Britney sits up and gets out of my bed. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss the feel of her body pressed against mine. She somehow calmed the storm brewing within me, silencing my self-loathing and guilty conscience, even if it was only for a couple of hours.
Britney turns to face me. “I’ll be back once I know more.” I nod my response because I don’t trust myself. I’m borderline ready to beg her to stay with me, to crawl back into my bed and hold me.
She turns and hugs my mom.“Mrs. Beaumont, I’m glad you made it home safe.”
“Thanks for staying with my son.” My mother loves Britney, and I know she secretly hopes that we’ll end up together. But she also knows about the pact, so Mom has never pushed me to date her.
“We’ll see you two later,” Mrs. Winslow chimes in as she hooks her arm through her daughter’s, and they leave me with my mom.
“Where’s Dad?” I ask my mother, even though I already know the answer.
“He’s still in Singapore. You know our vacations always mix with business.” My father is a cold-hearted son of a bitch, but I didn’t think he was fucking heartless.
“Business before his son, who just got shot. I guess that’s to be expected.”
“Kade, he’ll be here in a couple of days. He hates hospitals anyway.”
“Oh, and you and I love fucking hospitals? All he’s going to say is he told me so. He told me this job isn’t worth the risk and that I should be sitting in a corner office, miserable. I don’t want him to come here. I don’t want him to come to my house. If he can’t put aside our differences now, then there’s nothing more for either of us to say to each other.”
“Son—”
“Mom, don’t defend him.”
“I won’t,” she responds defeatedly. “Have you spoken to your doctor yet?”
“Not yet.”
“I’ll check if your doctor is available.” My mother goes to find my doctor, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
As far as I’m concerned, my father is dead to me. There will be no more faking any semblance of a father-son relationship to appease my mom. I want nothing more than to find out I still have my job because then I can push myself harder and hope to make chief when I’m in my thirties, not my late forties or fifties like most chiefs.
My mind drifts to Britney. She knows everything but believes her brother and I had to do what we had to do, even if there won’t be justice for the mother and her child. As long as she feigns ignorance about what went down, no one will bother her during the internal investigation. As it stands right now, Britney is merely the sister of an officer who was involved in the shooting.
A light knock on the door frame interrupts my thought process as a woman in a white coat enters my room with a nurse and my mother right behind her.
“Mr. Beaumont—” she begins.
“It’s Kade. My father is Mr. Beaumont, and I’m not him.”
“Son, manners,” my mother reprimands me like a child. That’s not degrading at all. But she’s right, and my response was rude.
“It’s fine, Mrs. Beaumont,” the doctor defends my rude behavior. “Kade, I’m Dr. Robinson. I’m the cardiac surgeon who operated on you.”
“Doctor.”
“The bullet grazed your left ventricle, which is a good thing; otherwise, you wouldn’t be here right now. It was a clean GSW, so there was very little damage to mend. For just having surgery, your vitals are looking promising, and your incision looks good if I say so myself. How’s your pain level?”
“I hurt, but so far, it’s not unbearable pain.”
“That can change once the anesthesia is completely out of your system. Full disclosure, when someone is recovering as well as you are, we move the patient out of ICU. Being as we have six ICU rooms, and only two are in use, I got administrative approval to keep you here. Of course, if we get another ICU patient while you’re still here, we will move you to another room. With any luck, we should have you out of the hospital in a couple of days.”
“Understood. Thank you.” I am thrilled to hear I’ll be out of this place in a couple of days, but I’m more grateful to the staff for allowing me to stay in my current room. I wasn’t kidding when I said I hate hospitals. They’re a haven for germs, sleep is impossible because the nurses come in what feels like every fifteen minutes, the bed sucks, and the food is bland. At least in this ICU, the nurses and assistants are kind, helpful, and respectful of one’s sleep.
“Also,” Dr. Robinson continues, “you’re an otherwise healthy man; therefore, you will fully recover. But—”
“There’s always a but,” I comment.
“But your recovery will take anywhere from eight weeks to three months,” Dr. Robinson finishes her sentence. “Even then, you won’t be released to full-duty until you’ve completed your physical therapy.”
“Fuck!” The word flies from my mouth without consideration as to who my audience is. My mother grabs my hand, and I take it as her silent plea to watch my language.
In my line of work, the F-bomb drops more often than not. I try to rein in my vocabulary, but it is what it is. The word ‘fuck’ is considered to be the worst of the curse words, yet it is the most versatile word. It can be good, bad, or indifferent. In my case, it’s fucking terrible.
“You will have strict post-op instructions as well as medication to help with the pain, blood thinners to help prevent clotting and some antibiotics to fend off any possibility of infection. If you can manage to follow the directions as written, you’ll have a better chance of recovering faster. The first couple of weeks will be the most difficult, because you’ll be expected to follow a bland, low to no sodium diet as well as abstain from sex, including masturbation.” The doctor glances up from the clipboard in her hand, waiting for my backlash to her last statement.
You have got to be fucking kidding me! I close my eyes and pretend I didn’t hear what she said. I know everything will be written out, so for now, I choose not to react or acknowledge the no masturbating order. I’m a man, for fuck’s sake. Masturbating is like breathing.
“Kade, are you listening to the doctor?” Mom’s voice brings my attention to her.
“Yes,” I deadpan.
“Well, okay then. Are you hungry?” the doctor asks me.
“A little.”
“I’ll ask Nurse Aaron to order you some broth, crackers, water, and ginger ale once he records your next round of vitals. Also, you’re due for your next round of medications. Aaron will bring them to you after you have something in your stomach. Do either of you have any questions?” Dr. Robinson looks to my mother and then me.
“Not right now.”
“No, Doctor. Thank you.” Mom’s tone is polite.
“Oh, and before I forget, the morning nurse will be in to remove the catheter. I want you to try and walk around tomorrow. Although you can walk with a catheter, most patients complain of discomfort and prefer to have it removed.” I didn’t even think about it, but until the doctor said something, I realized I hadn’t had the urge to use the restroom. Now I know why. “I’ll be back tomorrow before my first surgery to check on you. If something changes, please alert the on-duty nurses right away. Don’t wait until whatever you’re feeling becomes unbearable. They’ll contact me, and I’ll rush back in.”