Page 22

CHAPTER 22

FROST

F rost’s alarm pulled him out of his restless sleep. He had spent a lot of the night tossing and turning, leaving him sweaty and exhausted. Maybe the air conditioner wasn’t working properly?

Dragging himself out of bed, he pulled his clothes on and grabbed his crutches to head downstairs to make breakfast for himself and Hel. She was on the early shift and needed to be in work at eight.

Everything seemed harder today, and the house felt hotter, making him break out in a sweat. But he ignored his discomfort and carried on making breakfast.

“Here.” Frost handed Hel a wrapped-up bacon sandwich when she dashed into the kitchen.

“Thank you so much. You know you don’t have to do this.” Hel grabbed the sandwich, sniffed it, and a grin crossed her face as she took in the delicious smell. “But I do appreciate it. Although I think the people who stock the vending machine will complain as their profits must be way down since I’ve moved in with you.”

Frost chuckled and handed her a lunch box. “I like to be useful. I can’t sit around and do nothing.”

“You’re doing the coaching.” Hel shoved the lunch box into the Burra Wombats bag Frost gave her to use, as he hated her only having a reusable shopping bag.

Maybe he should give her a jersey as well, one with his name and number on the back. He put the brakes on the thought. She wasn’t his and wouldn’t be wearing his ice hockey jersey. Frost’s thoughts turned a bit maudlin, and he wouldn’t be wearing them anymore either.

Running his hand through his clammy hair, he sighed. He needed to phone the landlord and ask them to check the air conditioning.

He pulled his wayward thoughts back to the conversation with the redhead in front of him, who was now the most gorgeous woman he had ever seen, as the more time he spent with her, the more he liked her. Despite the fact he was leaving, he couldn’t stop himself, and since the pub quiz, when she wasn’t working a late shift, he made sure he spent every evening he could with her, cooking her dinner and then finding a movie for them to watch together.

“Yeah. I’m enjoying it. But it’s only a few hours a week. I’ve never not had anything to do all day. Cooking for you is stopping me from going insane.” Frost gave a self-deprecating grin.

Hel grinned in return. “Who am I to turn down a handsome man who loves to cook!” She instantly flushed bright red. She clearly hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

Frost ignored it and carried on as they usually would in the morning, checking his watch. “Aren’t you going to be late?”

“Oh shit. I am. See you later. Have a good day.” Hel leaned toward him as she passed, then her eyes widened, and she rushed out.

Frost’s heart raced. For a second, he thought she might kiss him on the cheek, and if she did, he couldn’t guarantee he wouldn’t have moved his head slightly so her lips met his instead of his cheek.

He stood alone in the kitchen, pulling his shirt away from his body and fanning his clammy skin with it. He was going to be on the phone as soon as the rental office opened. Something was definitely wrong with the climate control of the house.

He pottered around the kitchen for a while, cleaning and tidying, then meal prepping for dinner. When he was done, he grabbed his crutches and hopped his way back upstairs to the bathroom.

Looking in the mirror, he was surprised by the reflection looking back at him. He was pale and sweating, but his cheeks were flushed red. The short walk up the stairs, which he usually did multiple times an hour on his crutches, exhausted him. His head felt muzzy and started to pound.

Shit, he was getting sick. Maybe he had the flu? But the ache in his leg, which was worse than it had been since his surgery, suggested something different. Shit. Should he go to hospital? He wasn’t even sure how to visit primary care here. Shit. Okay, so he needed to think.

Frost swore a bit more to himself before he grabbed his phone and texted Hel.

‘Sorry to bother you at work. I’m not feeling fantastic. Feverish and my bad leg aching. Should I come to the hospital?’

He flopped down on his bed, breathing deeply as waves of chills washed over him. The minutes ticked by, and she didn’t reply. He was feeling worse. Hauling himself to his feet, he stuffed his phone into his pocket and made his way painfully downstairs.

He was catching his breath in the living room when his phone beeped. His movements were slow and uncoordinated as he pulled it out of his pocket.

‘Yes. Come to the Emergency Department. I’ll get them to let me know when you arrive. I’ll see you.’

Frost sagged with relief. He was glad Hel was here, otherwise, he wasn’t sure what he would have done. Calling his family for help would have been useless as they were so far away.

