Irresistible: A Salvation Society Novel Read online

  “You buzzed, Mr. Sheridan?” a woman’s voice asks. I have no choice but to open them.

  It’s Nurse Peterson today. She turns to look at the two large men standing in the corner of my hospital room, raising her brows. “Gentlemen, I’m going to need to ask you to wait outside,” she says, matter-of-factly.

  “Of course,” Quinn says, looking pensive. Jackson nods and follows him outside. What is Jackson doing on this side of the country anyway?

  She turns back to me and walks up to my bed. “What can I help you with, Mr. Sheridan?”

  “I need to turn on my other side. My back is killing me,” I groan. I don’t know what’s going on, but the pain is getting worse, not better.

  Her lips turn down. This is my routine a few times a day. I’m a helpless fuck who has a piss bag by his bed because he can’t make it to the bathroom.

  The nurse maneuvers the sheets under me, and grabs hold of my arm, leaning herself over my body. She pulls the sheet beneath me so that my body will shift.

  “Shit!” I scream as my back goes into spasm. The pain sucks the air from my lungs. I’ve shouted worse expletives in this poor woman’s face, but I can’t help it. The agony sucks me under like nothing I’ve ever felt before.

  “Sorry, Mr. Sheridan. Doctor ordered we lower your morphine dose. He doesn’t want you becoming addicted.

  “Give me something else. Anything. I can’t live like this,” I croak, my throat feeling dry from the stagnant air in this room. Now that she has me on my other side, the strain on my back lessens but the pain in my knee still pulses angrily. I can’t catch a breath.

  “You’re about two weeks post-op on your back. Only a week out on your knee. A couple of weeks and you’ll be able to start physical therapy. You have a long hard road ahead of you, sailor, but I can tell you’re tough and it will only get better as time passes.”

  “Time does not feel like my fucking friend,” I snap, not meaning to. The fucking pain has me by the nuts. What kind of life is this? A shitty one. I should’ve fucking died in that explosion.

  “You have some fellas outside waiting to see you. Are they friends?” she asks with a smile that isn’t contagious.

  “Yes,” I splutter.

  “Well, then I won’t keep them from their visit with you,” she says. “If you don’t need anything else . . .”

  “Can you make sure the piss bag is covered? I don’t need them seeing that shit,” I say my cheeks flaming.

  She frowns again and walks over to a cabinet that sits above a sink. She pulls out a sheet and tucks it to the side of the bed, arranging it so the folds drape over the embarrassing round bag.

  “There you go. If you need anything else just buzz,” she says sweetly, which makes me feel bad for being such a sourpuss.

  “Thanks,” I mutter. “Talk to the doc about the meds. I’m losing it here,” I say, sweat beading at my forehead.

  “Okay,” she answers, but I know it’s going to be moot.

  The two fuckers I call friends walk back into the room. “You shouldn’t have come,” I say.

  “I’m living in Jersey now. I plan to be here a lot,” Quinn says.

  “I’m here on a short visit because of a job Cole was hired to do. I’m glad I had the chance to come see you,” Jackson says, his tone filled with emotion.

  “I can’t talk. Too much pain,” I say, clenching my jaw. “Fuck, this is crazy. Weeks ago, we were fighting terrorists; now, I can’t go to the bathroom myself.” I try to shift my body and scream from the pain. “Just go,” I say to them.

  Quinn takes a few steps toward me. “Look, man, it’ll be hard for you to be in here a few months, but you got to do what you got to do, right? I mean, you need to get better. They say you can start PT in a couple weeks,” he says, sounding so fucking hopeful.

  “Then what? Huh? Fucking look at me. I have a metal rod in my back. There is no way the navy is taking me back. What the fuck am I supposed to do? I probably won’t even walk right. I’m a fucking nothing. You should leave,” I boom, as pain and anger consume me. “Just fucking go,” I say, reaching for the cup of water on my bedside table. I pick it up and it slips through my hands and falls to the floor, causing a splash.

  Jackson picks up the cup and looks to me sympathetically. Quinn opens his mouth and takes a step toward me but Jackson taps his shoulder and whispers something I can’t hear.

