6. Indy

CHAPTER SIX

Indy

I continue to hum as I work on picking the coins up off my bedside table with my right hand. My hand has been weak the last couple of days, and I need to try and turn it around. I mean, it was obviously weak before my trip to the hospital, but since I've started to recover, I've noticed my fine motor skills are lacking slightly, and I refuse to allow it. MS is funny. Sometimes, the flare-ups go away, and sometimes, it's the new norm. Losing mobility in my hands is my biggest fear, and every time the tingling or weakness settles in, I fear it might be the final time. My legs going weak, that's upsetting, but my hands… Eventually, I could lose the ability to dress myself, brush my hair, or crochet a hat for my kiddos. If that happens, I'll feel like my disease has finally won.

But not this time. I'm still able to get a dime into the cup. I smile triumphantly at the sound of the dime hitting the others before looking around my quiet room. I've had no visitors since arriving a couple of days ago. Fox and Derek never came to bring me my stuff, so I have no cell phone and am in a room where the television doesn't work, not that I'm one to complain. I was a nurse. I know how understaffed everyone is these days, and the hospitals are at max capacity, so there's no way I would complain about something like a television not working.

Time moves slower when you have very little to distract yourself, though. It's been two days, but it feels like two weeks. Ash called my hospital room to yell at me yesterday. He brought up assisted living, and I try very hard to understand his valid concerns. I allowed him to say his peace and express his fears before reminding him that I wouldn't take a spot in an assisted living facility when I didn't one hundred percent need it. While I agree I may need some help, and at the very least, will need to start leaving my smartwatch on while showering so it can detect if I fall, I do not need assisted living.

There's nothing wrong with needing that level of help, and if I felt my only option was a facility, I would go, but I'm not there. At least not yet. Someday, I may lose my ability to use my hands, clean myself, or walk, and if that's the case, I will go. I wouldn't want to put that on my brother and his new family. But I'm not there yet, I don't want to be there yet. I know I need to feel sorry for myself right now, and while I allow this, it's also hard to close the door back up and say you've cried enough. I often worry that this time will be the time I can't close it again.

My hand reaches out to grasp the cup of dimes, but my fingers fail me. I am unable to hold on to the cup as it crashes to the ground, dimes scattering in all directions like a burst of shrapnel. In that moment, the mental door I have been desperately trying to keep locked snaps open with a deafening bang, unleashing a torrent of tears and screams that I can no longer suppress. My heart hammers in my chest, its frantic beat echoing on the monitor, a telltale sign for the nurses who will inevitably come rushing in to check on me. As I sink back into my pillow, consumed by anguish, I know I am losing this battle against my own mind.

Anger and resentment roil within me, a constant presence that I can't escape. This disease has stolen so much from me, leaving behind nothing but pain and suffering in its wake. Hospitals are my second home. Hell, maybe even a prison, a place where I feel trapped and helpless. The relentless agony reminds me of how much control my disease has over my life. It's suffocating. Crushing any hope of a normal existence. Dating, a long-term relationship, marriage, and kids all seem impossible. I am nothing but a burden to others. I glare at the scattered dimes on the hospital floor and despise my weakness and the extra work I've created for someone else. All I want is someone here to hold my hand and offer comfort and reassurance in this dark moment. Despite my attempts to stay positive and put on a brave face, fear consumes me, threatening to reveal my true emotions. And although I hate feeling like a burden, the thought of facing this alone is even more terrifying.

There's a light tap on the door, and I see my nurse walk in. Kathleen's a sweet woman with kind brown eyes, salt-and-pepper hair, and an aura that makes you want to hug her and never let go. Plus, she smells like black plums and lilies, and who wouldn't want to be wrapped up in that scent forever?

"Good evening, Miss Indy," she smiles as she walks over to the chart on the wall and starts writing down a few things. It must be a shift change. My crying session lasted longer than I had intended, and as I predicted, the staff came in and helped calm me down. Which is a nice way of saying they knocked me out with some painkillers and anxiety medicine.

She turns and smiles at me. "I'm going to go through the general questions, check your vitals, and then your friend can come in."

"Friend?" I perk up. It must be Janie. Stevie felt so bad the last time I saw her; she could barely drive.

"Oh yeah, and he's mighty fine, girl." She pats my arm playfully, and I let out a light laugh. I know it's not Ash. He's still in Alabama and wouldn't be patiently waiting out there for her to do her checks. It must be Atlas or Fox. Hopefully, they brought my bag, so I have something to do until I can get out of here.

Kathleen finishes her notes before leaving the room and motioning for my visitor to come in.

"Derek?" I breathe out in shock. He closes the door behind him and looks around the room nervously. He looks tired and unkempt. His clothes are rumpled, his beard isn't manicured like usual, and the bags under his brown eyes are very prominent. "Are you alright?"

"Hey, Indy." He ignores my question and steps forward, showing me my bag he has clutched in his tattooed hand.

"Oh, you brought me my bag." I smile appreciatively and reach out for it. Derek sets it in my lap before looking around the room again, rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes go from my IVs to the bags of fluid and medication to the monitors beeping softly.

