I'm Only Here for the Beard (The Dixie Wardens Rejects MC #4)(33)

"Thank you," I murmured. "Did they say who it was from?"

The meddling woman, the same one that'd been trying to get me to call Sean all week, grinned.

"The delivery guy said 'from your biker' to me. The card reads the same." She pointed at the card.

My belly warmed, and I closed my eyes, finally realizing just how stupid I'd been.

Maybe I should have called him. But then I realized that he had to know where I was to be able to send these. At least hours ago.

Why hadn't he come up here?

Sure, I was likely overreacting. In fact, I knew I was overreacting. Yet I didn't care. I wanted someone who freakin' cared. Who would show up, pissed as hell, that I had been missing a week without an explanation.

"Thanks," I said to her.

Abigail's face fell, and she pursed her lips. "I don't agree."

I knew she didn't.

I didn't know Abagail all that well, but in the short time I had her as my nurse, I knew she spoke her mind. Countless times she'd told me rather bluntly that this was real life. Shit happened, literally. So I needed to stop being embarrassed and live my life.

Something in which I'd promised her I'd do from now on. Something I felt that I could accomplish without that stupid colostomy bag weighing me down and preventing me from wearing the clothes that I wanted to wear.

"Damn, I forgot your prescriptions. Be right back."

She stopped me beside the elevator, next to an older man that I'd seen walking the floor right along with me over the last day that I'd been able to cajole my body up.

The man looked lost.

"Hello," I said, touching the old man on the shoulder. "Can I help you with something?"

He looked over at me in my own wheelchair, and shook his head.

He looked sad.

Really sad.

And I wanted to give the old man a hug.

I didn't usually do that. Not with strangers.

In my line of work, I saw a lot of men and women, especially older folks, who looked sad.

It seemed, the older you became, the lonelier you got. And this man, with his bushy white eyebrows, and his jowly face, looked lonelier than any I'd seen in a long time.

I didn't know what possessed me to talk to him, but I did.

"They're springing me. Are they springing you?"

His eyes returned to mine.



       
         
       
        

"I wasn't here because I was admitted. Just visiting the ladies who took care of my wife."

I blinked.

"Oh," I said, feeling embarrassed. "That's good, then. How's your wife doing?"

If I'd read his body language, I would've known that this was a sore subject, but I was trying to distract myself from the bouquet of flowers in my lap, instead focusing on this man who looked so sad.

"My wife died a little over six months ago," he rasped, his voice full of shakes. "She died, and these ladies on the floor did CPR on her for over an hour before the doctor called time of death. They make me feel closer to her, so I come up here and visit."

My stomach dropped.

If I'd been standing up, I would've swayed on my feet at the sound of the devastation in that man's voice.

"I'm sorry to hear that," I whispered, unsure what to say.

I was never good at finding the right thing to say. Which was why it was so hard for me to comfort patients' families. I was a paramedic, not a counselor, and at times I found it hard to say the right things when the right words were all you wanted to hear.

He shrugged, like it didn't bother him.

As long as you didn't look at his eyes, you might not know.

"Sorry, honey. Here they are." She handed them to me.

I looked at the filled prescriptions. "These are filled," I said dumbly.

Abigail snickered. "Technically, since you're an employee of the hospital through the ambulance service, you can fill your scripts at the hospital pharmacy at no extra cost to yourself."

That was awesome, though I didn't plan on being in a hospital anymore to use this convenience.

"Thank you," I smiled.

"Hello, Mr. Thorton. Are you on your way home?" Abigail asked, sounding surprised to see the man beside us.

"Hi, Abby Girl," he said thickly. "And I am."

"Did you ever find your dog?" she asked.

"No," he said. "She never came back home. I posted those fliers all over the neighborhood, but haven't heard a thing back on her."

Oh, God. The man had lost his dog, too? Only months after losing his wife?

That was freakin' horrible.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Mr. Thorton. How about you ride down with us, keep us company. This one gets to go home today after a week with us," she chattered along as if I wasn't even there. "I'm trying to convince her to call her man, but she's being stubborn. She called a taxi instead."