FRACTURED: A Broken Series Companion Novel (Damaged, Book 4) (PREVIEW)

TWO

BRIANNA

I'm not one to sugarcoat it. Working a double shift sucks. It's exhausting...taxing...draining...and every other word used to describe something a person doesn't look forward to. But when the hospital is short-staffed, my lack of ambition to keep moving has to be set aside while I drink several large mugs of coffee just to keep myself functional.

I place my latest one down on the counter of the nurses' station just as Devon, a fellow nurse on duty and friend from the practical nursing program I graduated from, turns to me.

"Bri, I need you to check on our sexy, brooding patient in room three. I know you've been excited to see him again, so you're welcome." She winks and sings the last part as I shake my head at her blatant appreciation of the most talked about inpatient.

"You're shameless. You know that, don't you?" I say while trying to restrain a grin.

"Yes, and you love that about me." Her white teeth gleam happily against her flawless, golden-brown skin as she speaks. She's effortlessly beautiful, and I'm so jealous.

"You know I do," I call over my shoulder as I move toward the coveted room.

Yesterday, I had the good fortune of tending to the perfectly sculpted, too-perfect-to-be-real, tall, dark and handsome patient. When I cleaned his wounds, I was able to verify the very detailed imagery floating across the lips of his previously attending nurses. Though the personality painted was too two-dimensional for the man I saw. He wasn't just physically broken beneath the icy exterior; there was something much deeper—something he didn't want anyone to see, and it made me curious about what I'd find if that bitterness could ever be stripped away.

Before I walk in, I make sure to grab the nearest wheelchair for Ryan's first trip to physio and knock lightly on the door. There's no response, so I gradually step inside to give him a chance to object. When he doesn't, I continue into the room, pushing the well-used transportation ahead of me.

Mirroring yesterday, he doesn't acknowledge my arrival and seems to be entranced in his thoughts as he stares—unfocused—in front of him.

"I seem to have good timing," I speak a little more loudly to break the spell. "I caught you awake again."

I hurry over to his I.V. to recheck the levels of his medications and avoid any more awkward small talk. He obviously doesn't want to be bothered with unnecessary niceties. So, instead, I focus on the task at hand and ask, "Is your pain doing any better today?"

"It's still a pain in my ass," he replies dryly.

Ignoring his rudeness, I try to offer reassurance as well as help. "It will get better as time passes. I can give you a little higher dose of your medication to make it more manageable, but we're reaching the limit."

After I've pressed a few buttons to adjust the amount being fed through his intravenous, I let him know it's time to change the dressings on his burn.

"Are you okay if I help you again?" I gently prod, hoping he'll allow me to assist him like I did the last time.

A few seconds pass before his eyes listlessly rise to meet mine, and I get hit with the excruciating sorrow swimming in the turbulent blue of his gaze.

He feels defeated.

"Whatever."

The way he says that one word makes my heart weep for him. It's apparent he's given up. On what... I don't know. But whatever it is, it's clearly important to him.

I walk to the right side of the bed and brace my body for the heavy lift. Even wrapped in a loose johnny shirt, it's easy to see he's solid muscle. I keep myself fairly fit for this very reason. And after yesterday, I already know it's going to be a hard move.

Needing both of my hands and moderate effort, I manage to lift him off of the mattress into a sitting position. He lowers his head of dark shaggy hair as he waits for me to start my routine, and I take the opportunity to quickly scan his profile, lingering for an extended beat on the incredibly long lashes curtaining his cerulean blue eyes. I trace a line down his straight nose, then travel over the contours of his face to his stubbled, square jawline where a jagged scar—about an inch long—slices horizontally, and the hair refuses to grow. Moving downward, I slide my gaze to the tiny scar in the plump skin of his full lips.

Everything about him is incredibly sexy and could easily make a girl lose all sensibility.

Setting aside the inappropriate thoughts swirling in my mind, I separate the back of his johnny shirt and begin to peel away the tape—piece by piece—until I'm able to remove the dirtied barrier. I take a deep breath to mask the sympathetic sigh so close to leaving my throat. The extensive damage to his back is unlike anything I've ever seen. The grafts are healing the way we've hoped, but my memory didn't fully remember the extent of what was hidden beneath.

I lightly clean over the surface of the affixed skin—concentrating more on the edges—while applying ointment. Then I smooth a new dressing over the disinfected area, covering up the evidence of what he went through.

"Is there anything else you need before we leave?"

"No."

Again with the one word answer. It's filled with so much despair my heart literally pains for the broken man in front of me.

Crouching into his downcast line of sight, I offer the only thing I can and hope he'll be willing to take it.

"I know it must be lonely in here, so if you need someone to talk to, I really am a good listener."

I move toward the wheelchair I brought in to continue his chart's instructions and prepare him to leave.

It's going to be a long day for him, and it will probably add to his dour mood, but hopefully, he'll soon see the benefits of his hard work. Because, in the end, he'll be moving in the right direction toward self-reliance...toward recovery.