  Quinn shakes him off. “I was there too. I lived through the same explosion that day. King is gone, but Trevor, me and you? We made it out. We get to live.” His lips quiver while his eyes gloss over but he won’t a shed tear because that is the type of men we are. We don’t cry; we take care of shit. Only I can’t because I’m a fucking useless mess.

  “Quinn, do me a favor and take your grateful ass out of here. I don’t want to see you guys. I have nothing to say. You getting the message?” Again, I’m shouting and I don’t know why.

  Jackson knocks Quinn in the shoulder. “Let’s just go, man.”

  Quinn turns to look at me like he doesn’t know me. That’s okay because I don’t know this version of myself either.

  They walk out the door. I punch the side rails of my bed as hard as I can.

  “Mr. Sheridan, Mr. Sheridan. . .” There is more than one voice screaming my name.

  “Bennett!” someone shouts.

  I open my eyes. Two nurses and an orderly are in my room. I stare at them in shock.

  “Mr. Sheridan, just take a deep breath,” Nurse Peterson says in her calming southern accent. I do as she says but then the pain takes over and I groan.

  “It hurts,” I croak.

  “I know, Mr. Peterson. Your injuries involved nerve damage and were close to your spine. There are so many nerves that can trigger and hurt. I know it’s hard. It does get better, please believe that, but if you make abrupt movements like you just did you can reinjure yourself and make matters worse. I’m going to call the doc in just to make sure no damage has been done,” she says softly.

  “Meds please,” I beg, because right now, nothing feels beneath me.

  “Let me see what I can do. Maybe I can grab you some Naproxen,” she says.

  “Thanks,” I sigh and try to close my eyes, but it feels like time is standing still. The nurse is wrong. Time isn’t making things better. Time isn’t on my side because it isn’t moving, and I can’t live like this.

  Chapter Three

  Avery

  After I change into my scrubs in the locker room, I head over to the rehabilitation office to check in.

  “You look energized,” my boss and good friend Kathy beams.

  “Nope, I’m totally exhausted. I think my cheeks may still be rosy from the spin class I just did.” I laugh.

  “Well, good for you. I don’t know how you do it. There’s nothing on this planet that would entice me to wake up at five thirty a.m. to get on a bike or anything else.” She smiles.

  For me, it’s a big stress reliever. But I don’t say that out loud. People tend to draw conclusions when you’ve been single for, like, ever.

  “I love it.” I shrug.

  “I know you do. Good for you, sweets.”

  “So, what’s on the agenda today?” I ask.

  “You got a new patient. Injured SEAL. Fractured vertebrae with a metal rod and nerve damage in the knee. They are weaning him off morphine. Doctor Simmons thought that some laser and ultrasound therapy may help reduce the inflammation faster so we can get him into PT,” she explains.

  “Is he able to come down to the gym area? Or should I treat him in his room?” I ask, since on rare occasions we do conduct therapy in a patient’s room.

  “He’s still confined to his hospital bed, so you’ll have to bring the machines to him,” she explains.

  “No problem,” I say. We go over the progress of some of my other patients and I head to the supply room to collect the ultrasound and laser machines.

  With one device perched on my shoulder while pushing the other device in front of me
, I head into the elevator and up to the fourth floor.

  “Hey there, Avery,” Sutton says, wheeling his way over to me.

  “How you feeling today? Been doing any of those arm reps we practiced last week?” I ask him. He’s only about twenty-four years old and he’ll be in a wheelchair for life.

  “Yes, my arms are killing me, but I’m not complaining. Could be worse, right?” he asks me back. His optimism is endearing. He was wounded during a training exercise.

  His family lives in Alabama. They were here when he first got injured but they had to get back to their jobs.

  “You’re an inspiration. Honestly. Most guys that come through here don’t share your positive outlook,” I say, smiling to him.

  “This is the life that the Lord gave me. I might as well do the best I can,” he answers.

