Deep (Pagano Family #4)(60)

Bev watched their exchange as if she were accidentally eavesdropping on strangers’ conversation. Dr. Kerr turned and considered her. “No, it’s fine.”

He hooked a stethoscope over his neck and walked to the bed. Nick crossed the room, apparently headed for the chair. Bev caught his eye and shook her head. He stopped.

“Do you want me to leave?”

She nodded. Something dark—pain, maybe, or anger—flashed through his eyes.

Dr. Kerr looked up at Nick and then back down at Bev. “Hmm. I’d like to ask Betty or Angie to sit with us, then. All right?”

With a detached understanding that the doctor didn’t want to be a man alone in a room with a rape victim, she nodded, and Nick left, leaving the door open.

A few minutes later, his mother, Betty, came in. “Hi, honey. I’ll sit right here with you. It’s going to be okay.”

Bev wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t anything.

“You’re not talking, dear. Does your throat hurt that badly?”

She nodded to answer the doctor’s question. Even swallowing required a moment to prepare for the pain. She couldn’t imagine trying to force the jagged serifs of words over her raw throat.

“Okay. Let’s check that first. Then I’ll check your vitals and your wounds. Then I’ll change your dressings and show you and Betty how to do it. I was hoping to time this so your meds were in full effect, but it seems that window is closing. I’ll try my hardest not to cause you more pain, though. I promise.” He smiled kindly and patted her hand.

Bev didn’t much care. Pain was all she had right now. What was a handful of rocks to a mountain?

The doctor checked her throat, her vitals, her wounds. The pain was hard and sharp, but she didn’t care. She lay there and let him to what he had to do. He was gentle, his hands steady and careful.

The worst was removing the dressing from her breast. The gauze stuck a little, pulling at the stitches beneath it, and the pain sent a powerful spike of a fresh memory into her head. Of all the terrible things that had happened, what they’d done with that knife—a pocketknife, with a bone handle—had been the worst thing.

She flinched at the pain in the memory more than the pain the doctor was causing her, but he apologized anyway. “I’m sorry, Bev. I’ll be quick. We’re almost done.”

When he was finished, and she was covered again, Dr. Kerr sat on the bed at her side. “Your throat is definitely strained. It’s good you’re not talking. I’d say give it another two days”—he looked at Betty as if gaining her agreement—“before you try to talk at all, and then two or three days after that before you try for any kind of volume. Even if the pain eases more quickly, don’t push it. Your vitals are good, and your wounds look good—no sign of infection. The swelling on your face is down, and the bruises will start to fade soon.” He put his hand over hers. “Nick told me you haven’t eaten yet. Is that because of your throat?”

Bev didn’t respond; she didn’t have an answer. It was because of her throat. It was because of her pain. It was because she didn’t care.

“You have to eat, dear. And drink. Lots of water. You need to stay hydrated and strong, so you can heal. But you should stick to cool liquids or melting foods like ice cream for a few days. I’ll talk to Angie before I go. I’d say for the next few days, you can have all the ice cream you want. I want you to take your pain meds with your lunch. Doctor’s orders. If the pills hurt to swallow, we’ll grind them up in jam. Agreed?”

She nodded. He packed up his bag and, with another pat of her hand and a promise to be back the next day, he left. Betty cleaned up the old dressings, sent her a kiss through the air and left, too, promising to bring her up a good lunch.

Bev closed her eyes.



oOo



When she woke the next morning, Nick was again sleeping in the chair at the side of the bed. She lay and watched him sleep.

He was dressed in jeans and a plain black t-shirt, and Bev realized how rarely he dressed so casually. Most often, he wore beautiful suits. When he was home and done for the day, he wore sweats or track pants. Occasionally, if he had no business for the day, he’d wear jeans, but she could count on one hand and have fingers left the number of times she’d seen him in a t-shirt like the one he wore now. She also realized that she had no idea what he’d worn the day before—maybe the same clothes. Probably.

Even in sleep, he looked intense. In her experience, most people appeared relaxed and peaceful in quiet sleep. But Nick did not, as if he slept at full attention. Even in sleep, he was controlled.

He was beautiful. He was dangerous. He’d come for her, and taken her out of that place, brought her here to this pretty little room where the ocean whispered and roared outside the window. Donnie had told her Nick would come for her, and he had. But those men had already finished and gone.

Donnie. Nick had told her that he and Bruce were alive, in the hospital. He hadn’t said more, and she hadn’t asked. She’d had neither the ability nor the energy to ask. But they were alive, and that was good. When she could feel again, she would feel glad they were alive.

Unable to put it off any longer, Bev eased the covers back and forced herself to sit on the side of the bed. As quietly as she could, she got to her feet and made her way to the little en suite bathroom. It hurt to stand; it hurt to walk. It hurt to do anything. She hadn’t been able to use the bathroom until the afternoon before, and it still wasn’t easy. It hurt more than anything. But now that it remembered how, her body wouldn’t be denied.