Chapter One
— Cole on his first impression of Kat
“She is the most beguiling and beautiful brunette, but that doesn’t describe her mind, which is even sexier.”
My senses refuse to work in tandem. My eyes are heavy in spite of my mind wanting to open them. My legs feel pinned to the bed. The faint sound of people chattering is nearby. Why are they in my house? It’s the first of many confused thoughts to strike me, but as one eye and then the other finally cooperates with my mind, I realize this isn’t my home.
A blood pressure monitor stands guard over me, occasionally sounding a one note warning. It’s the only presence that seems concerned. That is, until I see her. Kat.
“Welcome back,” a nurse appears suddenly with a greeting that strikes me as odd.
“Thank you.” My response is automated, and I immediately think of asking where I am, but it sounds so clichè. I’m hoping she’ll offer an explanation, but none follows. She merely lifts my hand and repositions a device over my finger. Immediately, the machine stops balking and numbers indicating my pulse spring to life.
“Strong,” she mumbles and nods her head, more to herself than me. I watch the nurse busy herself with other buttons, all somehow related to my care, and still I have no recollection of why I feel so exhausted and sore.
“You decided to take one more long nap on us,” she informs me.
I look at her blankly, until she explains. “You woke ever so briefly two days ago. It’s to be expected.”
Finished with me, the nurse adjusts the blanket that has fallen from Kat’s sleeping shoulders as if it is the most natural thing for her to do. She smiles down at her and then to me. “I’ll let the doctor know you’re awake,” she says beginning to retreat from the room.
“Excuse me,” I call out, although it sounds more like a croak. “How long has she been here?” I reference Kat.
“The whole time.” The nurse glances up at a calendar on the wall. I follow her gaze and notice a white board with the words, Your Nurse today is… printed on it and then block letters with the name Josie written below.
I nod. “So, two days? Thanks, uhh Josie.” I find it strange how stiff my body feels for just being in bed two days. Until I learn the truth.
“Cole…,” she says my name gently. “You’ve been here for two days…plus one month.”
And that’s when I remember. I remember everything. The gunman. The searing pain from his bullet. And, my feelings for Kat, although in truth, those were never lost.
Sleep comes easy to me in my condition. I wake after not even realizing I had fallen asleep. There was so much I wanted to say to Kat, but she’s not here now. The nurse explains that she went home briefly. She flashes a smile and adds, “Probably wanted to get gussied up for you.”
I attempt a smile and wonder about my own appearance. I drag a hand over my chin and feel soft hair, certainly much longer than my usual stubble of growth. The nurse continues with casual conversation and I learn that I was transferred to a regular ward after spending a month in ICU where doctors, nurses, and various machines kept a constant watch and Kat kept vigil. A wave of guilt hits me.
I picture her classroom where the incident occurred, and I put the pieces together that Kat must have left her job. More details from the nurse confirm my suspicions. Aside from providing heartfelt details about Kat’s concern over my well-being, the rest of the nurse’s explanations are clinical.
My brain activity was monitored, and apparently, showed positive indications in spite of my comatose state. Now that I was transferred to a regular ward, I was treated to a light diet of broth, jello, and saltine crackers. Another three days of observation, coupled with the launch of physical therapy, and I would be released. But with one caveat—
Medical orders required that someone should live with me for at least two weeks to ensure I didn’t relapse or experience any complications. I could go AMA — Against Medical Advice — but even I know that I’m not in any shape to be on my own just yet.
I’ve never felt particularly alone. If you grow up fast, you learn to take care of yourself. My parents — victims of a drunk driver — left this world too early. A hefty trust fund and plenty of competent and trusted advisors, all appointed when my parents were still alive and always planning for a worst case scenario, ensured I was financially stable.
That’s actually a mild statement. The advisors include a lawyer, accountant, and financial planner that are sought after by some of the richest people in Los Angeles. I wouldn’t go as far to say they were like family, but they certainly have been there to set me on the right course when my own family was taken away.
My money was wisely invested. Advise was just a phone call away. They taught me about budgets and bill paying, the dangers of overspending, the virtues of living below my means, and the importance of hard work and education. My father launched one of the biggest CPA firms in the world and I wasn’t about to let his legacy be tarnished by turning into another one of those spoiled, rich kids who snorts away their money.
Yet, in spite of knowing how to take care of myself, I was now in the unforeseen situation of not being able to do so physically. While Hollywood portrays a bullet wound as a clean entry, those little metal devils cause a heap of harm. Beyond the obvious hole, there's a lot of damage that occurred inside of my chest.
Since the shooting and my subsequent surgery, I’ve learned that a 9 millimeter bullet can travel at a speed of nearly 700 mph. The momentum causes your body to expand and create a large cavity. Even if one is lucky enough for the bullet to miss major organs, as I was, serious damage to the organs and surrounding tissues still occurs. I never knew it was possible for a bullet to bounce, ricochet, and change direction once it’s inside you. And that’s what placed me on the critical list, in need of some serious blood replenishment, which I learned Kat readily donated.
So now that I’m asked who will stay with me, I’m at a loss. It’s complicated. My thoughts automatically go to Kat and not because she’s been here by my bedside or given her blood without hesitation. Rather, I can’t imagine asking anyone else. She’s the only one who wouldn’t drive me crazy as a roommate, but let’s face it, that isn’t the only reason. I want to be around her, but she’s already done so much and it’s selfish to take any more from her.
I scroll through my phone scanning the names and imagining which one of my buddies would actually be responsible enough to be of help to me. Most of them would end up turning my place into a frat house.
I come to her name again. The nurse told me that she only left long enough to go home to shower and change before returning to talk to my sleeping body. Not even the need for sleep would dissuade her from being with me. Josie pointed to the corner of the room where two chairs faced each other, and explained that Kat would sleep in this makeshift bed.
I may have not spoken much, but seeing her made my heart leap. Hers was the last face I remember after the attack that nearly took my life and the first one I saw upon waking. If the nurse hadn’t told her to go home and get some proper sleep, I would have insisted she leave to have some time to herself. It was obvious, even in my groggy state, that while she was making sure I got the best care possible, she wasn’t taking care of herself. Beautiful as always, but thinner than I remember. I noticed a hollowness to her eyes that I’m not entirely sure was caused from lack of food and sleep. I fear it may be partly from our break up.