Heroes (Hollywood Heartthrobs #1) (4 page)

She
was young, maybe mid-to-late-twenties. Even with her eyes closed and bandages
on her head, she had a striking face. Her skin was fresh and naturally tan,
with lovely full red lips. She had high cheekbones that suggested dimples when
she smiled. Above the bandages coffee-colored brown hair fell loosely to just
above her shoulders. He already knew exactly what her eyes looked like. He
would never forget those bright green eyes. She was tall, probably only three or
four inches shorter than him, and even through the loose hospital covers he
could see the outline of a slender but strong body. She was absolutely
beautiful. She looked peaceful, as though asleep in a pleasant dream.

But
of course she wasn’t asleep. She was unconscious in a hospital room surrounded
by machines and strangers, Dean thought grimly. And it was all his fault. He
had let Alec out of his sight, nearly gotten him killed. Would have gotten him
killed, he corrected, if not for the sacrifice of the Good Samaritan girl now
paying for his incompetence. He couldn’t find words strong enough to curse
himself for what he’d caused. Dean stood silently over her like a guard until
the nurse came in. 

“Hello,
I’m Nurse Freeman.” She was a heavyset, middle-aged, very competent looking
woman in green scrubs, moving to check the patient’s vitals.

“I’m
Dean,” he said.

“Good,”
the nurse replied simply. “What can you tell me about this woman?”

“What?”
Dean asked, taking a moment too long to realize what she was actually asking.
“Um, nothing.”

“You
aren’t a relation?” the nurse asked.

“No,
I… I was there when she was hit.” Dean couldn’t bring himself to mention Alec
now.

“So,
you do not know our Jane Doe? You have no information as to her identity?”

“I…”
Dean was finding it hard to force words out of his lungs. “I don’t know her.”

The
nurse looked disappointed, and more than a little wary. “Then may I ask why you
are still here? If you were injured you’d be in a room of your own. If you
don’t know the patient, I mean?”

Now
Dean understood, and the realization sobered him up sharply. If he was just
some rubbernecking bystander, they would probably tell him to leave the woman
alone. He had to stay, at least until she woke up. He had to say something,
convince the nurse to let him stay. “I, I wanted to make sure she was alright.
I was the one who pulled her arm. When she was in the street.”

It
wasn’t a lie, he told himself. It wasn’t a lie. He had grabbed her arm, pulled
her away from the truck. She probably would have been hurt worse without him.

No,
said a malicious voice in his head, she’d be absolutely fine without you. You
put her in the path of that truck and you know it. She was there because you
failed Alec. She saved him. Saved him from
you
.

The
battle in Dean’s soul escaped the nurse’s notice, and she smiled kindly at
Dean. “Right. The paramedic’s report said she was hit by a vehicle, but that a
man helped pull her out of the way. You must be our hero.”

Dean
burned inwardly at the undeserved thanks, but he’d take it if it kept him here.
“So, it’s alright if I stay, just to make sure she’s alright?”

Nurse
Freeman took a breath. “It’s fine if you’d like to stay, but I should tell you
it may be a while.”

“But,
she will be okay, right?” Dean’s voice approached panic.

“Well,
I can’t promise anything. The surgery to repair her broken arm was successful,
and it should heal just fine. She’ll be in a cast for a while, but she’ll be
alright. More serious is the wound to her head. She was still out when they
prepped her arm, but they sedated her for the surgery anyway in case she came
to. Scans show a serious concussion, but not much damage to the skull itself.
Basically, she took a powerful blow to the back of her head. We won’t know more
until she regains consciousness.”

“When
will that be?” Dean asked.

“Difficult
to say. But, no one would blame you if you left. You’ve done enough already. I
can arrange for you to be called when she’s conscious, if you like.”

“For
now I’d rather stay, thanks.” Dean said. The nurse’s statement that he’d done
enough rang painfully in his ears.

“If
you like,” said Nurse Freeman, turning to leave.

