Come Hell or High Water - Striker x Reader (18+)

148. Resolution

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"Hey, (Y/N), room 11 just asked for something for pain again."

I glanced skeptically at Missy as she sat down at one of the computers at the nurses' station. "Did he ask for it, or did the husband?"

"The husband."

"Then nope," I responded, turning back to my computer. "He's been sleeping almost the whole night—even said he wasn't hurting earlier." I clicked on the respective patient's chart to check the latest vital signs and added, "Besides, his blood pressure's too low right now."

Announced by a heavy sigh, Carrie turned the corner and walked past Missy toward the sink, her shoulders and back hunched forward. I looked her up and down, watching her lean against the counter and alternate sticking either arm up to the elbow under the running water.

"You good, wifey?" I remarked.

"Yeah," she answered. "Just finally got done with 10's wound care."

"Didn't you go in there, like, forty-five minutes ago?"

"Yep," she said with another sigh. "He took a shit in the middle of it, so I had to start all over again."

"Fun," I deadpanned.

Carrie rolled her eyes as she grabbed a fistful of paper towels from the dispenser and dried her hands and arms. "And he just kept—fucking—talking about how 'Ed's been there to visit ever since he got that wound,'" she added, quoting the patient in a comedically deep voice. "Just being super weird the whole time."

"Ed?"

"Erectile dysfunction—yeah, I asked, too."

"Ohh, my God," I groaned, bringing an open palm to my forehead. "Do people know what shame is anymore? And why the hell is that what he's concerned about when he's got Fournier's gangrene?"

"You know how men can be about their dicks," she said. "Some just get really obsessed about theirs. They're probably just insecure about size or something."

I smirked. "You think they ever feel like we're judging them, too? Like, comparing them?"

"Duh, all the time," she quipped. She tossed her wad of wet paper towels in the trash and walked back to her place at the desk before adding softly, "Though to be fair, I don't think my man would have that problem—or yours, for that matter."

I perked up immediately at her words, and turned my head back to her expectantly, almost telepathically telling her, I beg your pardon?

Carrie raised an eyebrow. "What? Yeah, I saw that python he's hiding in his pants. Pretty sure you were stuck in another patient's room when it happened, but I was going to give him an antibiotic earlier and walked in on him taking a piss."

My hand flew to my face, tiredly rubbing my eyes with the pads of my fingers. "God. I'm never gonna hear the end of this, am I? From you or him."

She plopped down in the chair next to me and rolled closer until our seats bumped against one another. "And shit, I can see why you can't keep your hands off him now, with that third leg he's got," she remarked playfully. "And I guess he's a shower, not a grower, huh? 'Cause I'd think he'd put you back in the hospital if it got any bigger—"

"Okay," I interrupted, my face burning from embarrassment. "I think that's enough talk about my fiancé's penis, thank you."

"Prude," she retorted jokingly. "I was just gonna say that I'd give up going to Heaven too for that kind of good dickin—"