“Okay. Uber, I need to book one.” He fumbled with his phone, his fingers clumsy and ordered one.

Grabbing his house keys, he shoved them in his pocket. Then made his way out the front door, carefully locking up, which was difficult as he was now sweating and shaking, unsure if he was hot, cold or something in between.

The ride to the hospital passed in a blur, and when he arrived the triage nurse was expecting him and loaded him into a wheelchair—which he didn’t even have the energy to object to—and took him straight to a bed.

“Hel will come and see you soon. One of the nurses will come in a couple of minutes to take some obs and some bloods.”

“Thanks.” Frost flopped back on the bed, exhausted.

He usually hated the idea of blood tests, but at this point, he didn’t really care, and when the nurse bustled in and hooked him up to a machine to check his vital signs and took blood, he lay there and felt pathetic.

The nurse assured him Hel—well, she called her Dr Rayleigh—would be there as soon as possible. He lay back and stared up at the ceiling, his eyelids grew heavy, and he drifted off to sleep.

Frost awoke with a start when he heard yelling outside his curtain. Sitting up with interest, he listened as a man screamed at someone. Telling them to go away, but in much less polite language. Then he called someone the C-word and demanded to be given the painkillers he deserved.

“I understand you’re upset, but you can’t carry on like this here. We’ll have to call security and have you removed.”

Frost heaved himself to his feet, grabbing hold of a crutch for balance. The woman’s voice was Hel, and even in his sick state, he would not tolerate anyone screaming at her.

“You bitch. I told you my stomach hurts. I told you the only thing that helps is ketamine, and you offered me Panadol. I need ketamine. I want it NOW!” The screaming increased in intensity.

“And I’ve told you we won’t be giving you ketamine. Mr Barnes, we’ve been through this before, and we have a treatment plan for your pain. You know we can’t give you ketamine,” Hel said reasonably.

“Shut up and get me ketamine,” the man screeched back.

Frost wrenched the curtain open to see a man in a hospital gown, which matched the one he was wearing. But unlike Frost, the patient was short and skinny, with plenty of space in his gown. Frost’s gown was pulled tight across his back and shoulders, and luckily, he had left his jogging pants on, otherwise he would be in the same position as the scrawny man, whose gown was open at the back and showing a pair of very grimy underpants—not that Frost’s underpants were grimy.

The weasel man with his arse on display was facing off with Hel and a nurse. Where was security? He hopped towards the altercation. He might be sick and only have one good leg, but he was a lot bigger than the worm who was screaming at his woman.

“I’m not getting you ketamine. You need to go back to your bed and behave, or you’re out of here. We’ve spoken about this before.”

“NO,” the patient bellowed. “I WANT MY DRUGS. GIVE THEM TO ME!”

Frost watched the next part happen in almost slow motion. The patient lunged forward, and his fist connected with Hel’s face. She reeled back and covered her eye. Frost rushed the last two meters to the aggressive patient, dropped his crutch and picked the attacker bodily up off the floor by the back of his neck before he took them down in one swift movement, planting a knee on their back and wrenching an arm up behind the shithead so he couldn’t move.

Frost breathed deeply, using every ounce of self-control not to punch the idiot in the head. He couldn’t recall a time he had ever been more angry, and the image of this man’s fist connecting with Hel’s face was burnt into his brain.

The other man wriggled and squirmed under his weight but couldn’t manage to move at all under the firm pressure Frost was using to keep him on the floor.

Instead, he screamed, “LET GO OF ME. ASSAULT. I’M BEING ASSAULTED.”

Frost grimaced in disgust and shoved him harder for good measure.

A man’s voice nearby told him to get off the patient, but he didn’t even look up, he just snarled. This piece of trash punched Hel.

“Sir. I need you to step away.” The man’s voice tried again, but Frost ignored him.

Redness enveloped the corner of his vision. He hadn’t had an episode like this for a long time. Not since he was a young man and hot-headed when he was on the ice. He would get into fights, and the red mist would descend.

He replayed the image of the fist connecting with Hel’s face, and the red mist worsened. Frost started when a gentle hand touched his shoulder.

“Frost.” Hel’s voice pierced through the rage that was threatening to overwhelm him.

His body relaxed slightly. “Yeah.”

