You Are My Air: Breathless Book 1 (3 page)

I pushed the curtain aside to see Ford lying on a hospital bed with the head of it propped halfway up. His dark-blue eyes lit up when he saw me, the tan skin around his eyes crinkling as a huge grin spread across his handsome face. His chin length blond hair had come loose from where he usually kept it tied out of his face, and pieces had fallen down around his eyes. It gave him an almost boyish appearance that made him look a lot younger than his thirty-two years.

"Hey, Natie," he greeted me in his deep booming voice. He called me by the nickname he'd been using since we were little, and he couldn't pronounce my name right. I couldn't help smiling back. He looked ridiculous in his hideous blue hospital gown, especially considering the full sleeve tattoos covering both his muscular arms, and his scruffy beard and mustache. He was usually such an imposing man and seeing him like this was hilarious. A wry smile twisted my lips.

"You look ridiculous," I blurted out as I stepped closer to him, noticing that Ford had his left leg propped up on a pillow with an ice pack on his foot.

"You don't think I look pretty?" he asked, and I noticed his voice was a little slurred.

I glared at him with narrowed eyes. "Are you drunk?" If he had been riding that bike after drinking, I was going to kick his ass right here, right now.

"Natie," he answered, looking offended. "You know me better than that. I'm hopped up on pain medicine." He pulled the ice pack off his foot. "Check this shit out." His left foot was swollen and looked like it hurt like hell. "See?" he asked as another huge smile lit up his face. "Pain meds, some fucking good ones too."

"How badly is it broken?" I asked him as I grimaced in sympathy.

"It's pretty bad, but they're going to fix it in surgery tomorrow morning," he answered with a slur that was more pronounced.

"Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"I got some road rash." He abruptly rolled to his side and lifted up his gown, uncharacteristically unconcerned with modesty. I got an up-close look at the multiple abrasions on his hip and backside. He was right. It must be good pain medicine to make him act like this. Thankfully, I didn't catch a glimpse of certain parts of his anatomy that I didn't ever want to see.

"Ford," I admonished him with a scowl, "put your damn gown down."

"Sorry, Natie," he said sheepishly as he covered himself back up.

"It's okay," I told him, my voice cracking as tears threatened to fall. "I'm just glad you're alright."

Ford reached out and pulled me down into a hug. "Me too, Natie," he agreed, his voice turning soft. He let me go, and I looked at his face again. He looked uncomfortable, and his eyes were a little glassy as he tried to tamp down his feelings. I was touched. Ford wasn't usually the kind to show much emotion. He tended to deflect anything serious with humor.

"What happened?" I asked, giving him an out from his discomfort.

He let out an exasperated sigh. "Some bitch looked right at me, then pulled out in front of me. I had to lay my bike down to keep from plowing into her."

"You had your helmet on, right?" I asked with a raised brow.

"And my leather jacket, thank God," he added with a nod. "Or my tattoos would have been ripped to shreds." Leave it to Ford to be more worried about his tattoos then his own head.

"How's your bike?" I asked, knowing how much his Triumph motorcycle meant to him.

"The side that hit the ground is all scraped to hell, but fixable I think," he said with relief. "Not that it matters. I won't be riding it for awhile," he added reluctantly as he looked down at his foot.

"Good thing the riding season is almost over," I reassured him. "You'll be ready to go by next spring."

"I'm just happy I can still work," he added. Ford was a tattoo artist and owned his own shop. If he had messed up his right hand, he would've been unable to tattoo anyone.

Our easy comfortable conversation died as the glass door slid open and our mother entered in a flurry of emotions and drama. As always, her tall slender frame was perfectly dressed. She had a floral wrap dress on and her shoulder length reddish brown curls were expertly styled to frame her face. Her green eyes, that looked exactly like mine, were filled with fear and worry.

"Oh my God, Ford!" Mom cried shrilly as she pushed me out of the way to get to her son. She grabbed both sides of his face and starting checking him over, missing the annoyed look on his face completely. "Are you okay? Where do you hurt? Has the doctor even seen you yet?" she babbled on. "You haven't been just sitting here in pain have you? If they haven't done anything for you, there'll be hell to pay."

"Mom," he growled at her, his patience already wearing thin. "I'm fine. They gave me pain meds and I only have a broken foot."