“Wait,”
Dean said. “You asked a minute ago if I knew her, and her chart says she’s a
Jane Doe. That means no one knows who she is?”

“Correct,”
said the nurse. “Unless someone comes forward, we’ll have to wait until she can
tell us her name.”

“Didn’t
she have an ID or something?” Dean asked. “Something to say who she is?”

The
nurse shrugged. “Most people carry some form of identification, but in the
hubbub of an accident, things get lost easily. It’s likely she was separated
from her purse or whatever and someone picked it up.”

“Picked
it up? Like, stole it?”

“Possibly.”

“Who
the hell would steal from a girl hit by a truck?”

The
nurse gave him a small, slightly sad smile. “Probably more people than you
would imagine. But, then again you’re the kind of man who pulls women back from
in front of trucks, so I suppose you’re pretty far from the thieving type.”

When
the nurse left, Dean resumed his silent vigil. He took a seat in the chair next
to the girl’s bed, wondering who she was, and how she had gotten to that bus
stop. She looked so still, so helpless. But if he knew nothing else about her,
he knew she had jumped in front of a truck to save a child. A woman with that
kind of strength, that kind of courage, could never possibly be helpless.

He
couldn’t have explained why, but he reached out and placed his hand over hers. She
felt warm to his touch. He gently slid his middle finger under her wrist. He
could feel her pulse, slow and regular. The steady rhythm of it calmed him more
than he could say. She would be alright, he thought, as though he could will it
into being. She would be fine, and he would be right here when she woke, for
his own sake much more than hers. He needed her to be alright, needed to tell
her how grateful he was, how grateful he would always be, for what she had done
for Alec, and how sorry he was that he failed, that he had put Alec in harm’s
way. All these thoughts were brimming over in his soul, and he didn’t know what
he would ever do if he didn’t get the chance to tell her. It was unthinkable.

****

Marjorie
Jensen had been volunteering at the hospital ever since retiring. After four
decades of secretarial work, she had found retirement a dreadful bore. So she
was often found at the hospital reading to patients, walking them out to the
grassy lawn out back she generously referred to as the garden, and occasionally
sneaking sweets in to the kids in the pediatric ward. This evening, she had
just finished reading to kindly old Mr. Haymitch, whom she always thought of as
old even though he was actually only six years her senior (Marjorie was
amazingly well-preserved for a woman about to turn seventy). Walking past an
open door, she noticed a young couple inside. A pretty woman with bandages on
her head was asleep on the bed, while her handsome swain held her left hand.
They looked almost like Sleeping Beauty and her prince. It was one of the
bright spots of volunteering in a hospital, no one was ever reserved at the
bedside of someone they cared about. The man’s eyes held such love and concern,
she felt drawn to the display of youthful devotion. She knocked gently at the
door. The man started.

“Sorry,
dear, I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said. “I’m Marjorie. I’m one of the
volunteers on this ward and I wanted to ask if you were alright. Anything you
need?”

“No,
thanks. We’re fine,” Dean answered.

“You
should try to get some rest, you look peaky.” Poor thing, Marjorie thought,
eyes for no one but her, of course. She noticed neither of them wore a ring.
Well, that won’t take long, she thought, unable to resist enjoying their
courtship vicariously in her own imagination. 

“I
want to be here when she wakes up,” Dean said without much thought.

Marjorie
smiled at him. “Young man, volunteering at this hospital I’ve seen more than a
few fellows in your position. Sitting there, wishing there was more to be done.
You can’t help her by hurting yourself. A girl lucky enough to have a handsome
young buck like you holding her hand isn’t going anywhere if she can help it.”

Dean
appreciated Marjorie’s sentiment, and he managed a small smile of thanks in her
direction. Misunderstanding which part had triggered it, she patted him gently
on the shoulder and continued. “She knows she’s not in this alone. I’m sure she
knows how much you love her.”

