Scratch the Surface

I finally made it inside, my breathing still short and choppy, and went directly to the ER desk, gave them Cam’s name, and a nurse walked me back to his bed.

She announced herself and drew the curtain aside for me to go in. I’d expected the worst, staff running around and working hard to keep him alive, him hooked up to machines and an IV, blood everywhere. I was prepared for so much blood.

He was sitting up on the gurney, arms crossed, legs hanging over the side, looking decidedly annoyed.

Shocked speechless to see him not only in one piece but visibly unscathed, I could only stand there and stare.

“No. No, no, who called you?” he moaned, utterly horrified.

I turned to the nurse and then back to him.

“I’m so sorry, honey. I’m going to murder Ryan, his assistant, and Donna. All three of them.”

“What?”

He cleared this throat. “Okay, so Ryan Meeker and I, you met him a couple weeks ago when we ran into him and his wife at Safeway, remember?”

“Are you kidding?”

“This is important, believe me. I’m getting to the point.”

“Get there faster,” I warned him, bending over to put my hands on my knees. “God, I think I’m gonna pass out.”

“What? Why?”

“You should get up,” the nurse ordered Cameron.

“No,” I gasped, not straightening up, feeling a bit too light-headed. “He’s hurt.”

“I’m not,” he assured me.

“He’s not,” she backed him up. “He came in with his friend, who may or may not have a mild concussion. We don’t know yet. We’re still waiting for the results of the CT, but he is where now?” she asked Cameron.

“In the bathroom,” he answered her.

“Al,” she called over to an orderly who looked like he was counting something, but I couldn’t tell what it was since I was still bent over. “Go check on the guy in the men’s bathroom and bring him back here.”

“Yes, ma’am.” And he went to do as she asked.

“Now you”—I assumed that was directed at me, but I was still bent over—“get on the bed.”

“Me?” I asked to be sure.

“Yes, you,” she replied. “Hop up.”

I did as I was told, but before Cameron could get down, I put my hand on his thigh and leaned into him.

“I’ll be right back.” She flicked the curtain closed, giving us privacy.

“Tell me what happened,” I demanded weakly, loving the feel of him, strong and warm beside me, his hand in my hair. “Because I think you just made it so I have to see my new therapist twice a week instead of one.”

Me, in therapy, was going well and I was learning things about myself. Cameron had gone with me a couple of times and that had been good. I liked sharing everything with him.

“You were really scared,” he stated, breaking into my thoughts.

I was going to deny it, be all strong and stoic, but I couldn’t for the life of me think why doing that was important. “I was.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I still can’t breathe,” I confessed.

“You’re shaking.” Of this I was aware.

“I can’t lose you. I just got you.” I closed my eyes as he tipped my head so it bumped against his.

“You don’t love me a little. You love me a lot.”

“You sound disgustingly pleased with yourself.”

“I can’t help it.” He turned to kiss my temple. “I want you madly in love with me.”

“That ship has already sailed. Now, would you please tell me about fuckin’ Brian.”

“Ryan.”

“I swear to God,” I began, sitting up, pulling away from him, “if you don’t––”

“No, no, come back,” he soothed, easing me closer, his hand massaging the back of my neck. “Stay here.”

“Explain now,” I ordered belligerently.

“Okay, so you met Ryan and his wife, like I said, but the important part of that is you knowing who he is when I say to you that he and I were out of the office today visiting our top clients and dropping off holiday gift baskets.”

“Gift baskets?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Why what, love?”

“Why would you be doing that and not have some delivery guy do it?”

“That’s the point, isn’t it? Normally I wouldn’t be dropping things off in different offices all over town as I’m a bit high up on the food chain, but to spread cheer before the holidays, it’s what we do. We visit and schmooze and bring good tidings like elves.”

I squinted at him. “Like elves?”

He gave me a dismissive wave. “You know what I mean.”

“Go on with the story, I’m sure it’s about to get good.”

“Your sarcasm is not lost on me.”

“Will you just finish.”

He huffed out a breath. “Well, it so happened that after we dropped off the last basket, when we got back out to Ryan’s car, there had just been an accident.”

The sound of his voice, the quiet calm as he explained, was working to get the air moving through my lungs again.