Promises Part 1 (Bounty Hunters 1)

“I want to go home. I’ll do all my exercises like I’m supposed to, Doc. I promise. And I have someone there to help me.” Every word tore at his sore throat, but Duke had to let them know he needed out of that place fast, before he lost his chance at something wonderful. Vaughan wouldn’t wait forever. But as Duke thought about it more, it became clear that he would. Actually, from the sound of it… Vaughan had waited for him. Waited for some time.

“A couple days, Duke. Give me a couple days to make sure everything is working properly and then you’re welcome to go home and recover.”

“Can I see my friend, please?” Duke asked.

“He’s still in the waiting room.” It was great that Dr. Chauncey knew who he was talking about. He was so lucky to get that doctor. He’d saved his life. Stopped at nothing to get Duke a kidney. How would he ever repay him? Or his donor? “Quick can come up after we get you back in your room, but he knows the surgery was a success.”

Duke thought he’d said okay and thank you, but he didn’t remember. He’d already begun feeling the effects of the pain medicine the nurse gave him. He was exhausted. Then he was asleep.

When he stirred again it was because strong hands were on his shoulders and his friend’s voice was stern and uncompromising in the small room. “He’s still resting. How the hell do you expect someone to take a stroll when he’s just had major surgery? This is absurd. Get the doctor in here, now.”

If Duke could’ve managed to smile, he would have. It appeared it was time for him to wake and walk, but his friend disagreed. Duke’s body actually did too, but his mind was stronger, and so was his will. If he wanted out of there soon he’d do anything they asked.

“You rang, Mr. Webb?”

Duke still hadn’t opened his eyes because he didn’t necessarily want to. They were actually pretty entertaining. Now Dr. Chauncey was in the room. His calm doctor-tone immediately bringing Quick’s rant to a screeching halt. He heard his friend clear his throat before speaking again. “This guy is trying to wake Duke up for a damn walk. Is this right? He’s not well enough to walk yet.”

“How do you know?” Dr. Chauncey said easily, sounding quite amused.

Quick stuttered. “B-because he… he… he just can’t. He’s tired. Look at him.”

Damn. How bad did he look? Thank goodness Vaughan was out of town. Hopefully he’d look better by the time he made it back, and most of all… he hoped he’d be at home.

“Quick. Standing and moving prevents a lot of post-op complications. The most critical is the pooling of secretions in the lungs while under anesthesia. Staying static and still is extremely dangerous. Lungs can develop bacterial growth if he doesn’t move around; change positions, breathe deeply. Then, of course, we want to prevent blood clots, upset intestines—I can go on if you’re not satisfied with my reasoning so far. Duke is strong, he’d appreciate it, trust me. So will his back. I’m just gonna do a dangle for now. Just let his legs hang over the side of the bed and maybe have him take a couple steps around the room first. He can rest and take some more pain meds right after. Then I want him back up again first thing in the morning.”

Duke had opened his eyes and was watching his friend. Quick didn’t know that Duke was awake since Quick was watching the doctor so intently. Although Quick was nodding his head in understanding, his gaze seemed to be focused on the doctor’s mouth. Duke frowned. His friend looked intrigued, as his large chest rose and fell rapidly, like he was out of breath. Then he saw it, the look of lust that crossed over Quick’s handsome face right before the doctor turned back to Duke. What the hell? Oh yes, Duke definitely had to get out of this damn hospital bed sooner rather than later. He and his friend had so much to discuss.

“I’m okay, Quick. I can do a… What did you say, Doc…? Dangle? Sure, I can dangle and manage a few steps,” Duke said, his voice still gravelly, even after his few sips of water.

By the time Duke shuffled the few feet from his bed to his hospital door, he had a thick sheen of sweat on his forehead and plenty of moisture dripping down his sore back. His tender ribs protested with every step, but he pressed on. His casted arm was resting on his best friend’s muscular forearm, while the bulky male orderly had his good arm wrapped over his, keeping Duke steady. He’d only managed three steps, barely gotten out his door—not even making it to the nurse’s station—before he stopped. Winded and in pain, his stomach heaved with nauseous exertion. Shit, he was going to puke right in the middle of the hallway.