Alpha Male Romance(4)

“Let me check your chart,” I said. I was pretty sure I knew the answer, but it never hurt to be certain. Leta continued to curse about the incompetence of her care here while I confirmed what I'd already known. “No, Mrs. Coffee, you still have four hours before you can get another dose.”

“Fuck you,” she muttered. “It hurts now.”

I didn't bother telling her that she should have started the process of being weaned off her meds three days ago, but her husband's influence kept her doctor pushing the limit. None of us were particularly fond of Dr. Maine, but this made us like him even less. He was a new guy, just hired a few months ago, but his attitude was shit.

I let Leta's words wash over me as I did my thing, making my notes. When she'd first come in, I tried to start conversations, tried to draw her away from the pain and toward things she loved. That was what I tried to do with all of my patients. Take their minds away from the pain, remind them what they had to live for.

She hadn't wanted to hear it. All she wanted to do was focus on everything that was wrong, everything she was missing. She was a truly unpleasant woman.

“Someone will be by a bit later,” I said. I'd interrupted her, and she gave me a dirty look, but I knew that if I'd waited for a break in her tirade before speaking, I'd never leave.

Usually, I'd tell someone to press the call button if they needed anything, but I didn't with her. Leta already knew how to use the call button, and she had no problem considering everything an emergency. As much as we tried to keep ourselves professional, there were times that woman earned herself a few choice nicknames.

I walked out before she could start again. The next room brought a true smile to my face. I wasn't supposed to play favorites, but if I had to choose one, it would've been Ivar Durward.

Twenty-two, with jet-black curls and startling cornflower blue eyes, his coloring was his best feature. He was only a few inches taller than me, overweight, and had an unfortunate combination of features that made him look perpetually surprised. He was a comic book nerd, a self-proclaimed techie geek, but didn't have any of the stereotypical awkwardness that one would've associated with a guy like him. He loved to talk to all of us.

The one thing he didn't talk about, however, was which part of the military he was involved with. Not that any of us asked. All of us knew what we needed to know about our patients. If they didn't volunteer extra information, we didn't ask. We respected what each and every one of these men and women did, no matter where or how they played their role.

Ivar's personality just made it easier than some.

“Hey, if it isn't my favorite nurse.” He grinned at me, or at least as much of a grin as he could manage with the amount of scar tissue he had on his face. “Miss Nori Prinz, when are you going to give all this up and marry me?”

I rolled my eyes, but couldn't help but return the smile. “Why would I want to give up this?” I asked as I reached for his chart. “I'm sure you don't have anything even half as exciting as what I get to do here.”

“I don't know,” he teased, his eyes sparkling. “If you like bedpans that much, I'm sure I could buy some.”

I chuckled and moved up to the front of the bed to check his dressings. The burn on his face had been less severe than the ones on his arm and hand, so they were uncovered now. His hand and arm, however, were still swathed in gauze and needed new applications of the antiseptic constantly.

I tried to be as gentle as possible, but cleaning something this badly injured was never a pleasant process. Ivar tried to keep things light, joking and talking about this or that. I knew it was his way of keeping his mind off the pain, so I just nodded confirmation that I was listening, and kept my eyes on the work.

I wished I didn't have to look at it. I'd seen a lot of burns, but the ones on his arm and hand were the worst. It'd been acid of some kind rather than fire, though I knew that only from the burns themselves. It looked like someone had thrown it at him and he'd raised his hand to protect his face. The acid had eaten away most of the skin and muscle on the back of his hand and forearm, leaving it nearly bare to the bone. He'd already had two skin grafts, but if things didn't start looking better soon, I was worried they’d have to take his hand, maybe his arm all the way to the elbow.

“Almost done,” I said quietly. My eyes flicked to Ivar's face. He was pale, and I could see the sheen of sweat on his skin. “Just a little bit longer.”

“Do you think I'll ever be able to use my hand again?” Ivar asked suddenly, his expression strangely serious. “The doctors just keep telling me to wait and see.”

“I don't know,” I answered honestly. “All I can tell you is to make sure you do everything they tell you to do. Listen to your physical therapist, do your exercises, but don't overdo it.”