Burn for You (30 page)

“We could give him a sedative an hour or so before surgery to help him relax. That usually helps with anxiety.”

“I know, but the thing is, his fear is centered on that drugged feeling. He doesn’t want a sedative beforehand. If he has to be sedated, he wants instant lights out.”

“I don’t know…we usually give a sedative. Once he has it, he’ll probably be fine.”

“That’s not what he wants. And he’s not going to consent to surgery unless I’m permitted to be with him when he goes out and when he wakes up.”

Laura glanced around the nurse’s station, looking like a teenager who was about to graffiti a wall and wanted to make sure no one was coming.

She was about to cave.

Hoping to seal the deal, Victoria added, “I think it would go a long way with Dr. Tamaka if you advocated for Jason. He’ll listen to you, but if I ask, I’ll just be the distraught girlfriend who doesn’t know any better.” Right, okay, so she wasn’t his girlfriend, but they didn’t need to know that right now.

Laura nodded, but didn’t look as convinced as Victoria would’ve liked. “You’ve seen his hand, haven’t you?”

“Yes.” The nurse’s wide eyes confirmed for Victoria that something awful lay beneath those bandages.

“Then you know he has to have this surgery. We need to do whatever it takes to make sure he consents.”

“You’re right. I’ll talk to Dr. Tamaka.”

Relieved, Victoria closed her eyes for a moment. “Thank you, Laura. Thank you.”

With a kind, understanding smile, Laura hurried off to find Dr. Tamaka, and Victoria returned to Jason.

He looked like death warmed over. His complexion could’ve served as camouflage—he blended perfectly with the stark white sheets. His jaw was clenched tight, his brows drawn together. Every muscle in his face was taut—contributing to the mask of pain he wore.

“I think I talked one of the nurses into being our ally.”

“That’s good. Thanks.”

It went completely against her nature to stand next to him, doing nothing. In any other situation, she’d be giving him painkillers. But he didn’t want those. Or she’d bandage and splint his hand. But someone had already done that.

He was hurting. Worse than that, he was terrified. He tried to downplay it, but she’d heard the fear in his raspy whisper earlier. Two words that must have cost him every bit of manly pride he had.

Could you…

It was likely as close to asking for her support as he could come. And for a man who didn’t want any more than a friends-with-benefits arrangement that was a big deal.

He was scared. She was helpless to do anything about it. And it was killing her inside.

“Are you comfortable?” she asked.

He grunted and almost grinned.

“I mean, I know your hand—”

“And my head.”

“Right. But is there anything I can do? Do you need more pillows?”

“Nah. I’m good.”

“Want me to adjust the head of the bed? Up?”

“No. It’s fine.”

“How about down?”

“No, I’m really good.”

“How about a blanket?”

“Victoria.”

“I’m sorry.” To add to her embarrassment her voice sounded like she was going to cry. She cleared her throat. “I just hate that there’s nothing I can do to help.”

“You’re helping,” he said, using his uninjured hand to pull her down to the bed. She sat facing him, hip to hip again. “I like the sound of your voice. Just sit here and talk to me. Take my mind off all this.”

“What do you want me to talk about?”

He let out a half laugh, half growl. “I don’t suppose you’d talk dirty to me?”

She actually might’ve considered it if his face hadn’t been so pale. “I’m pretty sure your blood is needed in your extremities more than your cock at the moment.”

“You said
cock
. That’s close enough for me.”

She laughed, and he grinned. But it was a fleeting look, gone as quickly as it had come.

After a few seconds, he sighed and grabbed her hand. “Just talk, Toria. Talk about anything.”

“Okay,” she said. And then she did.

* * *

The anticipation is the worst part.
That’s what people said, right? That waiting for something you dreaded was worse than enduring whatever it was you’d feared? Yes, that’s what people said.

People were full of shit, Victoria decided.

Yes, it was true that the anticipation had made Jason tense in the time leading up to surgery. He’d endured the CT scan, and on the surface appeared resigned to the fact that he would have to be put under. But he was unusually quiet. And during the times when Victoria held his hand, his grip had been almost painful.

