Own the Wind(77)

Dr. Dickhead was standing there, eyes to my shoulder, his face messed way the heck up. We were talking massive. Both eyes black, blue, and very swollen, a bandage on the bridge of his engorged, reddened nose, fat lip with three angry cuts and yellowish bruising around both of his cheekbones.

Oh God.

“I, um… of course,” I said quietly, my gaze skimming through my colleague, Peggy, who was sitting behind the desk at the nurse’s station and who also was staring at Dr. Dickhead with an expression on her face that I was certain mirrored mine.

I turned back to Dr. Dickhead to see him extending an arm for me to precede him. I moved, he shifted to let me by, and I noticed that he was holding his body very carefully.

Shy had f*cked him up.

Shy had totally f*cked him up!

Oh God.

My mind blanked of everything but walking as he guided me to an empty patient’s room. I walked into the room and he followed, closing the door behind him.

Eyes to my shoulder, he launched in, “I want you to know I apologize for my behavior. I’ve had some problems at home, I took them out on you, and that’s inappropriate. From now on, I’ll be more mindful of how I treat you and, erm… all the nurses, and be certain to show you more respect.”

Yep, Shy so totally f*cked him up.

“I, uh… okay,” I whispered.

His eyes slid to mine then quickly moved away and he asked, “Is that acceptable to you?”

“Um… yes, uh… that would be great.”

“Excellent,” he muttered. “I appreciate your time.”

“Well, uh…” God! What did I say? “Thanks for that.”

Lame!

He extended his chin, winced, hid the wince, turned while holding his body stiffly and opened the door.

It swung closed behind him and I stood there staring at it.

I didn’t know what to do about this, and I didn’t know what to feel about it. I just knew, at that very moment, it felt weird and not in a good way. I also knew I had three hours to the end of my shift and I couldn’t do anything about it until then.

When I hit the nurse’s station, Peggy was still there, her eyes still wide, she leaned in and asked, “What was that about?”

“Uh, something about a patient. No biggie,” I lied.

She looked down the hall, obviously where she’d last seen Dr. Dickhead and asked, “Do you have any clue how he got that messed up?”

Oh yeah, I did. I totally did.

“He didn’t share that,” I told her. Fortunately it was the truth (in a way) and she looked back at me and grinned.

She was loving this. Yes, that was how big a douchebag he was.

“I bet he didn’t,” she muttered.

I pulled up enough professionalism to move on with my day and it was only when I was walking to my car that I took my phone out, my thumb moving on the screen, automatically calling Shy.

I put it to my ear and within a ring, I heard Shy’s, “Sugar.”

“Where are you?”

He didn’t answer immediately and when he did, his tone was quiet.

He’d read me.

“Where do you want me to be?”

I stopped at the door of my car, pointed my eyes to my shoes, and said, “That didn’t answer my question, Shy.”

“I’m at the Compound, havin’ a drink with the brothers.”

Okay, not home. That was good.

Maybe I could get my thoughts sorted before he got home.

“Tab?” he called when I said nothing.

“I’m here.”

“You okay?”

No, I wasn’t. I just didn’t know what I was.

“Sure,” I lied.

“Tabby—” he started.

“Listen, uh… it’s been a hectic day. I’m standing outside my car. I just wanna get home. I’ll see you when I see you, yeah?”

“Tabby—” he began again, but I cut him off.

“Later, Shy.”

I ended the call, got in my car, started her up, and ignored the two times my phone rang on the way home.

I was in jeans, a long-sleeved Harley tee, bare feet, had my hair up in a sloppy ponytail and my head in the fridge to get a much-needed beer (though, I was thinking more along the tequila lines) when Shy got home.

I twisted from the fridge to look at him and saw his face was serious, his eyes intense and they were on me.

I closed the door to the fridge coming out with my beer, taking two steps away from the fridge and deeper into the kitchen, I asked, “You want one?”

He walked into the kitchen, stopped and his eyes moved over my face.

Then he said quietly, “No. I want you to talk to me.”

“Shy—”

It was his turn to cut me off.

“Tab, heard it in your voice, see it all over your face. Somethin’s up and I figure I know what that somethin’ is. Now, talk to me. Why are you lookin’ at me like you’re lookin’ at me right now?”

Okay, suffice it to say I hadn’t got my head sorted before he got home.

It would have been nice to have the chance to do that, but with the way Shy was looking at me, I knew I wasn’t going to get that chance.

So I whispered, “You beat up Dr. Dickhead.”

“Yeah,” he copped to it immediately.