The Billionaire's Private Nurse

Chapter Six - Bedtime

KAMERON

Bedtime was an ordeal that I dreaded every single night. Anything that involved transferring myself in and out of the chair was a nightmare. I'd fallen a couple of times already, and it terrified me. I hated the helpless feeling, the panic of not being able to get back into the chair by myself. The anxiety that I might injure myself further. When I tried to haul my body weight back onto the chair, I had tipped it over. Just the memory of it made me sweat.

I glared at the Hoyer lift. That thing was my arch nemesis.

The nurse was back, with her loud Tweety Bird scrub top. I couldn’t stop glaring at the cheerful yellow birds. And once again her hands were propped up on the curve of her hips and that little frown was between her eyebrows. She was looking between me and the Hoyer lift. I sighed and rolled closer to the bed. “Well, let's get this over with.”

“Why do you use the Hoyer?” She hadn’t made any move to position the lift.

I looked at her blankly. “That’s what they used at the hospital. That’s what all the other nurses used.”

“Hmm. Maybe you needed the lift with the injuries to your ribs, but you shouldn’t need it now. Do you have a gait belt?”

“In there,” I gestured toward the top drawer of my night stand. She went over, pulled open the drawer, and sure enough, the thick belt was coiled up in the drawer. I had hardly ever used it after being discharged from the hospital.

She unrolled it and approached me. She gave me that direct, no non-sense look. “Your end goal should be to be able to move around independently. I’m sure you don’t want to depend on a nurse forever, right?”

I set my mouth in a stubborn line and refused to answer her. Of course, I wanted to be f*****g independent. But independence had landed me on the floor with an up-ended power wheel-chair on top of me. I made no attempt to help the woman as she fastened the belt around my waist and pulled it snug. I pretended not to notice that she was practically hugging me as she did so, or that her large breasts were pressed close to my face. She grabbed the slide board, which had been sitting beside the Hoyer, unused.

“Have you used the slide board in your physical therapy sessions?” She asked, tipping her head.

“Yeah,” I admitted, “while I was still in the hospital.”

“Okay, then you know the drill. I’m going to lower the bed as far as it goes, you position your chair at a forty-five-degree angle...” she waited for me to move into position.

“Are you sure this is safe?” I asked her skeptically as she positioned the board under my hip. “I’m pretty heavy, and no offense, but your...” I was about to say, “only a woman,” but thought better of it. She was a sturdy and strong woman, but I still didn't think she could handle my bulk.

“I’m stronger than I look,” she said with a grin. She shoved up the short sleeves of her scrub top. “Look at these guns!” She curled her biceps and posed like Rosie the Riveter. I must admit that she did have great muscle tone. She must work out. However, I wasn’t going to pay her any compliments, so I just snorted.

“Alright Mr. Doubting Thomas. Here’s what we are going to do. I’m going to help you position your feet.” She leaned down and grunted as she moved my heavy legs into the correct position. “Now, grasp the edge of the board, but don’t let your fingers get pinched underneath, and focus on sliding your hips all the way to your hands. I’ll assist you with the belt.” I was expecting it to be awkward and difficult. Instead, I slid over easily and found myself sitting on the side of the bed with my legs dangling off the side. He leaned over to allow her to remove the board. “See?” she flashed him a cheeky smile, “Way easier than using the lift, right?”

I almost smiled. Almost. “Not bad,” I grudgingly admitted.

“Okay,” she helped me out of the belt. “Ready to stretch?”

Again, I gave her a blank look. And again, her hands went to her hips. I wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or amused by that posture. She looked like she wanted to scold someone. Probably me. “Don’t you do your range of motion exercises before bed?”

“No.” I replied flatly. “Why would I?’

“Well, for starters, how well do you sleep?”

I gave her a grumpy look. “What gave me away?”

“It could be the dark circles under your eyes,” She grabbed the controls to the bed and started raising it so that it was at a more comfortable level for her work. “The routine will take exactly seven minutes. It will help keep the muscles and tendons around your joints mobile, it will improve your circulation, and almost everyone says it helps them sleep more comfortably. Go ahead and lie back.”

I hate being told what to do. I thought about refusing, but under the circumstances that was probably just childish. After all, I did want to go to sleep, and lying back was kind of a prerequisite. She rubbed her hands together to warm them up. “You tell me if anything hurts, or feels uncomfortable. I’m going to press until I meet resistance, hold it for five seconds, and then release.”

I couldn’t feel her fingers against my skin. It was still such a strange and alarming sensation to see my own limbs moving with no feeling whatsoever, as if it was a dummy leg, not something attached to my body. I propped my head up with the pillows so that I could watch her. She went through a choreographed routine, starting with my feet and ankles, moving up to the knees, and then finally my hips. She had to climb up on the mattress with me to support my legs with her body. When her hands began moving around my hips, I could feel them again, at first, only pressure, and then the actual sensation of her warm fingers.

Her face was a little flushed as she lowered my leg for the last time and eased herself off from my custom-made bed. “You let me know tomorrow if that helps anything,” she said, not quite meeting my eyes. “Anything else I can get for you?” Her eyes scanned the room. Paul had brought in the water bottle that was now sitting on the nightstand. There was a plastic urinal tucked just out of sight. My pill bottles were lined up neatly, and I had already taken my medication for the evening. My wheel-chair was parked in a ready position beside the bed, as though she expected me to get back into it by myself.

“I think I’m all set,” I said, quietly. I had a moment where I actually felt a tad bit of gratitude towards the woman. She was kind of pushy, but she got the job done. “Thank you. Good night, Miss Clarke.”

She gave me a fleeting smile, “Good night, Mr. Greene. I’ll see you at seven.” She dipped her head and let herself out of my bedroom.

I sighed and adjusted the head of the bed slightly before reaching for the book on my night stand. However, the words on the page blurred before my tired eyes, and the book slipped from my hands to rest on my chest. For the first time in weeks, I slipped off to sleep without a struggle. As I let my eyelids drop, I had one last fleeting thought. Maybe it was the stretches. It couldn't have anything to do with the doe-eyed woman with the wild mop of curls.