Chapter 2 - “I was building what my father left me into something larger.
There was always another meeting.
Another problem.
Another person who needed something.”
He stared toward the darkened window.
“My sister called me three times the week she was supposed to leave.”
I sat down.
“I returned the first call two days later.
The second, four days later.”
“And the third?”
His throat moved.
“I never returned it.”
The silence that followed was different from his usual silence.
It wasn’t punishment.
It was remembrance.
“She died?”
“Complications before she could start treatment.”
“I’m sorry.”
He laughed once, without humor.
“Everyone said that.”
“What should they have said?”
“That I was an idiot.”
I leaned back.
“You think hearing that would have helped?”
“No.”
“Then maybe they were trying to be kind.”
“I didn’t deserve kindness.”
There it was.
Not arrogance.
Not cruelty.
Something far more difficult.
A man who had decided punishment was the only honest way to remember someone.
I looked toward the blinds.
“Is that why you stay in the dark?”
His expression changed.
“No.”
Not denial.
A wall.
I recognized it now.
“Then why did you choose me?”
His eyes met mine.
“I read your personnel file.”
“My hospital file?”
“Employment history.
Recommendations.”
“That seems illegal.”
“Probably.”
“Comforting.”
He ignored that.
“You took unpaid leave twice to care for your brother.
You worked nights after your mother died.
You were written up for arguing with a surgeon.”
“He was wrong.”
“I gathered that from the report.”
Despite myself, I smiled.
Liam’s mouth almost moved.
Almost.
Then he said, “One recommendation said you were impossible to intimidate when you believed a patient needed something.”
“That recommendation was not intended as a compliment.”
“I considered it one.”
I looked at him for a long moment.
“You wanted a nurse who wouldn’t listen to you.”
“I wanted one who wouldn’t be afraid of me.”
That answer sat between us.
I suddenly understood why the other nurses had failed.
Maybe Liam had frightened them.
Maybe some had been intimidated by the armed guards and whispered reputation.
But perhaps that had not been the entire test.
Perhaps, beneath all his hostility, Liam Mercer had been waiting for someone to refuse to abandon him when he became difficult.
I rose.
“You’re still impossible.”
“I’m aware.”
“And you’re taking your medication on schedule.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
I picked up the cup.
“Do you want me to tell Leo the terrifying Liam Mercer lost an argument to a nurse?”
His eyes narrowed.
“You wouldn’t.”
I smiled sweetly.
“Open.”
He took the pills.
That evening, something changed.
Not dramatically.
There was no confession.
No sudden friendship.
But the war ended.
Liam answered when I asked his pain level.
Six.
He allowed me to reposition his leg without arguing.
When I brought dinner, he looked at the tray and asked, “Is this punishment?”
“Chicken.”
“I’ve seen chicken before.
That isn’t it.”
“Eat.”
“You eat it.”
“I value my health.”
He stared at me.
Then a quiet sound escaped him.
It took me a second to realize he had laughed.
I laughed too.
Leo appeared in the doorway and stopped.
He looked from me to Liam as though he had entered the wrong room.
“What?”
Liam asked.
“Nothing.”
“You’re staring.”
Leo’s mouth twitched.
“I was wondering if the fever had caused hallucinations.”
“Leave.”
“Yes, sir.”
When Leo turned away, he was smiling.
The next morning Liam’s temperature was normal.
His wound looked cleaner.
The angry redness around the incision had begun to retreat.
“This is good,” I said.
“Your excitement over healthy tissue is concerning.”
“You nearly developed sepsis.”
“Still might.”
“Optimism clearly isn’t your thing.”
“I’m alive.”
“That’s not optimism.
That’s a vital sign.”
He watched me replace the dressing.
Then he asked, “How old is Tommy?”
“Twenty-three.”
“What does he do?”
The question surprised me.
“He was studying mechanical engineering.”
“Was?”
“He took leave after his relapse.”
“What kind of engineering?”
“Anything involving engines.
He’s been taking radios and lawnmowers apart since he was eight.”
“Did he put them back together?”
“Eventually.”
“Did they work?”
“Approximately fifty percent of the time.”
“That’s not an engineer.”
“He improved.”
A faint smile touched Liam’s mouth.
“What does he want to build?”
“Cars.”
The answer came instantly.
“He’s obsessed with old cars.
Specifically anything from the late sixties.”
“What model?”
“Don’t ask me.
If it doesn’t have an IV line, I’m useless.”
Liam nodded slowly.
“There’s a 1968 Mustang in the garage.”
I stared at him.
“You’re telling me this because?”
“When he’s better, bring him.”
The words were so matter-of-fact that they hurt.
When he’s better.
Not if.
People around illness become careful with language.
Doctors say we’ll see.
Families say hopefully.
