Free fall, p.2
Free Fall, page 2
A huff. “I want peanut M&Ms.”
“I’ll get you your M&Ms.” He glanced back. “But I’m getting you some vegetables too.”
She made a face but didn’t bitch. Something that was a miracle, considering she acted like she was allergic to anything green.
Naturally green.
Because he’d certainly watched her demolish a bag of Sour Patch Kids and gummy bears and candy that was more dye than real food.
But she stayed far, far away from broccoli and spinach and brussels sprouts…
And anything good for her.
He made it into the kitchen, grabbed the giant ass bag of peanut M&Ms, and poured some into a bowl for her. He also made up a plate of carrots and pepper slices and cucumber rounds (the only vegetables he’d determined she actually ate). Of course, he added a small dish of ranch dressing in deference to her junk food obsessed nature.
Dip.
Eat.
Hopefully, her body would absorb some nutrients.
Only, when he returned to his family room, bowl and plate in hand, she was snoring.
For real this time.
Three
Raven
She woke with her side aching, like it always did.
And her leg.
And her calf.
And arms.
The burns.
Those were the worst, mostly because she knew that they would take the longest to heal, that they would leave her scarred for life, and probably with pain—or at the very least, discomfort—for just as long.
The first-degree burns were already healed, faded to a reddish pink, as were the skin grafts she’d had in the hospital. The second and third-degrees were in progress. The grafts were healing well, and she was lucky, all things considered—that the more severe burns hadn’t been as extensive as her first-degree ones.
Lucky. Yes.
Even if she felt very far away from that notion.
But she was alive, and healing, and—
Connor had dragged the coffee table over in front of her, and her M&Ms were there. Along with a plate of veggies.
Ick.
At least he’d put a ramekin of ranch next to them.
She could dip them, drown out the awful taste of vitamins and fiber.
And could she please talk about the fact that Connor had a ramekin in his house—that he probably had an entire set of them? Art on the walls. A throw blanket and pillows on the couch—the former of which was draped over her, and one of the latter was tucked behind her head.
Connor fucking Jackson.
Ramekins, throw pillows, fuzzy blankets, and one of her pain pills set on a napkin next to a glass of water. Art on the walls, a big heart, and a penchant for driving her crazy…and for taking care of her.
Ugh.
Since he was nowhere in sight, she ignored the pain pill and glass of water and pushed herself up.
Night through the windows. The TV screen blank.
But the remote was there.
And her phone.
Thank God. She snatched them both up, turned on the television, and unlocked her cell. Connection to the outside world. An ability to do something, even if that something was scrolling social media and clearing her inbox of junk emails.
She had weeks more of this shit, though she was getting stronger, so hopefully the weeks of recovery would be happening on her own.
In a hotel.
Or her house.
God, she would love to be in her house.
Her couch. Her bedroom. The walls she’d worked so hard to afford. The space. The privacy. The fact that it was hers and hers alone.
“You’ll get there,” she whispered.
But as she struggled to reach the bowl of candy, to lift the remote, to keep her eyes open for any decent length of time, she knew that it wouldn’t come soon enough. Knew that she was stuck here…knew it was going to destroy her.
Clattering had her eyes peeling open, the bright rays of the sun shining through the windows of the guest bedroom.
Not the family room.
Not the couch she’d fallen asleep on every night of the last week.
But the bedroom that had become hers since she’d been discharged.
The pillow next to her was indented and when she carefully shifted, pressed her nose to the surface and inhaled.
Fucking man.
He’d slept next to her.
Again.
He had a perfectly good bedroom with a king-sized mattress, and yet he continued sleeping next to her, sharing the double bed.
Of course, he didn’t ever do it in a way that she could catch him—could catch him and yell at him and—
The door swung in, Connor carrying a plate laden with food and a steaming mug.
Coffee. Thank God.
She needed caffeine before she started thinking about—
“Give me,” she demanded grumpily, cutting the thoughts off, shifting her elbows beneath her, and trying to shove the pillows behind her back.
“Please…” Connor taunted lightly, setting the plate and mug on the nightstand and moving to help her, shifting the pillows, and getting her into a seated position far more efficiently than she would have managed on her own.
Ugh.
“Coffee,” she demanded again, mostly because she needed to think about anything that wasn’t how good it felt to have Connor fussing over her.
That wouldn’t last.
Already, he was glancing down at her with annoyance in his hazel eyes as he repeated, “Please.”
“Please,” she muttered, hating the annoyance, but embracing it. She had to. Otherwise—
He handed her the mug. “I have a shift today.”
That sent a tiny bolt of fear through her. It shouldn’t. She was fine on her own, was always fine on her own—and even if she wasn’t, she always found a way to be. “Of course,” she said. “You already took enough time off on my account. Don’t worry about me”—a small sip of the steaming black brew—“I’ll be fine. Actually, I just need a few more days, and then I’ll be out of your hair completely—”
“My mom will be over in a couple of minutes,” he said, talking right over her, taking the mug after she’d sipped and swapping it with the plate of food. “She’ll hang with you today and then when my dad comes over this afternoon, he’ll spot you on your exercises.”
