Making the Break (Beating the Biker 2)

wn and drew it to his waist. She dropped a thin flannel blanket over most of the exposed area as she ran some water to fill a plastic tub. With efficient swipes of her hand, she cleaned his upper body with a soaped washcloth, first one side then the other, moving the towel as she went.

“You really aren’t feeling well, are you?” she said. “Usually my male patients have a few words to say about me manhandling them.”

“I’ve had a busy couple of days.” He smiled weakly at the lovely young lady, but that’s all he had in him.

But more than that, Saks didn’t care. He wanted to go home. Bury his head under his pillow and pretend the world didn’t exist. At the hospital, nurses fussed over needles and lines in his arms, and took his blood pressure at odd hours of the night. The hospital was no place to rest. Yeah, he’d been out of surgery less than forty-eight hours, but if he stayed here he’d never get better.

As soon as she was done and put on a clean gown on him, breakfast arrived. It was okay food, if slightly cold. But when he looked at the eggs he remembered Chrissy slamming her Eggs Benedict on his head and walking away in a huff. He lost his appetite and pushed the tray away.

When the doctor arrived it wasn’t his surgeon, but the man’s surgical resident who came to check on him. He checked notes on an iPad. “How’re you feeling?”

“Just fine. I want to go home.”

“Let me check your wound,” the young doctor said. He peeled away the dressing and stared at it as if he could divine the fate of nations. “It’s healing well, but you need another couple of days here.”

“Naw, I’ve got buddies to wait on me hand and foot. My ma’s cooking a bunch of food to stuff in my freezer. I’m good to go.”

The doctor threw a doubtful glance at Hawk, as if entrusting Saks to his care was a monumentally bad idea.

In Saks’ current mood, it pissed him off. “I could just put on my clothes and walk out of here.”

“You could. However, I don’t recommend it.”

“Look at me, Doc. Do I look like I care?”

The doctor appraised Saks, the scars on his body, and the tribal tattoos on his arms. Maybe Saks looked like the Boy Scout of bikers with his leather jacket with his stylishly short hair, but when his clothes were off he was just as rough-looking as the rest of his buddies.

The resident huffed. “Okay. I’ll check with the doctor in charge. If he okays it, I’ll write the orders.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

The doctor walked out of the room, shaking his head.

“Hey, Hawk,” called Saks, still stuck behind the curtain.

“Yeah?”

“Get my clothes. I’m jumping ship.”

“You sure about that?”

“One way or another, I’m leaving here.”

Hawks’ chair scraped. “Oakie said he stocked your place with beer.”

“Well,” said a nurse, pushing past Hawk and opening the curtain, “you won’t be having any of that, or the doctor won’t prescribe pain meds.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “So, you don’t like us, huh?”

“My own bed’s more comfortable.”

“You won’t be saying that when you’ve tossed and turned on it.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Tough guy, eh?”

“Mostly.”

She glanced at the half-eaten food on his tray before she picked it up and handed it to Angelique, who followed her in. “And you don’t like the food.”