The Cowboy's Redemption: BWWM Billionaire Western Romance Page 2

  Nausea churned the acids in his stomach, he was glad to know there was nothing in his stomach for him to throw up. He didn’t think he could handle that.

  Wait… how did he know there was nothing in his stomach?

  Closing his eyes from the stinging brightness surrounding him, Warren vaguely wondered if this was what death felt like. Nothing at all like in the stories because last he read, they were all about how gentle and even comforting floating outside your body felt. He wasn’t an expert, though, so it’s not like he could swiftly deny it. Maybe death was different for other people. Maybe it only hurt when you’d fucked up quite a bit during your time on earth—and of that, Warren was an expert.

  He couldn’t recall how he arrived here, only that whatever had happened he probably deserved it. Still, despite knowing how much his life called for some swift karmic distribution, he wasn’t sure he liked the taste of this medicine. It rather sucked, actually.

  After sometime of trying to gather as much information on his surroundings that didn’t involve the use of his eyes, Warren decided that he was stuck. The whole thing was unusual, considering how he believed death wasn’t the kind of thing that trapped you—then again, he had no way to know—and he couldn’t help but wince when he realized he really couldn’t move. Not even if he wanted to.

  The pain only got worse when he even thought of moving.

  Conclusion: he wasn’t dead. Not yet, anyway.

  Slowly, Warren registered the other sensations surrounding him. There was something in his mouth, his skin wouldn’t stop throbbing, and there was an incessant beeping going off nearby. He was warm, and laying on something soft. Something was pinching into his arm and the pinch only got worse if he tried to move. There was only so much you can gauge from feeling and hearing alone, especially when your brain was still completely droopy.

  Was he…drugged?

  That wouldn’t surprise him…Ow…

  Okay, bad idea moving the head. His neck felt like there was something clamped tight over it, keeping his head in a firm position. Still, he had to try to find out what was going on.

  Attempting a second effort to open his eyes, Warren felt his eyelids flutter, mixing up blurs of lines and images that didn’t make any more sense than if he had stayed unconscious. He persevered. He was never the type to quit and this was no place to start now. The pain in his head slowly ebbed the more he attempted to focus, so that was a good sign.

  Squinting, Warren allowed the sight to conform to a more precise picture. Curtains… no… a divider? It was a pale yellow. The ceiling above was styrofoam—or kind of…he never got to find out what that crap was made of—with spinning stars of black dots that made him dizzier the harder he stared. Warren glanced down and saw the remainder of his body beneath a white blanket, and surrounded by rails of plastic. His view allowed him more and considering how his arm was in a cast, it was easy to deduct his ultimate location.

  A hospital.

  Great.

  When did he get in a hospital?

  Well, at least he beeping made sense now. He couldn’t see it—his neck wouldn’t let him move his head that far—but he had no doubt now that it was a heart monitor, the constant announcement of his vitals remaining his only companion in this world of white and off-white. The pain in his chest became nearly biting after he let out a soft groan, making him grimace.

  The sound of a door opening caught his attention, and the following footsteps made his attention pique. The curtain was pulled back, revealing a woman in a long white coat and green scrubs that was tell-tale of her position. Her skin was a dusty olive tone, which might have looked healthier in another scene and without such poor lighting. Her almond shaped eyes were dark and somewhat sunken, the effects of long nights and even longer days. She had a soft smile on her full lips and her hands were steady as she pulled a loose strand of thick black hair back over her ear where the rest of it gathered into a low ponytail behind her head.

  “Glad to see you awake, mister Markus.”

  Warren inwardly recoiled at the title, revolted. He didn’t realize his expression had leaked through his face until she was taking a step closer. “Are you in pain?”

  He schooled his face, focusing more on trying to speak than anything. “No…” he muttered, but the single syllable ended with a physical contradiction that nearly made him want to duck back into unconsciousness.

  The woman let out a small huff, it was all the laughter she could spare for the moment. “You don’t seem to be comfortable.”