“I’ll be fi—”
“Cole and Kim will be over after school,” he said, still talking over her. “They’ll make sure you get dinner and then hang around until—”
“Connor, I’ll be fi—”
More talking. “My shift ends at seven. I’ll come back after that and—”
“I’ll be—”
He shoved the fork at her. “Eat. You’ll need to keep up your strength if you’ll be dealing with my mom fussing over you all day.”
Irritation bloomed through her.
The man had no clue how good he had it.
“Your mom is great,” she snapped, taking the fork that was practically jabbing her in the eyeball.
“Yeah,” he said. “She is. But she’s going to fuss, and she’s going to do it intensely.” He stood. “This is the first day I’ve let the crew come in, Rave.” That was true. She’d had a constant flux of visitors to her hospital room, but she’d been out two weeks now, and aside from the first day when his mom and Kim, Maggie, Soph, and Misty had dropped by dinner and supplies to get her through the next little while, it had just been her and Connor.
Probably why she was ready to tear her hair out.
It was far too much together time for her and Connor.
“That break means they’re worried,” he said. “Which means they’ll come in hot and intense and fussing.”
“I can handle your mother.”
He smiled that sexy half-smile of his. “Oh, how naïve you are.”
She rolled her eyes. “I don’t know if you know this, but I’m a handful myself.”
“Really?” he asked dryly. “I would have never known.” A glance down at her, and yeah, her bitter, broken heart warmed slightly when concern entered his eyes.
Didn’t matter. It couldn’t.
She lifted her chin. “I’ll be fine.”
His gaze held hers, that concern clearly evident. “Text me if it’s not. I’ll send in reinforcements.”
Dammit. She couldn’t do sweet with this man. “I’ll—”
He cupped her jaw, giving her that sweet that threatened everything, sending her pulse skittering, her lungs squeezing. “Text me if it’s not,” he ordered. “Enough of the independence bullshit.”
Even that filled her with warm fuzzies.
Not that she dared show it.
“It’s not independent bullshit,” she snapped, and as it often did when this man got to close to her and she had to engage evasive maneuvers, she started blurting shit out. “And you’ve been helping me far too fucking long as it is. I’ll never be able to make up for this, and you’ll—”
His fingers flexed, and she clamped her teeth together.
Rewound what she said.
Fuck.
“Rave.” A soft voice. Her name spoken so gently she threatened to melt.
She forced herself to hold his gaze. Bluffing. Bluffing. And she smiled. “I’ll be fine.”
His hand slid forward, shifting from just fingertips pressing into her skin to his entire palm cupping her jaw. “Is that what this attitude has been?”
Yeah, nope.
Not going there.
Instead, she played dumb, widening her eyes as she asked, “What are you talking about?”
Connor gave her a look that told her he saw right through her. “You’re a pain in the ass, Rave, but you’re normally not this prickly.”
“I’m not prickly—”
“You are.” A beat. “And it’s because you’re feeling insecure about someone helping you.”
No.
She was feeling insecure about him helping her.
“You’re used to taking care of yourself, but”—a smirk that was so goddamned sexy she felt it straight in her pussy—“you’re just gonna have to deal, sweetheart. We’re here. We’re helping. Stop wasting your air on protesting.”
God, could the man just go?
She jerked her head out of his hold—and immediately regretted the action when pain radiated through her side. “Should I waste my air on telling you to leave?” she gritted out, wanting to sound far bitchier than she actually managed—which was a breathless sort of annoyance.
And still, there was concern in this man’s eyes. “Easy, sweetheart.”
Longing in her belly—to hear him call her that every day, to look at her like he was every day, to be hers…every day. But it couldn’t happen.
So instead, she growled, “Don’t. Call. Me. Sweetheart.”
A flash of amusement through hazel eyes. “Sure.” A beat. “See you later.” Another longer beat as he released her and stood, moved to the door. He glanced back over his shoulder, his smile sexy enough to send her pulse skittering.
“Sweetheart.”
That gnawing need in her belly, scoring through her insides. “I—”
He walked out.
That hurt.
And it was also exactly what she so desperately needed.
Four
Connor
Christ, he was tired.
Twelve hours in the emergency department had his body aching, feet to shoulders to brain.
And they were down one of their best doctors.
Under a full moon no less.
Which was something that shouldn’t be a thing—that the waiting room and beds filled up when the moon was closer to earth—but it was a thing, anyway. Every nurse and doctor and tech in the emergency room knew.
A full moon meant trouble.
Heaven help the night shift.
He’d only gotten a taste of the insanity after the sun went down and darkness descended and that had been more than enough for him.
Day shift all day every day, baby.
Now—though—he was about to enter into further insanity.
In the form of one Raven Montergo.