Nurses say one day at a time.
Liam, who supposedly had no hope left for himself, had given Tommy a future in a single sentence.
I looked down at the dressing.
“Thank you.”
His expression became uncomfortable.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Make it sentimental.”
“You just invited my sick brother to play with your antique car.”
“He can look at it.”
“You’re getting sentimental.”
“Anna.”
“Very dangerous.”
“Change the subject.”
I laughed.
For the next two days, recovery became routine.
Pain medication.
Antibiotics.
Meals.
Physical therapy exercises Liam hated and performed anyway.
Sometimes we spoke.
Sometimes we didn’t.
I learned that he drank coffee black but had secretly been putting sugar in it since he was a teenager.
He learned that I hated jazz.
He considered this a moral failing.
I learned that Leo had known him since they were boys.
“He’s family,” Liam said.
“Does Leo know that?”
“No.”
“Maybe tell him.”
“He’d become unbearable.”
I learned less about the woman and child in the photograph.
Whenever conversation came near the subject, Liam closed off.
So I stopped pushing.
Trust, I had learned through years of nursing, was not something you could drag from a person.
You could only create a place where it might decide to appear.
On Friday morning, exactly one week after my arrival, Leo entered carrying a thick envelope.
He placed it beside my coffee.
“Your pay.”
I stared at it.
Ten thousand dollars.
Cash.
Under normal circumstances, I would have counted it.
Instead, I pushed it back.
Leo raised an eyebrow.
“What’s wrong?”
“Tommy’s deposit.”
“That has nothing to do with your salary.”
“It has everything to do with my salary.”
“No.”
“I can’t take this too.”
“Yes, you can.”
I shook my head.
“I was hired to do a job.
Liam already paid more than—”
“Anna.”
Leo’s voice was patient.
“You performed the job.”
“I’m staying.”
He looked surprised.
I surprised myself too.
“You don’t have to,” he said.
“I know.”
“Your week is finished.”
“I know.”
“The next nurse is scheduled this afternoon.”
I looked toward Liam’s door.
“How long will she last?”
Leo gave me a dry look.
“Based on precedent?”
“Exactly.”
“Four hours.”
“Cancel her.”
He studied my face.
“Why?”
“Because his wound is improving but not healed.
His leg still needs monitoring.
And he has the emotional maturity of a badly socialized wolf.”
“I heard that.”
Liam’s voice came from behind the partially open door.
I called back, “Good.”
Leo looked amused.
“You’re sure?”
I nodded.
“One more week.”
From inside the room, Liam said, “No.”
I walked in.
“Excuse me?”
“You’ve done your week.”
“So?”
“You should go home.”
“Why?”
“Because your brother needs you.”
“My brother is being transferred into the trial Monday.
I spoke to him last night.
He told me to stay.”
Liam’s expression tightened.
“You told him where you are?”
“I told him I’m private nursing for a rich, unpleasant patient.”
“And?”
“He said that narrows it down to half of Illinois.”
Leo coughed into his fist.
I continued.
“I’m staying another week.”
“You’re not.”
“Is this about the blinds?”
“No.”
“Then why do you care?”
“I don’t.”
“That was almost convincing.”
His eyes hardened.
“Anna, go home.”
“No.”
For a moment, the old Liam returned.
Cold.
Commanding.
Untouchable.
“You work for me.”
“Correct.”
“Then I’m terminating your employment.”
“No.”
His brows lifted.
“I don’t think you understand how termination works.”
“I understand perfectly.
You’re firing me because you’re scared.”
The room became silent.
Leo quietly stepped backward.
Coward.
Liam’s voice dropped.
“Be very careful.”
“You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Trying to scare people when they get too close.”
“I don’t need you close.”
“Then why did you choose me?”
His face went still.
I stepped toward the window.
Not touching the blinds.
Just standing near them.
“You told me you wanted someone who wouldn’t be afraid of you.”
“Yes.”
“Maybe you wanted someone who wouldn’t leave.”
Something flickered in his eyes.
For the first time, I understood.
The nurses hadn’t merely quit.
Every departure had confirmed something Liam already believed.
People leave.
People always leave.
His sister.
The woman in the photograph?
The child?
Whoever else he had lost.
“You don’t get to push everyone out and then use their leaving as proof that nobody stays,” I said softly.
His expression turned unreadable.
“That sounds like something from a greeting card.”
“It probably is.”
“Go home, Anna.”
“I’ll leave if that’s genuinely what you want.”
“It is.”
I walked toward the door.
My hand reached the handle.
“Fine.”
I waited.
One second.
Two.
Three.
“Anna.”
I turned.
His eyes were on the blanket.
“One more week.”
I smiled.
“Thought so.”
May you like
“Don’t look pleased.”
“Impossible.”
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