  Warren gave her a glare. Her smile broadened, but only slightly. “I’m Doctor Melinda Resano, you can call me Reese if you want—seeing as you couldn’t even if you tried, I’ll spare you the response. Do you remember anything from before you woke up? You can blink once for yes, twice for no. I’d rather you save your breath in just breathing.”

  Warren appreciated the sentiment, letting his eyes do the talking. Blinking twice, he watched her lips tighten for a fraction of a moment before she took another step and was standing just over him.

  “Mister Markus, you were in a car accident,” her voice had softened, yet the words felt like anvils on his ears. “Most doctors would tell you how it wasn’t a very serious event, but I’m not most doctors and I doubt you’d believe that. From what I got on the report, you were struck by a distracted driver and into open traffic. The collision involved four other people… you were the only one to make it out alive.”

  What?

  Doctor Reese’s eyes crinkled, exhaustion and sympathy mixing together in an expression she wore with experience. “You’ve got several broken bones; your arm in three places, three broken ribs and two more fractured. Your sternum, thankfully, is only bruised—we’re assuming you may have a hairline fracture there, but nothing showed up on the X-Ray there—so that’s a minor plus. You also suffered from a severe laceration to your neck, which is why you’re so heavily bandaged. All else aside, you’ve got cuts and bruises, but we’re optimistic you’ll make it out of here alive.”

  Warren felt like he had been punched in the chest, figuratively as well as literally. His mind registered the information slowly, taking it in with some awe. Regardless of all the medical damages he had over his body, his mind continued to fall over the only peace of information that mattered.

  You were the only one to make it out alive.

  Who else died? What were their names?

  He had been inches from death, and by god he probably should have been one of the ones to have passed… he had been inches from death… And then something else became clear in his mind, something terrible and horrifying that made his stomach sink to the bottom of the cot.

  No…

  Doctor Reese continued to speak, telling him words that didn’t register now that his mind had crashed into one single bit of revelation, the only memory that came to him before he had woken up.

  Suddenly, Warren couldn’t help but want to shrivel up, recoil deep within the marrow of his bones and die. He didn’t care of death felt like floating or like being crushed, because now—more than ever—he wanted it to take him away from this place. He wanted to be as far away from the knowledge now cutting into his heart and making him hurt worse than any injury his body could endure.

  Warren might have been the only survivor in this terrible accident, but as far as he knew—he was already dead inside anyway.

  Chapter 4

  --

  Melinda took in a deep swig of black coffee. Her hands had long stopped being steady. When the tremors in her fingers began to pull into her arms and make her tired bones rattle, she took in her break early. Hara had been concerned, as she always was, bidding the doctor a small smile before helping her hide in a small room in the clinic.

  “You should take a nap,” Hara muttered, placing chubby hands on swollen hips. “You look like you’re fraying at the seams.”

  “I just need a small break,” Melinda insisted, dragging the edges of her fingers against her eyes. “The coff
ee will help.”

  “This is your fifth cup in the past hour,” Hara sighed. “When was the last time you had a good night’s sleep?”

  Two years ago. “Last night,” the doctor lied. Hara didn’t bite.

  “Don’t give me that, Mel,” the older woman scolded, narrow eyes turning squinty in her irritation. “You need to take longer breaks than this. Don’t think I don’t know you’ve been pulling back to back doubles. Last nurse who did that nearly killed herself from sleep-deprivation.”

  “Yeah, well I’m not a nurse.” There was that boiling in her blood still. It hadn’t exactly cooled since her run in with Richards. “I’m a doctor, so I’m pretty damn qualified in telling you I’m perfectly fine.”

  Hara blinked, surprised. The look melted into one of genuine concern, and when the woman further approached with intent to find out what was wrong, Melinda turned away and threw the paper cup into the nearest trash. The toss fell short, bouncing against the far wall before hitting the tiled linoleum.

  “I’m worried about you,” Hara murmured.

