“I see that.” A strange expression crossed his face. “You had us worried there for a minute.”
“I had myself worried. But Doc seems to think the worst is over.”
“That’s good to hear.”
He stood there for a moment, just looking at me like he had something to say. I was curious to know what was on his mind and hoped that he would actually tell me, but the words never came. Instead, he just nodded his head and started walking over to the door. “You’re leaving?”
“Yeah, got things to do.”
Before I had a chance to respond, he walked out of the room and closed the door behind him. Damn. What was it about this man that got to me like he did? He was often cold and distant, hard to reach, but at the same time, I felt an unexplainable pull towards him—like he was a part of me, and without him I’d never truly be complete. I knew it was crazy to think such a thing. I barely knew the man. I wouldn’t have even met him if he hadn’t found me in that damn dumpster, but I felt it all the same.
I was in my thoughts when Doc came back into the room. I could hear him talking, but I was too stuck in my head to respond. I simply sat there and watched as he unhooked my IV. I remained silent as helped me to my feet and led me over to the door. I was still pretty weak, but with every step, I felt a little stronger. When we made it across the hall to the room, Doc opened the door, and I was surprised to find my purple duffle bag sitting on the bed along with a couple of towels and toiletries. “Is that mine?”
“I reckon so.”
“But how’d they get here?”
“I’m guessing Shotgun had something to do with that.”
“But...”
Sensing my concern, Doc said, “I’m sure he was careful. He always is.”
“If you say so.”
I opened up my bag and quickly sifted through all the different clothes and some toiletries. An uneasy feeling crossed over me when I thought about Noah going through my things, but that notion quickly left my mind when I found my favorite pair of sweats and t-shirt. “Okay, I think I’m all set.”
“Great.” He led me into the bathroom, and after he turned on the shower, he looked over to me and asked, “Do you think you can handle things from here?”
“Yeah, I think I’ve got it, but what about my stitches?”
“I’ve already cleaned them, and the bandages I used are waterproof, so you should be fine.”
“Okay.”
As he stepped out of the room, he said, “I’ll be right outside if you change your mind.”
“Okay. Thanks, Doc.”
“No problem.”
Once he’d closed the door, I started to undress. It wasn’t too difficult. The clothes I’d been wearing were way too big and practically hanging on me. I just released the drawstring on the pants, and they fell to the floor. The t-shirt took a little more maneuvering, especially with the two sets of stitches on my chest, but I managed to remove it. With my clothes puddled at my feet, I looked at myself in the mirror, taking a minute to examine the bruises on my face and was pleased to see that they were almost gone. There were just a few remnants under my eyes and cheek, but for the most part, they looked a hundred percent better. Feeling relieved, I stepped into the shower and closed the sliding door. I couldn’t begin to describe how good the hot water felt against my skin. I was in absolute heaven.
Once I was done washing up, I turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. It took some time to dry off, but I managed to do it without having to ask Doc for help. I reached for the clothes, and my insides tightened into a painful knot as I leaned down to put on my panties, causing me to almost fall. Hearing me stumble, Doc called out, “You okay in there?”
“Yeah, I’m all right.” I lowered the lid on the commode, then sat down to slip on my underwear and sweats. I was already winded, so I decided to skip the bra and put on my t-shirt without it. I twisted my wet hair up into a bun, then ever-so-slowly made my way back into the bedroom with Doc. “I feel a hundred percent better.”
“Good.” As he started towards the door, he announced, “I’ll let them know you’re ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“Shotgun will explain everything.”
“He was just here and didn’t mention anything,” I argued.
“Not surprised.” He gave me a small shrug. “That’s the way it is with Shotgun. He does things his way, or he doesn’t do them at all.”
I’d soon find out that no truer words had ever been spoken about Noah—especially where I was concerned.