Cade! I can’t believe I forgot he was here.
I rush to his door and swing it open to find him on the floor, hands pulling at his mocha-colored hair. He’s shaking and covered in sweat.
I ease down to my knees and very softly call his name.
His head snaps up, and he looks as though he is in an extraordinary amount of pain. “Go away!” he shouts. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Hurt me? Well, that’s not what I was expecting. I quickly take in his state and notice his IV has become dislodged, and he’s bleeding from the site. I need to get that stopped before he stains my carpet. I want to reach out to him, but he looks like a cornered animal who might bite me. His jaw is tight, and he’s starting to rock.
Oh shit. He’s a crazy.Damn it, Ans! See, Theo is right, no good deed goes unpunished. You are about to die in your damn guest room.
I’m trying to figure a way out of this when I notice a tattoo on his upper arm.Semper Fi. A military tattoo, I think. Marines maybe? Ah, ha! It all makes sense now. He’s a veteran. No wonder I felt a connection, a driving need to help him. I know firsthand about military men and women coming back home after wars and not knowing how to function in society. Most of them do end up homeless, some of them dead.
I feel that pain resonate deep in my soul again, as I take in this beautiful, broken man who once was probably a heartbreaker. Instead of a welcome wagon and thank you for protecting our country, he was probably kicked to the curb. I bet it’s PTSD. Thinking about it brings back memories. Memories that are too hard to deal with right now. This whole situation is pissing me off. I need to get my head together and help this man who fought for my freedom.
Inhaling a deep, ragged breath, I crawl toward Cade. He notices and immediately scoots away from me. Well, this may be harder than I thought.
“Cade,” I soothe. “You are not going to hurt me and I am not going to hurt you.” I move another inch closer.
“You’re bleeding. Will you let me look at it? I want to be sure you’re okay.” Another inch.
Cade still looks feral, but he doesn’t move away from me. “Do you know where you are?”
He looks around the room and nods.
“Can you tell me?” I want him to talk. I need to know where his head is.
His hands release his hair and he clears his throat. “Your house.”
“That’s right,” I praise, moving the last foot toward him. I take his face in my hands and caress his cheeks, allowing my thumbs to rub comforting circles over his stubbled face. I can’t be sure how much time passes but eventually I feel his body relax beneath my hands.
I give him a sad smile and release my hands from his face. “Can I take a look at your arm?”
He looks weak but a little saner. His shaking has lessened and he has regained some color. Frost-green eyes take in the blood pooling through the hair on his arm. I place my hand over it, hoping blood isn’t a trigger for him.
Grimacing, he nods at me, indicating that I can examine his arm. I grab some gauze and alcohol wipes that I left on the bedside table earlier, wipe his arm and apply pressure. He managed to pull out the whole damn thing. I probably could let it go, but it will do his body some good to get one more bag of fluids in, especially since he isn’t drinking.
I instruct Cade to hold the pressure while I go grab more supplies. When I return, he’s doing as he was told, but his gaze tells me he’s far away from here. “Cade?” I ask cautiously. “You still with me, Gorgeous?”
He inhales deeply and looks at me with a small smile. “Yeah, I’m with you.”
For some reason, him saying those words makes my stomach feel like tiny ants are throwing a party, dancing and tickling deep within me. I shrug off the feeling and drop back down to his side. The wound has stopped bleeding, but I place a bandage over it in case it decides to start back up and open another needle.
Cade immediately notices and groans. “I really think I’m okay, Anniston.” Well, I’ll be damned, he used my name.
I don’t acknowledge this and continue until the tourniquet is tied off. He groans and runs a hand through his hair but doesn’t pull back or try to deter me. See, he has learned it’s pointless to argue with me. He ought to give Theo some pointers—that ass will argue with a mailbox.
Palpating a new vein, I warn him before I slide the needle in, which is much easier this time. The fluids are helping. I reconnect the lines, tape down the site, and help him up onto the bed.
He mutters, “Thanks,” before clearing his throat. “I need to use the bathroom.”
I laugh at the way he says it—like he’s scared to ask. “You’re not a prisoner. You can go if you need to. Do you need any help?”
He shakes his head quickly. “I can manage.” I nod and pull the IV pole closer to him. “Hang on to this. It rolls, so don’t lean on it.” He nods and stands, slowly getting his footing. I watch carefully as he maneuvers out the door.
Exhaling a ragged breath, I roll the unmistakable tension out of my shoulders. Damn, that was intense. Thinking ahead, I draw up a sedative in case he has another episode. You can never be too careful with PTSD. I’m no psychiatrist, but I know when someone needs to be sedated. Cade was able to come back this time. He may not the next.
After he returns, looking pale and a bit shaky again, I take his arm and help him into the bed. He mumbles a reluctant sound in appreciation. I know from that small gesture that he isn’t keen on appearing weak in front of me. Like I could ever think such a thing.