But any hope Victoria harbored that he would wake up and say,
Hey, that wasn’t so bad
, was completely blown to hell when he started to come to.

He thrashed and pushed at anyone who came near him. His beautiful blue eyes had been wide with panic, but thankfully, the episode was short-lived. In less than a minute, he drifted back out of consciousness, and the anesthesiologist—standing by to observe how Jason woke from surgery—pushed a syringe of something into his IV.

“No, please,” Victoria said. “He wants as little sedation as possible.”

Dr. Tamaka raised his brows at her, because really, how dare she question
the doctor
. “This should calm him down until the general wears off.”

She chewed her lip nervously, imagining what Jason might be feeling.

She’d been put out for an emergency appendectomy at seventeen and remembered waking up feeling groggy. Everything sounded muffled, and she and those around her seemed to move slowly, as if they were all suspended in clear Jell-O. Her eyes would open, only to have the black curtain fall over her vision again. There was no sense of time. She woke to see her mother next to her, but before she could even say anything, she drifted back to sleep. She would wake again, but whether it was hours later or mere seconds there was no telling. It was disorienting to say the least.

To Jason, it must have been pure torture.

Dr. Tamaka observed his vitals for a moment longer and then departed, saying he’d be back to check on him soon.

She knew the second Jason started to come around again because his limbs began twitching, and his head moved back and forth on the pillow.

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m right here.”

He started to sit up, and fearing that he would put weight on his hand, Victoria placed her palm to the center of his chest and gently pushed him back to the bed.

Big mistake.

He fought against her in earnest now, but she managed to hold her own against his uncoordinated, drugged movements.

Doing her best to keep him lying down, she leaned over him. “Jason, it’s okay.”

Breathing fast, he squinted up at her, reminding her that he was terribly nearsighted. He’d had to remove his contacts before surgery. Which meant, that in addition to feeling drugged, he couldn’t see.

She brought her face to within inches of his and, laying a hand to the side of his head, stroked his cheek with her thumb. “I’m right here. Just like I promised.” His blue eyes focused on her face and some of the tension seeped from his limbs. “It’s just you and me. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

A funny thing for her to say—
you’re safe
. But it seemed to be what he needed to hear, and once again, he drifted into sleep.

Victoria sighed and rested her forehead against his for a moment. “Where’s this coming from, Jase?” she whispered, knowing he couldn’t hear her—or that if he could, he couldn’t answer.

Some phobias were spontaneous. They rose up for no known reason. Like her friend from college who drove miles out of her way to avoid bridges with no good explanation. She’d never been in an accident. Never fallen from a bridge. But the thought of walking or driving over one made her break out in a cold sweat.

And some phobias were rooted in traumatic events. Like a kidnap victim, locked in a trunk, who later developed a fear of closed spaces.

So which was it for Jason?

Knowing what Preston had told her about Jason’s mother, about how she’d been willing to sell her son for drug money, didn’t inspire much hope for the spontaneous phobia theory. And imagining how this phobia may have originated for him made her insides twist painfully.

He moaned and started to turn his head to the side. “Gonnabesick,” he said.

Victoria snatched up the basin next to the bed and held it under his chin. Nothing but liquid came up, but he continued to heave regardless.

Still holding the basin for him, she stroked the back of his neck. “It’s all right. Anesthesia makes people nauseous sometimes.” True enough, but the words were uttered for Jason’s pride alone. Instinct told her there was more to this than a reaction to medication. One look at his wide, panicked eyes when he’d first woken up and she’d felt his fear as if it were her own. As if it flowed through her veins just as strongly as it did his.

He waved the basin away, and she set it aside.

“What can I do to help?” she asked.

“Water.”

“How about ice chips?” She spooned some from the Styrofoam cup on the bedside table and offered it to him. He chewed it slowly, closing his eyes, as if the effort of keeping them open was just too much.

She turned in search of the bag Nick had brought. He’d gone to Jason’s apartment during the long surgery and grabbed some items for Jason’s hospital stay. Hopefully he’d found Jason’s glasses somewhere.