  “Amen to that,” I say. I’ve never really been overly religious, but Sutton’s faith is truly inspiring. Even though I’m not a psychologist, I still deal with the mental wellbeing of my patients. Sometimes recommending some religion can help. I’ve seen it with my own eyes.

  “Do you think you can help me with my technique on the arm pull up? I think I have it wrong.”

  “I’m starting with a new patient today. I have to check in at the nurse’s station, but I can stop by your room later to see you,” I explain.

  “Sure, no problem. Maybe if you have time after your shift, we can watch something on Netflix together,” he suggests.

  “That sounds perfect. We’ll need to find a new show to watch—maybe something a little more chill. I swear I started biting my nails from The Blacklist,” I say. He laughs.

  “I was thinking of The Irishman. It’s like three hours long though,” he says.

  “Let’s aim for Thursday night. Jessy isn’t home then,” I say.

  “I’ll keep that day open since, you know, my social calendar is so full and all.” He chuckles, clearly joking.

  “Is your family scheduled for a visit soon?” I ask.

  “My sister is planning to drive over from Alabama for Thanksgiving. Mom and Pops said they would try to make it too, but we’ll see. Not getting my hopes up,” he says, and my heart cracks for him.

  “Hopefully they can make it.” I smile. I always have the biggest urges to cook a massive meal on Thanksgiving and bring all the patients with no family home.

  “Oh, Avery, wait up. I hope your new patient isn’t the dude in 4B,” he says, whispering.

  “Why’s that?” I lean down a little so we are eye to eye.

  “The man is mean and angry. Been giving everyone around here a real hard time,” he says.

  “I’m used to all kinds of patients. Don’t worry about me. I’ve got thick skin.” I wink. “You have yourself a good day and stay out of trouble.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He salutes me.

  I smile and head off to the nursing station.

  “Hey Cindy,” I say, reaching the counter with my equipment.

  “There you are. I’ve been calling you since last night,” she whispers.

  “Sorry, I got home late from work and crashed,” I say.

  “Clearly.” She rolls her eyes playfully.

  “What’s up? Did something happen?” I ask because she looks like she has something important to tell me.

  “I wanted to know if you were coming to Blackhead tonight. A bunch of us are going for beer. I want you to come; it will be so much fun,” she whines quietly.

  I shake my head, smiling. “No can do. Jessy is home early tonight.”

  “Jessy is going to go off to college soon, leaving you. What will you do then?”

  Great—another reminder. “She’s only two months into junior year. I’ve got plenty of time before my girl leaves me,” I say. Truth is, time is passing so quickly. It feels like she just started high school yesterday and she’s already a junior.

  “Fine, say you’ll come out Thursday night then.” Cindy places each of her fists on each of her hips and waits. Both of her brows are raised as she waits expectantly for me to answer.

  “I can’t.” I wince my voice raising an octave.

  “If you tell me because Jessy is home then I’m taking you to the mental health department. You need to let that girl breathe,” she says. She’s being overdramatic. I give my daughter space. I just work a lot so on the nights we are both home, I like to spend time with her. Shoot me for being a caring parent.

  “Actually . . .” My tongue clucks accidentally. “I’m staying here after work to watch a movie with Sutton.”

  She frowns. She isn’t necessarily disappointed in me. She thinks I’m a good person for spending time with the veterans. She is worried about me.

  “Woman,” she whispers getting close to my face. She picks up her hand to cover her mouth and brings her lips to my ear. “You need to get laid, and fast. Your vag may have already closed up. This isn’t natural. How many times do I have to explain it to you?” she says. I hold back my laughter because she takes my lack of sex life too seriously. “Did you at least use the dildo I gave you?” She pulls back and looks me in the eyes.

  I bite my lower lip. “Not exactly.”

  She blows out an exasperated breath.

  “Cindy, you know I love you, but love like that isn’t in the cards for me. Maybe I’ll start trying when Jessy leaves for college. I don’t see the point of bringing a man into our lives right now. She’s been raised well without a daddy,” I say.

  “I won’t accept that you’re a lost cause. I’ll keep trying to get through. One way or another,” she says with an evil tone, tapping the tips of her fingers together. “You’re beautiful and such a good person. You have so much to offer.”