  “I’m fine,” Melinda said, feeling the rage in her veins mix terribly with the newer dose of caffeine. A second later her pager began chirping and Melinda was all too eager to take it. Pushing to her feet, she brushed past the older nurse, not bothering with a farewell since she would be seeing her soon enough. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

  To her short-lived relief, Hara said nothing except follow out of the room and watch the doctor march out the doors of the clinic and deeper into the jaws of the hospital.

  Chapter 5

  --

  Hours passed away much like stills in photographs. The kind Warren saw in his grandmother’s album, the kind his grandfather had chortled at because they looked so depressing no matter the situation. Perhaps it was the fact that his grandmother had always liked using old Polaroid cameras that spat out grayed morsels of moments. She had believed herself to be quite the photographic artist—that’s what she called it, could you believe it?—and that her works could only be enjoyed by those of higher minds.

  Alana had always loved their grandmother’s pictures.

  But now…

  He wondered if he should be crying at this point, but no matter how much the pain in his chest became, there was a dryness in his eyes that betrayed him more than tears. In a sense, it was better that he remained still. Still… like the pictures his grandmother took. It was better that he didn’t feel like screaming until his fractured ribs broke completely, or that he cried until he passed out to the waves of grief and anguish.

  Even if a part of him wanted to cry, Warren was coldly content with just laying there and letting the hours pass by like bitten moments in an old polaroid camera.

  Only, these moments didn’t mean anything, whereas those moments did, in a strange way.

  Nurses came offering small words of company before promptly disappearing with the offer to ‘get anything you need’ if he desired to push the call button pressed into his hand. He remembered how one of his old buddies would always insist that nurses were the hottest kinds of women. Steve-o would get in so much trouble with his girl, a grease monkey, after she walked in on one of his tangents on how nurses would always be perfect tens in his list. If he were here, Warren mused, he’d probably be real pleased with being tended to by all the women walking in and out.

  They were all pretty, Warren guessed. Dressed simply in scrubs, some with sweaters, other without. Most of them didn’t bother with make-up, although he spotted one who seemed like she favored mascara like one would favor a glass of whiskey after a long day; meticulous and with long strokes.

  He hadn’t been visited by Doctor Reese since she told him of his condition and the events that lead to his medical confinement. If he had to rate, he would saw the doctor would be pretty high up. She was a lovely aesthetic sight, and would probably be a picture of beauty in better circumstances.

  Warren’s drugged mind drifted in and out of waking dreams and sleeping nightmares, many of them nonsensical. Most of them completely heart breaking. In the entire time he had been stuck on that hospital bed, Warren could honestly say he refused to think about what to do when he got out although the thought did assault him every hour or two. If it wasn’t for that weird…tube thing they put down his throat, he would have long asked for an extra dosage of heavy anesthesiacs.

  He didn’t remember dozing off until he found himself waking from it. His eyes blinked blearily at the sight of a new white coat, the face of a younger man traced in huge spectacles and short hair. The young doctor looked far too wiry and lanky to be staring into the screen where Warren’s vitals chirped every second. Even if he was a poor judge of appearances, Warren couldn’t help but feel some dubiousness when the younger man nearly tripped over a cable as he walked back around the bed.

  “Shit,” the kid muttered, bracing himself over the edge of the hospital bed and inspiring Warren to roll his eyes. Sure enough the kid straightened up, just in time to meet Warren’s unimpressed gaze head on.

  “O-Oh! Good morning,” he stammered.

  Warren arched a brow in reply.

  The kid smiled tightly before shuffling awkwardly on his feet, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. Uh…I’m Doctor Flint—I mean, Flinnegan. I’m just taking in some information on how you’re doing so, um… don’t mind me.”

  The following minute was one of the most awkward in Warren’s view. It was obvious this guy was unsteady on his own two feet. He wasn’t sure whether or not the kid’s choice to become a doctor was either admirable or concerning. To his immense gratitude, the young doctor eventually approached him, his hands reaching toward the weird brace over his mouth.

  “Alright,” the kid said, trying and failing at smiling naturally. “I’m just going to go ahead and pull out that tube from your throat, if that’s okay.”

