Page 7 of Until Forever

A lump forms in my throat, and emotions I’ve long since buried come boiling to the surface. And memories that once broke me work their way to the pit of my stomach. The resemblance has always been uncanny, but staring back into eyes that are the older version of that first man ever to break my heart, wrecks me.

Even with sickness riddling his body, he looks like his son—he looks like Jasper.

CHAPTER TWO

LATOYA

I step fartherinto the room. “How’ve you been?” I let out but immediately regret my words.

“How the hell does it look like I’ve been?” he barks, his face twisted in the same way it was when I was with his son. A deep frown that’s a permanent expression.

He’s mean and angry, even if you’ve done nothing to him. And while laid up in a hospital bed, he still chooses to be hateful. It was his nastiness that drove a wedge between him and Jasper—a toxic story about a boy who loved too much and a father who never cared.

With my lips pressed together, I choose not to react to his aggression and saunter closer to his bedside. I take in his appearance, following the length of his frame to assess any apparent signs of pain or discomfort. There’s a gash above his brow, bruising along the side of his face, his collarbone, and arms as well.

“I’m going to check your vitals, and I’ll be with you until your evening nurse arrives. Are you experiencing any pain, Mr. Vanek?”

I say his name like we don’t know each other. As if I’m unfamiliar with how he treats people or how he blames everyone else for his problems. Like we should apologize for existing and not going through whatever it is he’s experiencing.

When Jasper and I were kids, he never took me around his dad, not after the first time. We were sitting on his porch, laughing about something, and Mr. Vanek came home, drunk off his ass. He was rude, much like he is now, yelling and screaming. He went on about how I think I’m better than them when that was furthest from the truth.

After that, we stopped hanging out there, but my father wasn’t the biggest fan of Jasper either, so while we spent some time at my house, we had to find other places to be alone together. He was a rebel, and being the son of the town drunk probably played a part in my father not wanting me to be around Jasper.

But then again, no dad wants to think of their baby girl dating, especially the mysterious bad-boy types who exude horny teen vibes. He never outwardly disrespected Jasper the way Mr. Vanek has me, but my father never could hide his facial expressions. So, he chose the overbearing and overprotective route, and believe me, it was a pain in the ass. Dad was determined not to have his princess deflowered by a hoodlum. Only he didn’t know Jas the way I did, and he’s far from that. A little broken and sad maybe, but mostly misunderstood.

I start with Mr. Vanek’s wrist, check his pulse, then monitor his heart rate and record his blood pressure. Next, I study his fluids and injection site for his IV. Aside from the beating he wears like clothing and the tight breaths he struggles to take, he’s holding on. He breaks out into a coughing fit, one that lasts longer than he must like because the complaining starts again the moment it is over.

I quickly snatch the water container and pour some into a cup. “Here, have some water,” I offer.

Mr. Vanek throws his arm up. The movement, though weak, still manages to almost knock the drink from my hand. I suck in a sharp breath and maneuver to keep from spilling it on his head.

It would serve him right if I did. With his attitude and all the snide comments he mutters, I can already tell I’m in for a long shift. It’s not enough that I barely slept and my nerves are already a mess. Now I have to care for a man I never liked.

Thanks, Devil.

“I don’t want no damn water.” His voice is gruff and choppy.

“Okay,” I concede and walk away with my brows raised and a tilt of my head.

I set the water back on his rolling table, remove my stethoscope from around my neck, and place the buds in my ears. He tries to scoot away from me, lifting his frail arm again to block me. I push on, though, and eventually, reach his chest. His lungs sound weak, the same as the rest of him. When he turns away from me, I observe his profile.

He really does look like Jasper.

An older, ailing version of the boy I knew. Mr. Vanek looks terrible now, but anyone can see he was handsome in his day. Years of alcohol abuse, self-hatred, and not taking care of himself aged him early. He’s not much older than my father, barely even in his sixties, but he appears twice that.

When I finish up with the basics, I move on toward the foot of the bed. “Have you used the bathroom today?” I ask at the same time as lifting his catheter bag for his fluid output.

“Why the hell you ask if ya just going to check the damn thing?” he grunts out.

I inhale deeply, holding it for a beat to keep from saying something I shouldn’t. This isn’t uncommon. Many of my patients come in here mad at the world and take it out on the staff. So, it’s not the way he’s acting that bothers me. Not that it’s right, but I get it, they’re in pain, and it’s never personal.

But being in this room, withthispatient, takes a lot out of me. My mind wants to wander and fill itself with the thought of Jasper. I stopped trying to make sense of why he left me with only a letter a long time ago. And it worked. I moved on with my life, graduated nursing school, and experienced the joys of motherhood.

Jasper is a ghost to me, one that hasn’t haunted me in forever, at least not until Junior started having problems. But in a matter of seconds, all the confusion, heartache, and angst come rushing back. And Mr. Vanek serves as a dreadful reminder. So being his nurse is hard for me.

I chart his numbers and pull the covers back. “I’m going to check the bruises on your ribs and examine your belly. Let me know if you have any discomfort.”

He doesn’t respond, but this time he doesn’t try to interfere with my assessment. When I lift his robe, he flinches slightly. He has a bandage around his ribs, but the skin surrounding it is various shades of black and purple. I glance at him, reading the pain and embarrassment in the lines on his forehead.

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