Page 14 of Dead Serious: Case 3 Mr Bruce Reyes
“Maddie was driving but the passenger side of the car took the brunt of the impact. They had to cut you out of the car.” His voice breaks and I instinctively reach out for him. “You and Maddie have matching concussions, but you’ve also got some bruised ribs and there was quite a bit of damage to your left leg.”
“How bad is it?” I look down at my leg and shift unconsciously, which ends up with me drawing in a sharp breath at the fresh stab of pain the minuscule movement causes.
“Broken foot. Broken tibia and fibula, which they had to fix with plates and pins. And a dislocated knee. They’ve managed to repair everything and are just waiting for the swelling to go down so they can put a cast on.” He starts coughing and the sound is so harsh I wince in sympathy.
“Sweetheart, you need to rest.”
He blinks back at me. “Didn’t you hear what I said? I’ve only got a touch of the flu, and it doesn’t matter, especially not when you could’ve…” He breaks off and I watch his beautiful eyes fill with tears as he bites his lip. “I thought I’d lost you,” he whispers hoarsely.
“Come here.” Even though it’s an effort to raise my arms, I hold them open for him.
“I can’t.” He swallows again and shakes his head. “I don’t want to hurt you. You need to rest and heal, and the last thing you need on top of that is my germs.”
“Tristan, come here. Please.” I can see the longing in his eyes; we both need this. “I’m not afraid of catching the flu and besides, I was in bed with you all night. I’ve probably already caught it. As for not hurting me—as long as we’re careful, it’ll be okay. I mean, it’s not like I could be in any more pain than I already am.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” Tris frowns.
“Come on,” I say softly. “I need to hold you.”
“You’ll tell me if I hurt you?” He chews his lip again.
“I promise,” I murmur. “Please, I need to hold you.”
He kicks off his Doc Martens and climbs up on the bed next to me, careful not to jostle my aching body too much. It’s times like this I realise just how slight he is. His body presses carefully to my side, and I wrap my arm around his shoulders and drop a kiss on his head.
I’m not going to lie, I’m in a ridiculous amount of pain. My ribs are screaming, my neck is killing me, and I can’t even describe the agony in my leg—it’s in a category all of its own—but seeing the worry in Tristan’s eyes is too much for me. Physical pain I can deal with—I’m beginning to realise I have quite a tolerance—but seeing Tristan hurt? I can’t not comfort him.
The door opens and I look toward it as a nurse walks in holding a tray and with a blanket tucked under one arm.
“Oh my god, you two star-crossed lovers are killing me.” He shakes his head as he nudges the door closed behind him. “I see you’re finally awake, Sleeping Beauty. That’s a good sign.” He sets the tray down on the table at the foot of the bed and puts his hands on his hips. “Tristan, you shouldn’t really be doing that, but I can’t say I wouldn’t do the exact same thing under the same circumstances.”
“Sorry.” Tris manages a small smile. “Danny, this is Raffi. He’s your nurse.”
“Hi,” I reply to the slim, graceful man with close-cropped hair, dark skin, and hazel eyes.
“Hi yourself, handsome.” He smiles widely. “Tristan, honey, you might want to hop back in that chair while I give your fella the once-over. I need to do his obs.”
Tristan climbs carefully off the bed and settles himself back in the chair. Once he’s fully situated, Raffi passes him the tray.
“Here you go, chicken noodle soup from the canteen. I want you to finish it all,” he says firmly. “You’ve been here hours and not eaten a thing. Make sure you drink plenty of water too.”
Tristan nods and lifts the cover off the steaming bowl before picking up a spoon.
“Thank you for looking after Tristan,” I say as Raffi wraps a blood pressure cuff around my arm and clips a pulse ox to my finger, then removes a pen from his breast pocket. He’s exceedingly efficient in his movements.
He chuckles. “Seriously, you two are killing me with the sweetness and devotion. You’re setting the bar way too high for my own relationship goals.” The cuff starts to expand and squeeze my arm.
“Raffi is an unusual name,” I muse aloud as he removes the cuff and clip. He notes the numbers on a chart, then holds up a thermometer.
“Open up,” he says. The thermometer is tucked under my tongue. “And aren’t you the curious one.”
“He can’t help it,” Tristan says as he spoons up another mouthful of soup. “He’s a detective.”
“Is that so?” Raffi chuckles. “It’s Charles, actually. Charles Rafferty, but everyone’s always called me Raffi, ever since I was a kid. It just kinda stuck, and now it’s weird if anyone calls me Charles.”
He removes the thermometer and discards the disposable covering before slotting the instrument back into its holder and making another note.
“How’s your pain?” he asks as he presses two cool fingers to the inside of my wrist and looks down at his watch.