  “Thank you.” I smile sadly. “I love you too.” She’s been my best friend since I started working here seven years ago.

  “Now go off to 4B,” she says.

  “How do you know I’ve been assigned to 4B?” I ask, my brows dipping.

  “He’s been here a few weeks already. He’s my patient. I’m the one who recommended to Doc Simmons that a little therapy might help. He’s good-looking and built. A woman could do worse than spending time with him.” She wiggles her brows.

  “You’re incorrigible, you know that?” I laugh, shaking my head, and with that I head into 4B.

  Chapter Four

  Bennett

  There’s a light knock on my door. I don’t answer. It’s probably Quinn and Jackson again, trying to convince me that life is worthwhile.

  “Hi.” A woman peeks her head into the room. “I’m Avery Malone, your physical therapist.”

  “I can’t move, Sherlock. What kind of therapy do you think you can give me?” I snap.

  “Okay then.” She straightens her shoulders and pushes a machine into the room. What is she, deaf or something?

  “I can’t start therapy. Not for a couple weeks. You’ve made a mistake,” I say, my voice gruff. I’ve spent the last few days without any morphine and the Naproxen does shit.

  “No mistake, Mr. Sheridan. I’m just here to give you some ultrasound and laser therapy,” she says in a singsong voice.

  “Look, lady, I’m on edge right now. This isn’t a good time,” I bite out. I begin to try and turn to my other side since the pain in my back is getting to the point of unbearable. I wince and a string of expletives leave my mouth.

  “Let me help you,” she says, walking briskly to my bedside.

  “I don’t want your help,” I snap.

  She flinches, taking a step back.

  “Let me just show you a better way,” she says. “You need to move with your body. Try to use your abdominal muscles to pull yourself up, then twist. The way you’re twisting now is just aggravating your injury.”

  “Okay, yeah,” I mutter. She sounds like she knows what she’s talking about and I’ll do anything to make the pain stop.

  She places her hand on my abdomen. “Is this okay?” she asks. “You look muscular and strong, but I want to feel you activating the
se muscles here. Right beneath my hand.”

  As she speaks, I take in her features. Silky long blond hair tied back in a ponytail that swings with her movement. Almond-shaped brown eyes, high cheekbones and full, pouty lips that call to me on a frequency I’ve never heard before. Fuck me. Where did this woman come from? I don’t want to feel the attraction simmering under my skin. It tells me I am alive, and I was happy feeling dead inside.

  “Mr. Sheridan, is it okay if I touch your abdomen here?” she repeats her question because I’ve apparently zoned out.

  “Fine,” I snap, pushing away whatever feelings were threatening to erupt. I don’t want to feel. I don’t want anything at all. I just want to be left alone.

  “Good, now use your abdominal muscles and be sure to keep your spine straight. No twisting. Once you’ve reached an almost seated position, you will need to use your arms to shift your body sideways. Does that make sense?” she asks, watching me.

  “I think so.” My voice comes out gravelly.

  I pull up like she says and I don’t feel the knife cutting pain I usually do.

  “Good, I can feel you have a lot of strength in your abdomen. We will need to make sure you have a strong core too to help with your recovery but not yet. Now, pull a little higher then use each hand to plant just behind your glutes here.” With her free hand, she takes my hand and places it where she wants. She’s close enough that I can smell her and it’s heavenly, like a mix of lavender and vanilla. It’s intoxicating.

  “Okay, now use your gluteus maximus to shift yourself to the side. Use your arms for support. I can see you have a strong upper body. Use it to your advantage,” she says, and I hold back a laugh. What the hell did she just call my ass?

  I follow her orders because what she’s saying eases my pain and I haven’t sat upright on my own for weeks. Every muscle in my body feels tense from lack of movement.

  I flip to the side.

  “Excellent, now lower yourself down slowly. If you like, I can lift the head of the bed a little. You don’t have to lie so flat. On my end, it would be fine for you to be upright as long as your entire spine remains straight.”