  It’s more than okay. Warren thought anxiously. Get this thing out of my mouth.

  Lifting bony fingers up toward Warren’s face, Doctor Flinnegan busied himself pulling at Velcro straps and apologizing for literally every unintentional graze of skin on skin.

  “Okay, I’ll need you to breathe out as I pull out the tube,” Flinnegan said. “It’ll be pretty uncomfortable for a moment, but you’ll be okay.”

  Warren didn’t bother trying to show his understanding (he had tried shrugging before at one of the nurses and the end result nearly left him in actual tears). To his relief, Flinnegan gave him a nod and with a long breath—that hurt like a bitch—the young doctor pulled the tube from his throat. Pretty uncomfortable was correct, that was the weirdest feeling he had ever experienced. The sensation of that thing sliding up and out of his esophagus was not something he was willing to repeat any time soon.

  Swallowing down spit and the unfortunate flavor of sterilized plastic, Warren took a moment to work the muscles in his mouth and jaw. Everything felt normal, if normal included dry as the desert, but all else was fine. Flinnegan was already rushing and returning from the table at his bedside with a small cup of water.

  “Here,” the kid said, “This ought to help.”

  Ice cold water had never been a favorite of Warren’s—preferring room temperature for picky reasons—but he couldn’t help but change his mind just this once when he felt the liquid slide down his throat and collapse in his stomach. It was practically miraculous, but no sooner did Warren swallow the refreshing beverage that the majority of his pains ebbs, if only slightly.

  Flinnegan pulled away, taking the cup with him. Warren let out a soft sigh, still straining with the pressure of his wounds.

  “Thanks,” Warren croaked out a whisper, sinking into the pillows beneath with a new wave of exhaustion.

  “No problem,” Flinnegan replied. There was an honest appreciation in the young man’s smile then, and he looked rather content with being able to be of help. Well, there was an answer to an unspoken question. “Now that you can talk, I’m sure we’ll be able to assist you a little easier. So if you
really do need anything, let us know.”

  Warren nodded slowly, letting his tongue work against his teeth. God, he felt sore. Sometime later, Flinnegan walked out, disappearing behind the curtain and out the door of the room. Warren fell asleep not long after that.

  Chapter 6

  --

  “How’s he doing?” Melinda asked, catching Flint from walking into the nearest wall. The junior doctor nearly gave a start, his big blue eyes gazing at his superior from behind the large glasses. “Also, you can’t be reading patient charts while you’re walking, Flint. We’re trying to avoid accidents here.”

  “Sorry,” the kid supplied sheepishly. “But, our patient seems to be doing well. Considering his state from two days ago, he’s been able to maintain levels of consciousness better than most patients in his condition.” Handing over the chart, Flint fell into wide strides next to Melinda, following her with eagerness as she multi-tasked in glancing at the file and dodging in-coming residents.

  “How long has he had this arrhythmia?” Melinda questioned after a moment of walking.

  “Oh! Uh, his history mentions the use of prescribed Ritalin. Considering how he hasn’t been able to talk I haven’t been able to see how much he uses it. I figured that might be a reason.”

  Melinda pursed her lips, “Have you managed to get in contact with his personal doctor?”

  Flint shook his head, “the man’s incognito. I’ve spent the last twenty four hours trying to hunt down the man but apparently his office insists he’s on vacation. Won’t even give me a personal number to call. I had to get most of his background information from his insurance holder.”

  “I want to know more about this arrhythmia, Flint. Cross out everything. If you need to hunt down his family to get the information, then do so.”

  Fling nodded vigorously, stuttering a series of broken agreements before he took off in another direction—no doubt to fill his job. Melinda breathed a short sigh, feeling her eyes grow heavier with ach passing moment. She’d already had her sixth cup of coffee in the past couple of hours, and she was convinced at this point that her blood is probably churning black with caffeine. Prescribing herself pain meds would be pushing it, considering she didn’t want a repeat of six months ago. She would just have to keep soldiering on.