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“Brent or Bishop,” he urges, his voice full of exhaustion.
“Brent,” I whisper, testing it out on my tongue.
I like the idea of calling him something the others who know him don’t.
“I have your things here. Emmalyn dropped them off in the lobby.”
“I don’t know Emmalyn.”
“She’s Kincaid’s wife. She brought you clothes, and your cut.”
His eyes lock on the pristine leather hanging on the hanger. He hasn’t been with Cerberus long, and it’s obvious in the stiffness of the item.
“Hang it in the closet,” he mutters.
Instead of obeying him, I drape it over the back of the chair in the corner. The man needs to know that he belongs, even if he can’t remember it yet.
“Do you want to stand up?” I ask, knowing there’s a very unlikely chance I’ll be strong enough to help him if his steps falter.
“I need a shower, and I need to piss.” His eyes widen, something akin to shame filling them. “Urinate. I need to urinate.”
“Did Susan forget to give you—”
“She gave it to me,” he grumbles before I can reach for the cabinet at his bedside where I know the plastic urinal is.
“I can help you if you—”
“I’m capable of pissing into a bottle.”
Irritation isn’t a new thing. I deal with it on a daily basis. People can easily become frustrated when they’re no longer capable of doing the things they’ve done their entire lives. Some people loathe asking for help. I get the feeling he’s suffering from both issues right now.
“I need a shower,” he repeats.
“I gave you a sponge bath right before you woke up, but if you want—”
“You did what?”
“A bed bath,” I repeat. “I can get the shower chair. It would be safer.”
“I don’t want you giving me fucking bed baths.”
“And I don’t want to pick your heavy ass off the floor if you fall.”
I stand on the far side of the room, my hands pressed into my hips. I’ve had a rotten day, and he’s well aware of it, considering I told him every detail because he just wanted to hear me talk. I’ll be damned if I’m going to end my day in the same mood I woke up in. I’m heading home to my son, and my child doesn’t deserve that irritation from me.
His eyes lift to mine, and I fully expect him to tell me to fuck right off, but there’s a shimmer of playfulness on his face.
“You look strong enough,” he challenges.
“The pain in my lower back right now begs to differ. Now, I don’t know if you want me to come back later or not, but that’s why I’m here.”
“I don’t want extra attention.”
“So you want me to tell Kincaid you no longer need me?”
His eyes search mine, and my heart pounds as I wait for his answer. I need the extra money, but I won’t take any level of abuse while working for Cerberus.
“Need you? Maybe explain exactly what you’re talking about.”
I take a deep breath, watching his frown grow as I give him one of my fake smiles. He can read it immediately, so I drop the pretense.
“Cerberus hired me to stay with you in the evenings from six to midnight.”
“After you work your full shift? You have to be tired.”
“Exhausted, but I need the job. I won’t stick around if it annoys you.”
He watches my face for a long moment.
“What do you do while you’re here?”
“Talk mostly. But I also change your bed linens, provide daily care, bathe you. That sort of thing.”
“Isn’t that stuff done already?”
I nod. “There are a lot of things around here that are done on a schedule. I do those things daily, caring for you.”
“Like wipe my ass,” he snaps.
I lean in a little closer to him. “There’s more to my job than wiping asses.”
My words come out on a growl.
“I’m wiping my own ass from now on.”
“I sure as fuck hope so.”
He has me locked in his gaze, but then his lip twitches.
“I think I like you, Sunshine.”
“Well,” I say, folding my arms over my chest. “I’m still on the fence about you. Do you want me to come back or not?”
“I’ll see you at six.”
“Rachel’s working a double. If you slide out of that bed and your ass lands on that cold floor, you’re going to regret it.”
“Don’t think I’ve met Rachel yet,” he mutters, attempting to scoot back further on the bed.
“Count yourself lucky. She’s hell-bent on snagging a Cerberus man.”
“She’ll need to look elsewhere then,” he grumbles. “I know I’ve been a complete asshole to you, but can you lend me a hand?”
I walk across the room and help him get his legs back on the bed and under the covers.
“I’ll get you a wheelchair before I head home. Here.” I hand him the bed control. “Try to get comfortable.”
“Does this mean-woman routine work on other people?”
