Page 2 of Inevitable Dream

“He’s usually active, and being bedridden is a sign of weakness,” Falcon told me when I took the job.

The way I saw it, a job is a job. Falcon pays extremely well, and with my college loans so close to being paid off, I can see the light at the end of the tunnel coming that much quicker. Three more payments and I’m done. Then I can start saving for a better apartment. My place is cute, but it’s tiny, and the neighborhood is questionable after hours. Being a nurse, I can come home at all hours depending on my shifts.

I’ve been working with this independent agency for the last few months, and the money is great, but eventually, I want to be an emergency room operating nurse. It’s what I went to school for and where I think I could be most useful. I’ve had a couple of interviews with the local hospitals, and I’m waiting to hear back.

I strip the bed and put on fresh sheets, throwing the dirty ones into the washing machine to get them started. I know I don’t have to, but I hate leaving things undone. I didn’t have to make Rebel lunch either, but how often can Rebel eat canned soup or a roast beef sandwich?

Rebel caught me by surprise when I turned around and found him leaning against the doorframe. With his pajama pants hanging low on his hips, and despite his torso being covered in a bandage, I can see his pronounced abs and massive chest and arms. I’ve been trying so hard not to make a fool out of myself and was so proud of my discipline, up until that moment.

By the end of this week, Rebel should be well enough not to need daily care, and I won’t be needed anymore. Three more days, I keep telling myself, and when I do, there’s a feeling of both relief and sadness.

When I first started looking after Rebel, he slept more than he was awake. His body needed that time to recuperate. I would watch as he slept, my fingers itching to sink into his blond hair to feel its softness. As he got better, he became grumpy. I ignored it because he isn’t my first cantankerous patient, and it’s normal to be out of sorts when recovering.

Falcon told me he was shot in the line of duty, and, based on the steady flow of visitors, I would say Rebel’s a lucky man to have so many people who love him, which means he’s probably a good guy.

By the time I get back to the family room, Rebel is napping on the couch. I carefully prop a pillow under his head and a blanket over him. Then I quietly go about cleaning the dishes, happy that he ate everything on his plate.

Rebel thinks he’s healed; however, a gunshot wound is serious, and his body has been through trauma. Rest is good. He needs it. Rebel pushes himself too hard. He tried to get up on his own that first day I was looking after him and nearly fell getting out of bed. I reached out and was able to steady him before sitting him back down on the bed. He hated it!

Later that evening…

It’s getting late, and Falcon’s not home yet. Our deal was that I’d wait until he got back before I left. Rebel’s doing great, but Falcon left explicit instructions, and he’s the one who’s footing the bill. I can’t afford to have him complain to my bosses. I need this job, and I haven’t heard from the hospitals yet.

“I’m perfectly fine. You can go,” Rebel says. After his nap, he decided to stay on the couch and binge every sports event on television. I sat quietly in the armchair with him, enjoying the afternoon. It’s been a long time since I spent the afternoon watching a football game, then a hockey game, followed by the highlight reels. This reminds me of times with my dad. Even now, on the rare occasions I have time off when a game is on, I call Dad, and we talk and watch the games together.

“I made a promise, and I intend to keep it,” I tell Rebel.

“I’m a grown man. Falcon’s being ridiculous,” Rebel grumbles under his breath.

“He’s only doing all this because he cares,” I reply. “I’d quit bitching if I were you. Falcon is concerned, and I overheard your friends talking when they first brought you home. The guys refused to leave your side, and their girlfriends cried for you. If it gives them peace of mind to have me stay, then what harm does it do you?”

Guilt is apparent on his face. Before he can say anything, the key turns in the lock and Falcon comes in. He looks from Rebel to me, then settles on his friend. “Sorry I’m late. We were reviewing a file, and it went later than I thought.” He then turns to me. “I’ve got this if you want to get going. It’s late. Take a taxi home.” He comes over to me and hands me a fifty-dollar bill.

“Oh no, I can’t take that.” I shake my head, slipping on my sweater and grabbing my knapsack.

“Take it.” Falcon pulls up my hand and puts the money in my palm. “See you tomorrow.”

I look at the money, then into Falcon’s eyes. “Thank you.”

As I ride down the elevator, I contemplate taking the bus as I’ve done all this time. I could pocket the money and splurge on new scrubs. I’ve been putting off that expense until my next paycheck, but this would be a nice way of saving some money.

It’s a fifteen-minute walk to the bus stop from the Storm offices where Falcon lives. He built his private apartment attached to the offices because he’s that kind of guy. Falcon is intense and takes his work seriously. You can tell that Rebel and the other members of the team respect him and he’s the leader of the crew.

I have to admit, walking out at this hour of the night is eerie, but I can see the bus stop up ahead, and after googling the bus route, I know that the bus is due to arrive in a few minutes. As I check my watch, I barely notice a shadowy figure rushing up on my left.

Ten o’clock the next morning…

I have every right to cry, I tell myself as I sob into my pillow. After all, I’ve been mugged, beaten, and bruised, and worst of all, they got my purse. Good news, they only got the fifty bucks Falcon gave me and a broken purse. I refused to let go, and the thief had to rip it out of my hands. Another lucky moment was when the bus pulled up and the driver scared off the goon before he could do any more damage.

The bus driver insisted on taking me to the hospital, but I already knew the extent of my injuries. Short of wrapping my ribs and cleaning the cut on my forehead, there wasn’t much more they could do. Dr. Simms wanted to keep me overnight, but I just wanted to go home. The doctor was afraid I had a concussion, but I told them I felt fine. I promised I’d come right back if I my headache got any worse. Of course, the police came to the hospital and took my statement, which reminds me that I still need to go to the station to look at mug shots to see if I can point out the mugger out of a million photos.

With all this on my mind, what upsets me most is knowing I’m not going to make it to Rebel’s today. It’s not for lack of trying. I made it as far as getting dressed, but I couldn’t make it out the door. The toughest moment was calling the agency to have a replacement go in my place.

The owner of Nurses on Call, Henrietta, was wonderful and wanted to come over herself to look after me, but I told her I was doing fine and wanted to be alone. I should have taken a cab or an Uber, like Falcon said.

Rebel

She’s fucking late! Sadie’s never late. As a matter of fact, she’s always annoyingly on time. Sadie takes pride in her work and takes her job seriously, so when the doorbell doesn’t ding on schedule, I know something’s wrong.

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