"Well, I hope to God that they do a CAT scan of your whole body because if they miss something..."

"Mom." Ford interrupted her, sounding angry now. "I don't need a full body scan. I only have some road rash, and a messed up foot." Mom opened her mouth to continue when a deep male voice cut into her over-dramatic rant.

"Victoria, stop." I turned to see my father in the doorway. John Spencer was just as imposing as Ford, but in an immaculate polished way with his sharp-fitting dark suit and precisely styled graying blond hair. It was sometimes startling how much Ford looked like Dad, especially since their appearance and lives were complete opposites. "Ford doesn't need you in his face right now," Dad continued as he strode further into the room.

Ordinarily, I'd welcome anything that would stop Mom in one of her emotional outbursts, but not when it was Dad. The two of them were like oil and water, and whenever they were in the same room things usually devolved into chaos quickly. It was no wonder they had been divorced since I was eleven and Ford was sixteen. If it wasn't for us, I don't think either of them would have ever willingly seen each other again after they split up.

"Hi, Daddy," I blurted out as Mom opened her mouth to lay into him with fire in her eyes. We did not need a screaming match in the emergency room.

"Hi, Natie," Dad said, his face and voice softening as he gave me a brief hug.

"Dad," Ford greeted him stiffly. Dad and Ford were a lot alike inside too. They were both stubborn and independent, and could hold grudges for a lifetime. Which was probably why their relationship was strained most of the time. Dad made it abundantly clear that he didn't approve of Ford's career choice or the way he lived his life, and Ford didn't give a shit and did whatever he wanted. It was the perfect recipe for their ongoing conflict, and I feared it would never find a resolution.

"Ford." Dad acknowledged his son with a nod and a tightening of his eyes.

"John," Mom interjected angrily, "he's my son, and if he's hurt I'm not just going to stand around hoping he'll be okay."

"That doesn't mean you have to smother him," Dad bit back with irritation as he turned to face her again, his blue eyes flashing with anger.

"I'm his mother and I can treat him any way I like," she replied, her voice rising as she faced him with her hands on her hips.

"He's not a child anymore, Victoria," Dad snarled back. "You need to quit treating him like one!"

"If you think you can walk in here and tell me how to act around my own son, then..."

"Get! Out!" Ford interrupted her angrily, just as I was about to step in to try to diffuse a situation that was just about to go nuclear. "My foot hurts, my ass hurts, and you're giving me a goddamn headache. I don't want either of you here anymore. So get out!" Dad looked pissed and Mom's face crumpled in pain, but Ford was undeterred. He glared back and forth between the two of them. His face was tight and angry as he waited for them to leave.

"Ford," Mom pleaded as tears began to fall down her cheeks. Dad was already leaving, his lips pressed together in a thin line as he held his tongue.

Ford closed his eyes in resignation. "Mom, please." His voice was more tempered this time. "Don't cry, you can come back later. I just need some space, okay?"

Mom opened her mouth to speak and I interrupted her, guessing she was going to lay a guilt trip on my brother that he so didn't need right now. "Come on, Mom. Let's leave Ford so the nurse can get him some more medicine for the pain." I could tell his pain meds were wearing off by the tightness around his eyes, and he barely had his temper under control. He'd feel guilty later if he ended up laying into our mother right now.

I turned her toward the door, my mention of getting a nurse for her son convincing her to let me lead her out of the room. Ford gave me a grateful look as I glanced at him before closing the curtain behind me. I took her out to the waiting room and got her to sit down, then told her I was getting the nurse for my brother. I wondered for a moment where Dad had disappeared to, and I wouldn't have been surprised if he had just left. When I made my way back to Ford, I saw Jamie, his nurse, coming out of his room with an empty syringe. Good, she already gave him his painkiller. I slipped back through the curtain to find a much calmer Ford then the one I had just left.

He pinned me with a concerned stare. "Why do you do that?" he asked pointedly.

"Do what?" I asked him in confusion.

"Try to keep the peace between us," he said with a shake of his head. "You've been doing it since they separated when we were kids. Why do you even bother? It never makes a difference."