She
stepped out quickly to leave them alone together. Closing the hospital room
door behind her, she saw the young man put a hand to his eye. Men, she thought,
all alike, don’t know what a good thing they have until they think they might
lose it. Then, of course, they’re bigger babies than they know.

Dry-eyed
and empty for hours, Dean now felt in full force all the emotion of the day.
After Marjorie left, he sat next to the bed, held the girl’s hand, and wept
like a child.

****

          As sometimes
happens coming out of a deep sleep, she was aware of noises before she was
aware of sights. She heard a high-pitched but very quiet beeping. It was
machine-like but soothingly regular, like a mechanized heartbeat. After
listening for a few seconds, she opened her eyes. The ceiling tiles of the room
were ugly and industrial. It was rather dark, as if to encourage sleep. It had
obviously worked on him, she thought, becoming vaguely aware of another person
in the room. She took a breath. She was lying on a bed with metal rails around
it. A man was asleep sitting up in a chair off to one side. She could hear him
snoring very softly. On her other side, a large and complicated-looking
machine, or several small, square machines stacked together, she couldn’t be
sure, was making the quiet beeping noise.

          Where was
she? She had to stop and think about the answer. A bed, a chair, machines. She
noticed an IV in the back of her right hand. This was a hospital. What the hell
was she doing in a hospital?

          She tried to
think of the last thing she could remember before waking up here, and drew a
complete blank. Feeling a tiny tinge of panic up the back of her neck, she took
in a deep, steadying breath. Okay, think, she thought. Where were you before
this room? She had no idea, as if this room was the only thing she had ever
known.

          Well, that is
ridiculous, she thought. This is a hospital room, you know that because
presumably you have seen rooms that are not hospital rooms and therefore have a
frame of reference. She recognized the logic in her own argument, and pushed a
step further. What other rooms have you seen? Blankness. She had a nagging
sensation that she would recognize other rooms if she saw them, but for the
moment could not picture anything else. The panic was creeping up again.

          Setting aside
the metaphysical dilemma of room recognition, she tried to turn her thoughts
outward. Okay, it was night, she knew that. She had been asleep in this
hospital bed. She could hear noises outside the room, down what she imagined
was a long hallway. That would probably be hospital staff. She could also hear
sounds from outside. Cars on the road. See that, the logical part of her brain
declared in triumph, you know about cars and roads, so you have definitely been
outside of this room. Shut up, the panicky part retorted.

          She turned
again to the other person in the room, and her panic subsided a little. Maybe
it was just the awareness that she was not alone in this place, but she found
his presence oddly comforting. The man in the chair was youngish; he had short
blonde hair flecked with tawny brown, and handsome features with just the
tiniest trace of a five o’clock shadow. He had a very attractive face, she
thought, despite an annoying inability to call to mind any other faces with
which to compare it. In blue jeans and a white t-shirt, he didn’t look like what
she imagined hospital staff to look like. Also, he was asleep, so probably not
working here. A sudden cheery thought struck her: he must be here for her. Of
course, she was here in the hospital bed, he was obviously here because he knew
her, cared about her, and was making sure she was alright. Clearly he could
help out with the whole
not-remembering-anything-from-more-than-sixty-seconds-ago problem she was
currently having. But, he looked so peaceful there asleep, she decided to
continue investigating the situation without him for now.

          She took in
the room again. Hanging from the machines was a clipboard filled with writing.
Across the top was an admission date and a name: Doe, Jane. Right then, she
thought. I must be Jane. What next? She took the clipboard down and read it. It
said Jane Doe had been admitted around 3pm after being struck by an automobile,
immediately taken to the surgical floor to repair a broken arm (“protruding
humerus” was the term used on the form), and assigned to room 307 shortly after
5pm. The patient also suffered a severe concussion from a blow to the back of
the head and had not yet regained consciousness. She pieced the ideas together.
She must have been hit by a car. The injuries mentioned on the clipboard made
sense, given that part of her left arm was immobile and she was vaguely aware
of bandages around her forehead. So, Jane, she thought to herself, nice to meet
you.