Page 11 of Mountain Man Bad Boy

I made sure my first regular check-in was with Porter, picking up his medication from the pharmacy with a smile. Speeding up my steps to just above my normal pace, I hurried to room 204C. With any luck, he would have improved enough to move out of the locked wing and down onto the communal floor soon. I would have to be careful not to show favoritism or to engage in any affectionate banter, but then I would be able to see him more often. I knocked on his door to announce my arrival and slipped inside.

He looked up and smiled, a mixture of approval and relief shining through. I blushed; I couldn’t help myself. When anyone is that happy to see you, it warms a part of your soul. I took two steps toward him, holding out the little cup of pills.

“I thought you had quit,” he rumbled.

“It was my weekend,” I explained.

“The other nurse was more intrusive,” he said. “She forced me to finish all of my meals.”

I looked away. Everyone had different styles of nursing. Mine was gentle, but there were others who believed in tough love. I had a pretty good idea who had been seeing him in my absence, and yes, she wouldn’t put up with any leftovers. It was good news that he had been able to keep down entire meals, though, so I couldn’t find any fault in her ways.

“I’m glad to hear you could keep it down,” I said.

He sat straight up on his bed, as if listening for hidden meaning, ready to rise to his feet if necessary. I took my habitual spot in the chair, and then we were very close, our knees almost touching.

“Tell me about the real world,” he asked.

“I don’t know if you’d call it the real world, but I had a quiet weekend. I read some, I did some cooking, I watched a few movies.”

“What movies?”

“Mostly romantic comedies,” I answered.

“Have you ever seen Notting Hill?” he asked, straight-faced.

“I love Notting Hill!” I gasped, unable to believe I had actually stumbled upon a man who enjoyed that sort of thing. “Do you like comedies?”

He nodded. “Takes some of the pressure off of life. I don’t like movies that are too realistic.”

“Me neither,” I laughed. “I like it when they’re funny or a little outlandish.”

“Real life is harsh,” he agreed. “I want my movies to be as far from real life as possible.”

We had hit on an intimate subject, and I maneuvered back to the surface for professional talk. “You had your first group session yesterday,” I read from his chart.

He nodded.

“How was it?”

“It was fine,” he said. “Nice to see people in the same situation.”

“I imagine,” I empathized. I had my own trauma to deal with, and part of this job was an attempt to heal. But while all my patients were struggling with personal addictions, the rest of the staff and I attempted to understand our reactions to it. It was nice to have someone in the same boat.

“You said you had been in treatment before,” I urged him to make the connection between his previous success and his future success.

“Yeah, it was a twelve-step program,” he agreed. “It worked for a while, until I stopped going to meetings.”

“Why do you think you stopped?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe it was a bit overwhelming.”

“One day at a time.” I repeated the mantra of the alcoholic treatment program.

“Yeah, except it became more than one day at a time.” He shifted uncomfortably, relaxing onto the cot, moving his knee away from mine. I felt its absence like a sore tooth. “I rented a room from this guy I met in the program, and I got invited to all these cookouts, and people were really getting on with their lives. I felt like I didn’t belong. Like no one knew what kind of scum I really was, and if they knew, they’d all abandon me.”

“That’s the addiction talking,” I reminded him.

“I know,” he sighed, as if he knew but he didn’t really know.

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