Despite her promise to Cal, Jordan saw very little of Woody in the days that followed. He had been moved from ICU to a regular room, and it seemed as if each time she arrived in the morning, his room was filled with med students on rounds, well-wishers from the precinct or officers there to take their statements.
She had meant to try and talk to him, but there was always some interruption. Once, she arrived to find him asleep and his room was quiet and empty. She eased into the chair and watched him there for awhile until he stirred. He moaned, and his face twisted in pain.
He awoke slowly and saw her there. "Jordan...how long have you been here?"
"I just walked in. You were sleeping like a baby." She gave him a feigned smile, and he shut his eyes again.
She ached to see him hurting. He had always seemed so strong and eternally upbeat. She wanted to go to him, hold him, kiss him softly and whisper that she had loved him all along.
She thought back to when she had finally known the magnitude of her feelings for him. She knew it was not the day of her conversation with Lily. No, that was when the thought had finally been pushed forcibly to the front of her consciousness, but the true moment had been the day before when she held him in her arms at the convenience store and waited with him for the ambulance. She would have done that for any friend, for a complete stranger.
But as she held him there, there was a sudden, blinding terror that flickered briefly into her brain Oh, God. What if I lose him? and she had been overwhelmed with the anguish the can only come from helplessly watching the suffering of someone you love.
Cal called at the end of the week and said he would be able to return in a couple of days. Woody was about to be released from the hospital, and Jordan would have to see him home.
She steeled herself and strode brightly into his room on the afternoon of his release. He was sitting on the side of the bed as the nurse gingerly helped him slip on his jacket.
Shaven and dressed the way he was, he looked more human than he had in some time, but the dark hollows under his eyes told another story.
"Ready to go?" she chirped. He nodded and carefully slid off the bed and into the waiting wheelchair with his new can stretched across his lap.
He said little on the way home, and she tried to fill the emptiness with cheery chatter and gossip from work.
She parked in front of his building and entered. He stood at the foot of the staircase looking grimly to the landing at the top. His apartment was two floors up, and each step was a monumental effort.
By the time they reached the second floor, he had grown pale, and his shirt was soaked through with sweat. He stood trying to balance his cane and searched for the right key on his chain. He gave up finally and passed the keys to Jordan.
She opened the door, and he hobbled inside and made his way haltingly to the bed. "Jordan, can you please get me a glass of water?" he asked in a weakened voice.
She went in the kitchen and watched while he removed his damp shirt. She felt an unpleasant flutter in her belly when she saw him there in front of his mirror. He lifted his hand and ran his fingers along the puckered, jagged scar across his middle before quickly slipping on another shirt.
She brought him a glass of water. "What's that for?" he finally said, pointing to the bag over Jordan's shoulder.
"This? Well, it looks like all your 'naughty night nurse' fantasies are about to come true," she said in an attempt at humor. "I'm about to give you all the TLC you can stand, roomie."
"I don't need a nursemaid," he said, downing a couple of Vicodin.
"Oh, come on! It'll be fun. I'll tuck you in at night, read you a bedtime story."
"Where are you going to sleep?"
"Here on the sofa. All nice and platonic."
"Jordan, you really don't have to do..."
"Look," she cut him off. "I promised Cal, so I guess we're stuck with each other for a couple of days, all right?" she snapped. She hadn't meant to lose patience with him, but she was at the point of exhaustion. He looked up at her with stunned eyes and then shrugged.
"Fine."
She stormed into the bathroom with her bag and sat there on the edge of the tub trying to regain her composure. Why had she agreed to this? It was obvious he didn't want her here, but she was determined to make the best of this and just muddle through until Cal arrived in a day or two.
She yanked on a pair of yoga pants and a tank top and got ready for bed, still shaking with frustration. She stood with her hand on the doorknob, ready to storm out the way she had stormed in, but then she softened. He needed her help. She had been selfish for so long, and she owed him this, no matter how he felt about her now.
When she re-entered into the room, Woody had fallen asleep. She grabbed the blanket from the back of the sofa with a sigh and stretched out. Not exactly plush accommodations, but it would do.
She reached up to turn out the light. There was a small movement in the shadows. She turned to Woody's bed to see him gazing intently in her direction, and then he snapped his eyes shut quickly as if he had not been watching her at all.
She clicked off the lamp and lay awake for a long while before drifting into a sound sleep.
XXXXX
There was a noise. She awoke in confusion and blinked her eyes. Her hands reached out in the darkness.
Woody's apartment. I'm in Woody's apartment.
She let her eyes adjust to the dim, and the noise came again, low and guttural. She sat up and threw her legs over the side of the bed. The moan came again, deeper and more urgent.
She turned the light on and hurried to Woody's bedside. He was tossing restlessly, his closed eyes darting back and forth.
"No...don't...don't..." he muttered in his sleep and clutched at the sheets in his tightened fists.
She reached out to touch him, but suddenly his eyes snapped open and he let out a piercing cry.
"Woody, it's all right. It's okay. You're okay." She touched his arm. He looked over at her, but he seemed not to see.
He sat, his heart pounding, rigid in fear for a moment. "I was dreaming..." he said, catching his breath.
"I know. It's okay. You're safe."
"It was seeing it again," he said softly.
"I know." She knew the dream.
He rolled away from her and eased onto his side. "I'm sorry I woke you."
She thought to say something, but after a moment, she went back to the sofa and turned out the light again.
Sleep was difficult in coming. His apartment was eerily still, but she could make out the faint sounds of his uneasy breathing and, briefly, the sound of muffled crying.
