Straightening her spine, Sloane walked into the living room and stepped in front of her new responsibility. He grumbled as he tried to look around her.
Finally, when it became obvious that she wouldn’t move, Chase snapped, “Do you fucking mind?”
“Nope, not really.”
“What the hell do you want?”
“I have to do something,” Sloane said casually.
“Well, then do it and get the fuck out of my way!”
She nodded slowly in agreement. “That’s a really good idea.”
Chase snorted in disgust as he took a sip of his beer while she walked behind him. Before he could stop her, Sloane released the brakes and rolled his wheelchair back. Realizing what she was up to, Chase reached out to grab hold of the doorway to stop her, but she moved him away before he got a chance.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!”
Sloane ignored him as she turned the wheelchair around and gave it a push. He tried to take over, but she continued to push the wheelchair forward and didn’t stop until she had him in the bathroom. Once she had him inside, Sloane locked the bathroom door behind them.
“What are you doing?” Chase asked as he shot the closed door a wary glance.
“Not much,” Sloane said as she set the small white plastic bench in the shower. Then just as quickly, she rolled him next to the shower stall so that she could switch him to the bench without having to carry him. Not that she could. The man had a good sixty pounds on her, but she’d done this enough to know exactly how to get him out of his chair and onto the bench without throwing her back out or dropping him on the floor.
“No!” Chase yelled almost immediately.
“This isn’t up for discussion. You smell. While I’m working here, you’re going to take better care of yourself.”
“Don’t tell me what to do!” he snapped, sounding like a child. She understood where he was coming from. He was a grown man placed in a situation where he was forced to rely upon others. She could sympathize, but that’s as far as she could allow her emotions to go. He needed someone to take care of him and help him adjust to his new life even if that meant fighting him the whole way to do it.
With the swiftness of seven years’ experience, Sloane reached over and grabbed him beneath his arms and pulled, giving him no choice but to go with it or fall. He swore, but he didn’t fight her. Smart man.
Once she had him on the bench, she pulled the wheelchair away just as he reached for it.
“Fucking bitch!”
“That’s me,” Sloane said easily. “Now, we can either take your clothes off or you’re taking a shower with them on. Your choice,” she said in a no-nonsense tone that clearly told him that she wasn’t going to be backing down anytime soon.
Chase folded his arms over his chest as she stood there, patiently waiting for him to make the next move. For several minutes, he sat there, glaring at her. Finally, when it became obvious that she wasn’t going to budge, he yanked his shirt off over his head and threw it at her.
Sloane caught it and tossed it in the hamper. When she went to help him with his underwear, he glared at her until she stepped back. Good. He had some fight left in him, which was always a good sign.
Once he was completely naked, he casually dropped his hands in his lap. “Let’s get it over with,” Chase snapped, looking extremely pissed.
“We will, but first things first,” Sloane said, turning her attention to the small leather bag she’d placed on the counter. After pulling out her kit, she turned to face him, noting the way that his eyes widened in surprise when he saw what she was holding.
*-*-*-*
“What the hell are you doing?” Chase bit out as he struggled not to panic.
There was a reason why he didn’t want anyone here. Well, besides the fact that he didn’t need anyone’s help, that is. He hadn’t had much luck with the nurses in the hospital, rehab or the few that his sister had managed to stick him with when he first came home.
Several of them had abandoned him when he couldn’t move, leaving him lying in his own piss and screaming in pain. He’d been denied the basics of life, making him feel so damn helpless that he could have cried. He’d also dealt with a few that liked to use threats to get a reaction out of him. One of them had actually tried to go through with it. Now he was forced to watch as this strange woman came at him with a pair of scissors and he was helpless to do anything about it. He could fight back if he had to and would. He’d done it before and would do it again, but that didn’t change anything. He was completely at her mercy and he didn’t trust her.
He didn’t trust anyone.
She moved quickly behind him as he contemplated dropping forward and trying to crawl out of here, but she’d locked them in.
Shit!
“How do you like it?” she asked, confusing the hell out of him.
“What?”
“Your hair. How do you like it? Short or long?”
He was...confused.
“You’re cutting my hair?” Chase had to ask, needing a little clarification.
“It needs a trim,” she said, gesturing to his hair. “How do you want it?”
“Short,” he heard himself answer before he remembered that he was supposed to make her job difficult. He reached up and ran his hand through his long greasy hair and winced. It had been a long time since it had been cut. The last time he’d cut it had been about seven months ago. He’d been so disgusted by it that he’d shaved it off. The asshole, as he liked to refer to that prick Melissa forced on him, had gotten a kick out of making the rich boy beg for something. Chase refused to beg for anything as the asshole soon discovered.
“Sounds good to me,” Sloane, he thought her name was, said.
Knowing that he really didn’t have a choice, he sat there as she began clipping away, preparing himself for the worst. She hummed softly as she worked, but it did nothing to calm his nerves. Was she going to make him look like an even bigger freak? Not that he went anywhere, but that didn’t mean he wanted to be someone’s personal joke.
Ten minutes later, Sloane sighed with satisfaction as she put the scissors away only to come back with the electric clippers. His eyes narrowed on her while she leaned in front of him.
“Your beard,” was all she said.
“I like it,” Chase bit out. He didn’t. Not really. It itched like hell, but he ran out of razor blades a month ago and the store that delivered his food always forgot them along with half his order. What the hell was a man supposed to do without Doritos?
“It’s uneven, greasy, and call me crazy, but with your beautiful hair, intense green eyes and coloring, you’d look better without a beard or at the very least, a shorter one. Let’s shave it now and if you don’t like the naked look, then you can always grow it back and trim it.”
He discovered that he was too damn tired to argue. Thanks to her incessant cleaning earlier, he hadn’t been able to get in his customary four-hour afternoon nap. Just sitting there while she worked on him with that damn humming was lulling him to sleep.
If he answered her, Chase didn’t remember. She probably just took his silence for an answer anyway. No doubt she was used to doing whatever she wanted with her patients because she knew that she could. That wasn’t going to be the case with him. At least, it wouldn’t once he wasn’t so fucking exhausted.