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“Even with that many stitches?” I asked.
“Your movements will be restricted and there will be no heavy lifting or working on ladders, painting, or anything else you and your brothers do to restore houses, but yes. Even with that many stitches.”
“So, I’m bedridden.”
“You make it sound so terrible. There are many people in this world who would love to be bedridden for a few weeks.”
“Weeks?” I asked.
She smiled a beautiful smile and it was all the proof I needed as to why she had children so young. She was the kind of woman with beauty, grace, and intelligence that any man would’ve wanted to snatch up and keep for himself, no matter what he had to do. Her husband and children were very lucky people to have a warm, kind woman like her in their lives.
And I hoped they knew that.
“Nurse Delacourt, you’ve been wonderful to me. Thank you for your help,” I said.
“Let me go get you situated for your release and get your parents called, then I’ll see what I can do about tracking down where the paramedics brought you in from,” she said.
I watched her walk out of the room before I leaned back into the pillows of my hospital bed. I was disappointed that I couldn't remember the bar I had stumbled into. I owed the beautiful girl with the electric touch a massive thank you for helping me out when I walked in. I closed my eyes and rested my body, paying attention to the pulse in my abdomen. My muscles were twitching and throbbing, angry at the stitches that pierced my skin. My parents would be irate when they got the call from that nurse. Well, my father would be irate. My mother would be worried sick.
But my brothers? They would tease me relentlessly all throughout our Sunday dinner.
My lack of sleep wasn’t new to the family. I’d struggled with my sleeping patterns for some time now. I went to doctor after doctor, trying to get diagnoses like insomnia or something that might be stress-related. But nothing seemed to be wrong. I did multiple sleep studies and had myself hooked up to electrodes that monitored my sleeping patterns at home, but nothing in my brain waves or chemistry suggested I had any sort of an issue.
You know, other than the fact that I couldn't fucking sleep.
Some nights were worse than others, and some nights were fine. There were nights where I fell asleep and got eight or nine hours. Then, there were weeks where I was lucky if I got two or three cumulative hours of sleep throughout the entire night. Sometimes, I was fine. I had movies to watch and things to take care of with regard to the family business I ran with my brothers. We didn’t simply restore houses. Sometimes we also helped to sell them. Sometimes we helped to get them dedicated so cities could have public landmarks. And with those types of ventures always came paperwork. All of the rest of the brothers hated doing the paperwork, so I took it upon myself to get it done on the nights I couldn't sleep.
But last night had been a bad combination of restless legs, a lack of movies, and no paperwork for me to pull out and do.
I needed to make sure that didn’t happen again.
I felt my eyes growing heavy and allowed myself to slip into my drug-induced sleep. And there, I dreamt about her. About the beautiful woman in the bar with the panic in her voice. Her bright blue eyes called to me and her hand was firm against the back of my head, propping me up and holding me upright as best as she could while she eased me to the ground. Even listening to her yell to someone in the background brought about a comfort that washed over my body. But when she first came to me? When my body first slumped into hers?
That beautiful woman’s skin burned my lips.
Fuck, I’d felt her pulse racing against them. I felt her holding me with all of her strength as her petite body trembled underneath my muscles. The way she smelled—like wildflowers and honey—made my blood boil in a way that throbbed the veins in my groin. No woman had ever had that effect on me, and in the moment I attributed it to my pain. My hurt. My vulnerability.
But even as I laid there dreaming about her, I knew that wasn’t right.
“Lucas?”
I drew in a deep breath as my mother’s voice pierced my dream-like state.
“Lucas, can you hear me?”
“How many stitches did you say he had?”
“Oh my gosh. He looks so pale, Kane. Lucas, please wake up for me sweetheart. Please.”
“Let the boy sleep. You know he’s always struggled with it, Ruby.”
“I need to see him open his eyes, Kane. Just once. Lucas?”
I heard my mother and father’s voices and I tried to pull myself out of my sleep state. But her eyes kept me under. Her fingers sliding through my hair kept me relaxed. The smell of her body kept me wanting more. My body fought a raging battle between staying with her imprint and rising to what was real. And for the first time in my life, I felt myself wanting to stay with the dream instead of waking to the reality.
I had to find this woman.
“There you are, my boy,” my mother said.