By the time she dug them out of the bag and turned back, Jason was out again. Even in sleep, his brow was furrowed, the corners of his mouth drawn down in a frown. She lowered the bedrail and sat down on the bed, reaching out to smooth the lines from his face with her thumb. He turned his face into her palm, and she held her breath, so overcome with tenderness it made her chest tighten.

She put the black-rimmed glasses on him while he slept, hoping it would be less disorienting the next time he woke if he could see.

For the next hour, he loomed in and out of consciousness. Each time, waking with startled, frantic movements until he heard her voice. She spoke in soothing tones and he calmed. But if she stopped talking, even for a moment, he grew restless again.

So she talked. And talked. And talked.

She told him about her childhood and how her four older brothers had tortured her. How Donnie and Tony had folded her up into the mattress of their sleeper sofa with her feet sticking out and tickled her until she almost wet her pants. And how Vince used to cheat in pillow fights by stuffing hardcover books in his pillowcase. And when she ran out of stories about her family, she resorted to walking him through the process of home brewing a pumpkin ale.

“It’s really important to sanitize your equipment first. Anything that’s going to touch the beer must be properly cleaned. That’s really the secret to a good brew.” She drew circles with her finger on the back of his good hand, studying the patterns she made. “I have a favorite brew pot. It’s stainless steel and—” He squeezed her fingers and she looked up. “Oh, you’re awake.”

His blue eyes were more lucid than they’d been since surgery. “You don’t have to stop talking,” he said, his voice still raspy from surgery.

“Oh, it was nonsense. You seemed…more comfortable when I was talking, so I…but it’s all nonsense.”

“I don’t care. I love the sound of your voice.” He wore a silly smile that reminded her of that drunken groomsman from the wedding who’d fallen all over her.

“Well, I’ll…I’ll feel dumb talking now that I know you’re paying attention.”

“That’s never stopped you from talking before.”

She laughed. “So…how do you feel?”

“A little drunk. No, more like…buzzed. It’s not quite as awful as it was before. I feel…in control…but sluggish.”

“When you woke up the first time, you were really upset and Dr. Tamaka put something in your IV to calm you. I imagine that’s what’s making you feel…extra relaxed.”

He nodded.

She searched for something to say. The last thing they’d discussed before he went under was whether or not their…relationship? Liaison? Arrangement? Whatever it was—should be past tense or not. She knew what she wanted.

And it scared her.

She glanced up at Jason, who was staring at her with a contented smile on his face.

“What?”

“What do you mean, what?” he asked.

“You’re looking at me funny.”

“Am I?”

“What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing. I just can’t stop looking at you.”

He was acting goofy. Drugged. She shouldn’t take anything he said in this state seriously. But did that stop her heart from dipping down into her stomach and flying back up to her chest at his drunken confession? Nope, it sure didn’t.

“I don’t ever want to stop looking at you,” he said. “I love the sound of your laugh. I want to make it my ring tone.” He squinted the way drunk people do when they’re thinking too hard. “No, no. I want it to be my…what’s that thingy called?”

“What thingy?”

“You know, the thingy.”

She giggled. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific.”

“The thingy…when you set your phone and it wakes you up in the morning.”

“The alarm? The alarm on your phone?”

“Yes, that’s it. I want it to be my alarm. Then I could wake up to the sound of your laughter every morning…I love your laugh. And I love those stupid puns you make. And I love that you think ‘that’s what she said’ jokes are hilarious.”

He leaned forward, as if he was about to tell her a secret, and whispered, “But I have to tell you something.”

“Yes?”

“I really don’t want to hurt your feelings, but I think it’s best if it’s all out in the open, you know? Like, let’s not have any secrets. Let’s always be honest with each other.”

Victoria’s amusement fled along with her smile. This was it. This was the part where he would tell her he wasn’t interested in anything more than a physical relationship.

“I don’t…God, I don’t even want to say it. Never mind. Forget it.”

“No, say it.” Might as well get it all out in the open. Rip off the Band-Aid, so she could move on with her life. “You’re right. Let’s always be honest with each other.”