His question caught me off guard. The pain meds were making him strangely chatty about things I didn't want to talk about. "I...I don't know," I sputtered out, not wanting to tell him it stemmed from irrationally thinking that the divorce had somehow been my fault when I was a kid. I knew it wasn't true now that I was twenty-seven and knew better, but sometimes I still felt like that eleven-year-old girl that thought she could somehow fix what she had inadvertently broken. Luckily, as the pain medicine really started to really kick in, he didn't push me to keep talking about it. I didn't know what I would have said anyway.

He laid his head back onto his pillow and let out a deep sigh. "That's better," he mumbled. "That's some good shit." He grinned and opened hazy eyes to look at me again.

"Are you going to be addicted to painkillers now?" I asked with a quiet laugh at his drugged up smile.

"It'd make for some interesting tattoos," he said as one corner of his mouth lifted into a wry smile.

"And some law suits," I added with another laugh.

"Good thing
Daddy
is a lawyer," Ford said sarcastically with an edge to his tone. Like he'd ever ask Dad for legal advise, when he never asked him for anything else. My laughter abruptly faded. I was just about to ask if he'd ever consider trying to work things out with our father when Jamie came back into Ford's room.

"Alright, Ford," she announced. "We've got your room ready for you, and surgery scheduled for 9 A.M." She bustled past me and approached my brother. She smiled at him the whole while, and I could tell she found him attractive. What woman wouldn't? My brother was gorgeous. "I'm going to take you upstairs now."

"Cool," he said as he gave her a slow flirtatious smile. "Do you want to keep me warm tonight, or perhaps give me a sponge bath?"

"Ford!" I blurted out in embarrassment. That pain medicine was something else. It had apparently given him word vomit, and he was spewing out whatever popped into his head. He gave me a stoned smile that was unapologetic while Jamie laughed at him.

"Sorry, Mr. Spencer," she told him in amusement, "but you're on your own up there. I only work in the ER, and I'm married."

"What a pity," he mumbled with a pout as he closed his eyes. "I was really starting to like you, Jamie."

"Just shut up, Ford," I told him in exasperation as I shook my head.

"Okay," he answered me, then fell asleep.

"Sorry," I told his nurse as she started wheeling him out into the hall. "He's not usually like that."

"Don't worry about it. It's the drugs talking," she said with a snorted laugh. "He's harmless and I've heard worse."

She told me what room number that she was taking him to, and I watched them disappear down the hall with a bone-deep sigh. Now all I had to do was keep Mom occupied until Ford woke up again. It was going to be a long afternoon.

CHAPTER TWO

David

"Who's fucking idea was this, anyway?" Jensen swore again loudly as he ran next to me, and yet again I had to fight the overwhelming urge to smile at him. He'd been at it now for seven or eight miles, unleashing a tirade of blistering profanity as we ran, his green eyes lit up in anger and a scowl on his face. At first, I thought he was angry at me for dragging him into this half marathon, but none of it was ever directed squarely at me. That was when I realized it was merely a coping mechanism and an amusing one at that.

Despite his ire, he was doing well. Better than I expected when I asked him to do this with me this last summer. He was keeping up with my pace easily, especially considering how much more muscle he was dragging with him then I was. Not that I wasn't muscular myself, but Jensen was just a bigger guy then me.

It still shocked me that we had become the close friends we were now. I'd only known him for four months or so. He had been dating my best friend Sydney when I had gotten back from my almost year-long trip to the Ukraine for Doctors Without Borders as a psych nurse. The first time we had met he had been civil, but the underlying current of animosity toward me had been intense. It didn't help that she hadn't even told him I existed until the day before I got home.

What I didn't know at the time was that Jensen had been lost in a nightmare inside his own head. He had lost his brother and father only a few months before I met him. He had developed PTSD from the trauma of watching his brother die in the car accident the two of them had been involved in. Then on top of that his father died from a heart attack two days later.

Now after surviving that, two heart-wrenching break ups with Sydney, and a suicide attempt that I had saved him from, he had come out the other side stronger and more sure of himself. He'd come a long way from the fragile broken man he had been, and I was proud to have helped him through it and to call him a friend. When he had married Sydney just a few weeks ago, I had been pleased and honored to walk her down the aisle. I knew that I was giving her away to a man who would take care of her and love her like she deserved.