"Well, I better go. Do you want me to turn on your television or something?" I shake my head while peeking in my bag.

"Doesn't work." His face falls.

"What have you been doing here this whole time? It's been days." I give him a small shrug.

"Singing mostly. Oh! And practicing putting dimes into a cup." I watch as he sits down in the chair next to my bed.

"Why are you putting dimes in a cup? Is it like quarters?" I laugh lightly and shake my head.

"No! It's an exercise to help my hands. It helps with weakness."

"Is that what happened in the hotel?" He asks intently. "Did you try to get out, and you were too weak?"

"Sort of?" I scrunch my face as I think about the incident. "It was totally my fault, really." I laugh, trying to get him to relax. It doesn't work. "Uhm, Ash got me an accessible room, but they didn't have a walk-in shower, and the shower bars were too far for me to reach because, well, short girl problems, so I stupidly grabbed the towel bar." I shake my head. "I should've sat on the edge and spun myself, but the last time I did that, I slipped and fell into the tub, and Ash had to get me out. Talk about humiliating." I try to joke lightly.

He's silent for too long. I glance up and am shocked to find he is staring—no, glaring at me. I give him a nervous smile as some war continues to wage in the depths of his brown eyes. After a moment, he growls in frustration before standing up.

"What in the fuck is wrong with you?" I'm taken aback by his sharp tone and the accusatory finger he points at me.

Furrowing my brows, I slowly respond, "Well, I have MS and—"

He waves his hand. "I ain't dense. I know what you have. I asked what's wrong with you? You're this sick, and it doesn't occur to you to live in a more accessible place? To ask a fucking nurse to fix your television so you aren't sitting here playing with fucking dimes and singing to yourself?" He sounds so upset, and I'm confused about why this bothers him.

"Derek, I don't know why you're upset with me. Have I done something wrong?"

"Oh my god, Indy!" He groans in annoyance. "That right there. Why would you say that to me? I'm being a complete asshole right now, and you're about to apologize for something you didn't do? Call me a fucking cocksucker and tell me to fuck off!"

"Well," I say softly as I fidget with the strap of my bag. "You obviously have a lot going on in your head, and maybe you feel comfortable venting at me. Which, I mean, that's fine, I really don't mind. Everyone needs to let it out sometimes, plus I'm an excellent listener!" I smile at him, and he looks at me like my head is spinning and I'm spitting up green vomit.

"Holy shit," he whispers in astonishment. "Do you… Are you high? Why are you always so fucking optimistic?"

I give him a shrug and point at my cup. "I got fourteen dimes into the cup today and didn't drop one of them." I smile. He looks like he wants to say something else but shakes his head and storms out of the room.

"Have a good night." I call, then dig in the bag once he's gone. I pull out my crochet hook and watch my hands shake as I try to start my next row on Reegan's hat.

Poor Reegan will never get her hat because of your shitty hands.

Shaking off the darkness whispering in my ear, I start humming to drown it out as I shake my hand and try again. And again. And again.

I smile at Atlas as he walks beside me while the patient transporter wheels me out of the hospital. I was discharged earlier, and when Atlas arrived, he explained that Janie and Fox are both sick, which is why Janie hasn't been to see me. He also scolded me for my lack of a cell phone.

"So, where am I going? I'm assuming I'm banned from Sky Point?" Atlas chuckles.

"Yeah, I guess I'm taking you to my place for right now until Ash and Sunday get home in two—what the fuck?" We watch a dark Yukon whip in behind Atlas' Tahoe, and then Derek gets out of the driver's side.

"Virginia? What the fuck are you doing here?" Atlas asks, and Derek points at him.

"You shut the fuck up. And you," he grumbles as he looks at me, annoyance written all over his face. "I'm taking you to my house. You can stay there. Atlas, shut the fuck up!" He growls, and I look over to see a massive grin forming on Atlas' face.

"Oh," I laugh nervously. "No, thank you, I'll just stay with—"

"Wasn't a request," Derek states simply. "You're getting into my vehicle, where I will take you to my house. I have no steps, and the bathroom has a walk-in shower. No part of that house is used, so you might as well—" He stops and stares at Atlas, who is still snickering. "Get. The. Fuck. Going." Turning his attention back to me, Derek jabs his thumb over his shoulder. "Now, get your little ass in the vehicle."

I blink up at him and feel an overwhelming urge to snap at him, but I don't. Instead, I smile brightly and cock my head to one side. "Anyone ever tell you that you have the attitude and personality of a chihuahua?"

"Pfft! Ha!" Atlas wheezes and doubles over. Looking less than amused, Derek grimaces before walking up to my wheelchair.

"Can you walk?" He mutters through gritted teeth, and I flush before shaking my head. I'm not sure I even get a full shake in before Derek leans down, effortlessly lifts me from the chair, and places me in the passenger seat. I watch in stunned silence as he grabs the seatbelt and reaches over me to fasten it. The loud click causes my heart to flutter. His face is so close to mine, I can see the grey strands in his dark hair and beard. He has a small scar on the bottom corner of his lips, and my god, this man smells so good.