Beautiful, smart, difficult. Barbed wire and concrete locking up every single part of her that was soft and vulnerable—at least with him.
All while sleeping in his guest room.
Sighing, he reached up, hit the button on the remote clipped to his visor, sent the garage door sliding down, then got out of his car, preparing for the chaos.
For the barbed wire.
Because beautiful, smart, and difficult was normally his type, but Raven…
He wanted to like her. Hell, he just wanted to get along with her because his family liked her. But…oil and water and—
Barrier upon barrier upon barrier.
For some reason, the parts of her she gave to his siblings, to her friends, even to his parents were completely different from what she gave him (which was attitude to the nth fucking degree). That normally wouldn’t bother him. He didn’t need everyone to like him, and anyway, attitude and spine were characteristics he appreciated—because no real man wanted to fuck a limp dishtowel. The problem was that Raven…well, he didn’t want to think she was a bitch, but it was hard not to when she constantly took things as far as she did.
Especially when the contention between them had begun at work.
Usually, it was the male doctors who gave him shit or took an instant dislike to him because he was a “man” doing a “woman’s job.” (Yes, he was mentally making air quotes right then.)
And look, he didn’t mind getting shit—he was one of five boys, which meant he had a thick skin and could dish it out plenty in return. But he also knew his brothers were proud of him. His friends and parents were too. So, while the shit-giving happened frequently, it was tempered with love, with pride.
And Connor shoveled it back with equal opportunity.
All of which meant he could put up with getting shit on (figuratively and literally sometimes, since being a nurse was a messy job). He could deal with doctors—and that even included Raven—being general pains in the ass.
It was just that Raven in particular…had taken it to the extreme.
She’d broken the mold.
Go her.
Disdain from day one. Sharp orders and tone. Strictly business, even when their lives crossed outside of work.
That was all fine—or not fine, but he’d deal.
She didn’t owe him any amount of familiarity.
Unfortunately, now she was convalescing in his guest room while he waited on her hand and foot and dressed her wounds, and generally made sure she didn’t die. For reasons he didn’t even understand himself. It wasn’t like he had to—he didn’t have to open his house, his guest room. He could have held strong against his mom’s most puppy eyes of puppy eyes—
Okay, probably not.
But he could have dropped Raven off at the hotel one of the hundred times she bitched and moaned about getting away from him over the last two weeks.
That he hadn’t…
“Fucking stupid,” he muttered, grabbing his cell, and getting out of his car, knowing that the tangle of the feelings in his gut went deeper than being frustrated by her prickly nature, by the fact that she gave everyone but him the real Raven. Knowing it was centered not just in fire and ash and saving her from flames, but because of what he’d felt deep inside the first time he’d seen her smile.
None of that mattered.
Soon enough she would be gone, and soon enough they’d be able to go back to licking their wounds in their respective corners.
There. Good.
Game plan.
He pushed into the house, instinctively caught the door so it didn’t slam, then didn’t waste any time doing what he always did—stripping down out of his scrubs, shoving them in the washer. His shoes hit a tub he kept in the mud room next to his dryer.
Only when he went to grab his sweats and tee—also something he kept in a tub, but this one on top of the dryer—the bin was empty.
“What the fuck?” he muttered, spinning in a circle as though that would make the clothes appear.
Unfortunately, his magical abilities didn’t extend that far.
Putting in IVs, calming patients, managing meds and tests and the comfort of multiple patients, he had the magical touch.
But he couldn’t make his clothes reappear his with a thought or a spin.
“Damn,” he muttered.
The culprit was probably his mother—rearranging his shit into “something more functional” (which, of course, was the way his mom preferred things to be).
Regardless, he wasn’t putting his scrubs back on.
He’d spent twelve-plus hours in them. They had hospital ick on them.
And…Kim and Caleb had taken off twenty minutes before, leaving to get Cole into bed, since it was a school night. They’d reported that the feisty, smart pain-in-the-ass currently taking up space in his house was asleep in the guest room.
So, he decided to not worry about missing clothes and magical abilities, and just walked through the mudroom and into the kitchen in his boxer briefs.
Shower.
Sleep.
Take care of the stubborn beauty when he woke up.
Then off to work again.
The full moon would be over. Hopefully, that would mean a quieter day—though, he couldn’t lie. Part of the reason he worked in the emergency department was because he liked being busy. He liked the rush and the cases and being able to move quickly, to do it while helping people. All of that made the long shifts go by in the blink of an eye. All of that fueled the need inside him to do something productive.
“Stop thinking and shower, man,” he muttered, grabbing a glass from a cabinet and filling it with water, then deciding to take his own advice and head for his bathroom.
The good news was that both his mom and Kim had been here.
That meant his fridge would be full—and hopefully the foil-wrapped plate on his counter would contain Kim’s world—or at least, Stoneybrook’s—famous apple pie.
He didn’t peel back the foil to check.
Otherwise, he’d ditch the shower, grab a fork, and watch the replay of the Breakers’ game on TV while downing that pie.
