Page 3 of Indie
It was draining though, and at times I slunk home from my second shift in forty-eight hours and dropped onto the couch and sobbed. Today was feeling like another one of those days and I was so desperately tired. Totally worn out by work and life. Tears constantly pricked at the back of my eyes, burning and itching, and it took every bit of strength left in my feeble body to keep them contained.
The queue for the café was nearly out the door when I got there at lunchtime. Just enough time to grab a sandwich, sink a coffee and get back to my patients. I checked the display of my phone, the screen partially obscured by dashes of lines criss-crossing from the top corner, where it had succumbed to yet another fall from overly full hands. We shuffled forwards, one-by-one, until finally I was at the front of the queue, clutching my sandwich while my stomach complained loudly.
The cashier took it from me, the scanner beeping loudly against the backdrop of people waiting behind me. I tapped my card on the reader.Not authorised.I tried again.Not authorised.Dread crept over my skin.
“Hang on,” I squeaked, embarrassment licking at my cheeks. “Let me try this one.”
I reached forwards, holding my breath, praying this card had a few more pounds left before it reached its limit.Not authorised.The heat teasing at my face now rushed to assault me, my cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and the deep nauseous feeling of worry. I was two weeks from payday and those words meant there was nothing left. Not a penny.
“I’m sorry,” I dropped my voice, hoping those behind me wouldn’t see what was going on. “I’ll just go put it back.”
“No, you won’t.”
Someone moved behind me, the voice initially a few steps away now rumbling, rich and deep from right above me.
“Put this on my bill, please.”
I turned, half lifting my head, catching his face for the first time. The rich brown eyes a shade lighter than his father’s now he’d taken his sunglasses off, the cleft in his chin more visible from this angle, the strong, proud jaw and the peppered grey hair, flicked across the side of his head. I gave a half smile, embarrassment still fighting with the worry deep in my stomach, and he half-smiled back.
Chapter Two
She had very light ginger hair, the little nurse with her back to me. Or maybe it had a hint of blonde depending on which way her head turned, giving it an almost light apricot glow. Strawberry blonde, that’s what women liked to call it, when they were in denial that their true colour held the rich fiery strands of red. She was slim from behind, the blue uniform designed not to fall into a curve, or hug anything too tight. Boring and totally unflattering.
But despite the bland blue smock over dark trousers, something about her held me captivated. I didn’t think it was the messy bun of hair piled on top of her head, strands alreadybreaking free. Nor was it the crumpled sky-blue shirt and black trousers, or the dark-coloured shoes I could just see the back of.
My father smiled warmly as they talked, his eyes fixed on her face, not travelling over the rest of her body like he normally would, imagining what those clothes might offer underneath. Those deep brown eyes were hooked, his face more animated than I’d seen it in months, and if it wasn’t for the grey hue of his skin, I’d have had to question why he was in here.
They hadn’t seen me. Neither of them. I stepped in closer. My dad smiled, a boyish giggle slipping out at something she’d said.
“Is he behaving, nurse?” I asked loudly, breaking their connection. Interrupting the moment they were having for no other reason than because I could. And I didn’t know why. Why I felt the need to intervene, to interject, to break into the private enjoyment of a dying man and his nurse?
My father looked up and the petite nurse turned, startled. Her eyes were wide, frightened, but quickly relaxing as my father patted her hand comfortingly. And there was no lingering of his hand over hers, no attempt to touch her in any other way than caring reassurance.
“Nurse Mills….”
“Emmie,” she corrected quickly.
“Emmie here was just doing my obs and telling me it looks like I can get home today.”
She turned back to him, and he winked, the cheeky smile returning, looking alarmingly like a caring grandfather not the president of an MC on the brink of a war. The girl, for that waswhat she was; young, fresh, turned to look at me, a diluted look of exasperation on her face.
“I don’t reckon that’s what the nurse was saying at all, dad. She was probably telling you to stop smoking.”
He shrugged, the grin fading, the darkness in his brown eyes returning.
“I’m dying. My lungs are shot. Don’t reckon a few fags will make things much worse.”
“That’s not true,” the young nurse corrected. “It’ll help massively. Could even buy you more time.”
He frowned now, something playing between his eyes. And she saw it too, her teeth drawing across the right side of her bottom lip.
“I’ll let you two have some privacy,” she said softly, edging towards the door.
I didn’t move from the space I filled, slipping slightly sideways just enough to allow her slim frame to brush past me. She glanced up for a moment, her chin tipped towards me, sea-green eyes searching for mine behind the dark glasses. Freckles dusted her nose, golden marks colouring the pale skin underneath. She was perfectly vulnerable, and young. Much too young. Yet her eyes held a wealth of years. Years that dulled her face, sadness locked down deep in the depths. I’d seen that look before. In another set of eyes I’d never really got over, despite the owner of those caramel-brown orbs only having eyes for my cousin.
The nurse stepped around me, the lightest brush of her uniform catching the arm of my leather jacket. I shouldn’t have been able to feel that. She’d barely touched me, yet instead itfelt like she’d dragged something burning hot against my skin, the hairs on my arms prickling. I watched her leave, the slightest sway of her hips, the small feminine steps, no air of confidence, just an endearing plainness. Too young. Much too young.
The man with the grey hair and the smug face smirked at me from the hospital bed in the barren room. Tubes attached to his arms, a drip on either side of him, pumping fluids and anti-biotics. Chemotherapy was inconsistent, persistent infections stopping progress, this last infection taking hold.