“Security are here. They’ll take him,” Hel said as her hand moved from his shoulder to his back, rubbing a soothing circle on the skin that was exposed by the opening of his hospital gown.

“Yeah.” He relaxed his grip on the pinned man and tried to stand up, but he couldn’t put any weight on his bad leg, and his good leg trembled like jelly.

Now his adrenaline was settling, he realised how bad he actually felt, and despite his best efforts, all he could do was shuffle off the man sideways and sit down on the floor.

“Can you stand up?” Hel questioned, crouching down beside him.

Frost looked up in defeat. He didn’t want to appear weak, but there was nothing he could do. He was stuck.

A small amount of his adrenaline flooded back when he noticed the bruise that had already formed around Hel’s eye and would likely get an awful lot bigger over the next few hours.

He ignored her question. “Your eye.” Reaching out, he gently ran his finger over the bruised and tender skin, pulling it back quickly when she winced under his soft touch. “Shit. Sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“It’s alright, it doesn’t hurt much.” Hel smiled weakly.

“Yeah, it does. I’ve been punched in the face enough times to know how much it hurts,” Frost murmured in return. “You should put some ice on it.”

“GET OFF ME,” the aggressive patient yelled as the security guards hauled him to his feet.

“We’ve called the police.” The larger of the two said to Hel, keeping a firm grip on the squirming patient.

“Good.” Hel nodded. “He wants ketamine. We’ve seen him multiple times for the same problem. I’m not sedating him, as that’s what he wants, so you’ll need to hold him until the police arrive, and they can take him away.”

“No worries, Doc. We’ll take it from here.” The security guards dragged the patient off down the corridor even as he kicked and screamed.

“I hate patients like that,” Hel murmured.

“Violent idiots?” Frost questioned.

“Yeah. He’s one of our frequent flyers. Nice as pie until you tell him he’s not getting what he wants. This is the first time he’s turned violent though. Normally, he yells and stomps out the door.” Hel winced and probed her eye with her fingers. “Crap, you’re right. This hurts. Why do you hockey players like fighting so much?”

Frost shrugged. “I have no idea. I always regret it the next day.”

He shifted on the cold, hard floor and grimaced as pain stabbed through his leg.

“Let’s get you up.” She stood up and put her hand out to him.

Frost said, “Hel, I weigh too much for you to get me up. You’ll need to grab some help.”

Hel recruited a couple of big male nurses, and they got Frost up and back to his bed, where he flopped down gratefully.

“Right. Now tell me about what’s been happening.” Hel was immediately all business.

“You got punched in the face. You’re not even going to take a five-minute break?” Frost asked with incredulity.

“Nah. I’m fine,” Hel reassured him.

“You need to put some ice on your eye,” he argued back. “I promise I’ll stay in my bed. Go grab the ice, and you can sit with me while you use it.”

“Fine,” Hel huffed and thrust the curtain open, stomping off.

Frost leaned his head back onto the pillow and closed his eyes while he waited for her. The throbbing in his leg intensified, and his head was pounding along with it.

It was a few minutes before Hel came back, a blue glove full of ice pressed to her eye.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Hel ordered.

Frost told her about feeling unwell and the pains in his leg. When he finished, she was frowning at him.

“I’ll go and check if your bloods are back.” She left his cubicle again.

He didn’t think it was his imagination. It felt colder every time she left.

When she walked back in, she was smiling. “Well, the good news is your blood tests are all normal. I was a bit worried you might have an infection in your leg. With normal tests, it’s super unlikely. What I’m going to do is cut your plaster off and check your wound. If it looks good, I’ll replaster it, and you’ll be able to go home. We do need to keep an eye out for osteomyelitis, so to be safe, we’ll book you an MRI of your leg in four days.”

“Thanks, Hel.” Frost reached out for her hand and squeezed her fingers. He expected her to pull away, but she didn’t. Instead, she flopped down into the chair next to his bed and pressed the ice back to her eye. Her hand was warm in his, and he wished his wasn’t so clammy, but he wasn’t letting go.

“I’m going to hide here for a few minutes. I need a break after the boxing incident, then I’ll go and get the plaster saw.” Her voice sounded exhausted, and he squeezed her hand tighter.

“Sure,” Frost said and closed his eyes.

Despite the chaos of the busy emergency department, he drifted off to sleep, his hand still clasping hers.