot something.

  For a few seconds, Sloane contemplated saying the hell with grabbing a blanket since it would only give him an opportunity to make things more difficult, but then thought better of it. This was going to be difficult enough for him since he hadn’t had physical therapy in months and she didn’t need to make matters worse for him by having him do this on the ground without any cushion.