Derek pulls away without a second glance because, of course, he does. He closes my door before walking over to a cackling Atlas and smacking him upside the head. He then turns and heads to the driver's side door. Once he gets his large frame inside, he puts the vehicle in drive and speeds off.

"So, have you seen any good movies?" When I'm nervous, I talk a lot. I mean, I talk a lot in general, but it becomes terrible when I'm nervous, and right now, I'm freaking nervous.

He grunts in what I'm assuming is his response.

Undeterred, I continue my nervous chatter. "I know what you mean," I laugh lightly while twisting my hands together. "I haven't seen a good new movie in… Boy, it must be years. I prefer just to stream older stuff from the comfort of my own bed. Which… I guess I don't have one currently. But that's okay, I'll get it figured out. It's super sweet of you to offer me a place to stay. I want to assure you though, it's not necessary. In fact, once I can charge my phone, I'll start—"

"My god, have you taken a breath yet?" He interrupts, causing me to jump in surprise.

"Sorry," I wince as I pick imaginary lint off my clothes. "I'm a nervous talker."

"Evidently." He mutters as he pulls into the driveway of a beautiful brown brick rancher-style house.

"Is this your house?" I ask, taking in the lush green grass and perfectly manicured landscape.

"No," he deadpans. "I'm dropping you off at a stranger's house."

"Okay, no need to be sassy," I mutter, and Derek stops halfway out of his seat and looks at me.

"Did you just call me sassy?"

"Yes." I shrug as I go to take off my seatbelt. "If you don't like it, stop being so sassy." Derek takes a slow, deep breath before exiting the vehicle and walking to the front door to unlock it. He walks back and opens my door. I feel his arm go under my leg, and I go to grip his shoulder, only to find I can't.

"Darn it, hang on a second," I sigh in frustration.

"What is it?" He asks, his hand still gripping me. His face is so close to mine.

"My hand isn't gripping; give me a second to—" I squeal as Derek hoists me up before I can finish, securing me tightly to his chest while walking into the house. I instantly notice the smell. It's clean. But it's not fresh clean. It's clinical, like sterile clean. Looking around, I see he has no furniture besides a futon and a coffee table.

He sets me down gently on the futon. I've never seen him be so gentle. It's sweet, and I realize he must be nervous. "Derek," I say his name softly, and his breath catches.

"Yeah?" He swallows as he looks at me.

"You won't break me." I offer him a small smile and swear a light pink hue appears on his cheeks.

"I know, I just…" He releases me before standing up. "I don't know if it hurts when I touch you."

"Are you planning on touching me often, Derek?" I wink, and yep, there's the blush. I watch his eyes widen, and I'm about to give him a break when his phone rings.

"Excuse me," he says as he grabs his phone and walks off. I look around the empty house and frown.

Did he just move in? I wince as I shift on the futon. Does he actually sit on this? It's so uncomfortable.

Derek walks back into the room, and he looks overwhelmed. "Ren's going to bring over your stuff in about an hour. I don't have furniture, but I went out last night and bought an air mattress for you for tonight and tomorrow until your real bed is here. I meant to order it, but it's been a little chaotic. Is there anything else you need? Maybe like a chair in the shower or something for the toilet?"

I frown at his words. I don't like them at all. They're genuine and nice, but it makes me feel like a burden, and I refuse to be a burden, especially to Derek. The poor guy looks so overwhelmed, and he doesn't deserve this. Why is he forcing himself to do this when it's so clear he doesn't want to? "Give me the weekend, and I'll be out of your hair."

"Stop." He scowls. Well, he had already been scowling, so I guess he's just more scowly now. "I have a whole unused space back there, and there's zero reason you can't use it."

"Well, we could start with the fact that you look like you're being forced to smell dog poop," I state slowly while crossing my arms. "And then there's me being a total crimp on your dating scene."

"I don't date," he states, sounding more annoyed by the second. "Indy, I'm trying to help you out here."

"Why?" I ask softly.

"I don't know," he groans, running a hand through his hair. "Just take the fucking room. I'm not your doctor, landlord, brother, or daddy. I ain't going to be all over you. Do what you want. I'll leave you alone, and you leave me alone. Why are you laughing?"

I bite down on my bottom lip, but the laugh comes through. "Daddy, huh?" His face falls, and he looks at the ceiling before sighing.

"I ain't surviving this shit."

"You will. Listen, I will adhere to your rules and do my best to make myself useful around here. I just have one rule of my own that I need to know you will follow." I state firmly. Derek nods slightly while giving me his full attention.

"Of course. What is it?"

Staring at him with the most serious look I can muster, I open my mouth, trying my best not to break character. "Derek, I need you to promise that you won't go falling in love with me," I say dramatically, and Derek groans.

"Never mind, you're out tomorrow." He calls over his shoulder as he walks down the hall, leaving me laughing on the futon.