Page 9 of Heart of a Fighter

“He’s lucky he didn’t punch Granger. Granger wouldn’t let him get away with that.” Emily scrunches her brow and shakes her fist again, a true fan of his.

“Granger’s had a rough season, but he’s trying to stay out of trouble.” His talk about fairness and fighting back when the odds aren’t in his favor comes back to me. He’s a good man beneath the harsh exterior. I wish everyone knew that about him, but his past isn’t mine to tell.

“I like Granger. He’s tough but nice. Kind of like you.” Emily yawns, and her eyelids begin to droop.

Her words warm my heart. It’s the little things and the impression I make on hearts like hers that made me want to become a nurse. When Mom battled cancer, I spent every free moment I could at the hospital with her. She shooed me away when she had treatments that she didn’t want me to see. I tried to be helpful, so I kept younger patients company by reading to them, doing puzzles, or playing games. That’s when I found my calling to become a nurse.

“All right, kiddo. How about we turn off the game and let you get some rest?” I suggest reaching for the remote.

“Okay.” She stretches the word out with a big yawn.

I turn off the game and tuck Emily in a little tighter, cocooning her with the blanket. I smooth her hair away from her forehead and dim the lights. When My shift ends, I pop back into her room, where she’s sound asleep, out for the night.

“Sleep well, champ. See you next time.”

The hospital shift was long and draining, but I’m proud of the difference I make here. Looking after Emily makes the long days worth it. Who am I to complain about being exhausted when she’s battled acute lymphoblastic leukemia (ALL) for over a year now? ALL is curable with the proper treatment. Though the journey’s long and challenging, the doctors are optimistic she’ll beat it. Despite the grueling treatments and the toll it takes on her tiny body, Emily remains in remarkably good spirits. She’s resilient, always wearing a brave smile that lights up a room. She’s nothing short of inspiring.

I make a quick run to the store for something easy to heat up and grab a few items for next week’s lunches while I’m at it. I drift back to the game, hoping Granger kept his temper in check. I didn’t get to watch the final minutes, but I did check the score.

Me: Congrats on the win tonight!

I text Zach as I usually do after a big game. I type quickly, hesitating for a moment before hitting send. I want to ask about Granger, but think better of it. I’m too tired for a lecture from my well-meaning brother.

Zach: Thanks. They’re a tough team.

Me: Saints are tougher. Get some food in your belly.

I walk through the aisles with my eyes on my phone, watching the three little bubbles bounce as Zach types.

Zach: My stomach just growled. Do you have ESP or something?

Me: Maybe.

I don’t, but I do know my brother. We’ve been in sync since life threw us a curveball with Mom. He’s always starving after a game, like I am after a long shift. I pocket my phone, snickering. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

When I look up, a familiar figure squats on his haunches, reading bandage boxes. My heart skips a beat. Granger’s as sexy from the back as he is from the front, even if he is a bit disheveled at the moment.

“Hey, stranger,” I say, surprising him from behind.

“Lauren, hey. Am I glad to see you.” He looks up and quickly gets to his feet, a mix of relief and something else in his eyes. He towers over me, rough around the edges, a quiet mountain of a man.

“Geez. What happened?” I reach for him, concern creeping into my voice. Blood seeps through his shirt just below his shoulder.

“Just a little issue with a stitch,” he says, pressing his fingers to the blood staining his shirt. “It’s nothing. I just need one of those butterfly bandage things.”

“Come on, let’s get you patched up properly.” My professional instincts kick in, overriding my exhaustion. I lead him to the checkout without waiting for his response. “My place is close.”

Tonight just took an unexpected turn I didn’t see coming.

***

Granger

Lauren’s home is everything I’d expect, practical and sparse, yet cozy and warm. Low lighting casts a golden glow over her kitchen. The refrigerator’s hum and the ticking of a nearby clock provide white noise to the otherwise quiet space.

She dabs an alcohol-soaked cotton round to the open wound on my shoulder, then administers a small dose of lidocaine. The sting is quick and sharp, but I barely flinch, focusing on her instead.

“What were you doing out so late?” I can’t help but feel a surge of protectiveness. The thought of her wandering the streets at this hour makes my chest tighten. “Isn’t it dangerous for a woman to be out alone at night?”

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