The Biker’s Nurse

CHAPTER 3

Scott’s POV

The next few months passed in a fog I couldn’t escape.

Days bled into nights, nights into days, and none of it mattered. The walls of my room felt like they were closing in, the same white paint staring back at me until I wanted to claw it off with my bare hands.

I slept too much, not because I was tired, but because the pills made me. Painkillers. Sedatives. Antidepressants. A cocktail designed to keep me quiet, to keep me from feeling too much, to keep me from losing it completely.

But in truth, I was already lost.

I moved through my days like a ghost, dull and numb, choking on the haze the drugs wrapped me in. People spoke to me, but their words never seemed to reach me.

Luke visited often, trying to bring me food or news, but I barely looked at him. My mom hovered constantly, always worrying, always watching, her eyes red and swollen from crying when she thought I wasn’t looking.

Every time I caught her like that, something inside me cracked a little more.

I hated what I’d become not just for myself, but for her.

One night, as I sat in my chair by the window, staring at the same empty street I’d stared at for weeks, I realized I couldn’t keep doing this. This wasn’t living. It was barely existing.

The thought hit me like a bolt of lightning. I needed to leave.

I turned toward the sound of my mom moving around in the kitchen. My voice felt rusty when I spoke, like it hadn’t been used in years. “Mom.”

She appeared in the doorway instantly, like she had been waiting for me to say something. Her face was hopeful, but cautious. “Yes, baby? Are you hungry?”

I shook my head. My hands gripped the armrests of my wheelchair so tightly my knuckles turned white. My heart pounded in my chest.

“I… I can’t do this anymore.” My voice broke halfway through, and I swallowed hard to steady it. “I can’t live like this anymore, Mom. I need… I need to get out of here.”

Her face fell, her eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “What do you mean, Scott? Where would you go?”

I licked my lips, tasting salt from the tears I didn’t realize had formed. “The family house. In the Maldives.”

Her eyes widened, and she immediately shook her head. “No. No way. Absolutely not.”

“Mom…”

“No, Scott!” she snapped, her voice sharp with fear. “You can’t go there all by yourself. You… you can barely…” Her voice faltered, and she pressed a hand to her mouth like she couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence.

The words she didn’t say hung heavy between us.

You can barely function. You can barely move. You can’t take care of yourself.

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to stay calm. “I’m not saying I’ll go alone. You can hire a nurse to go with me if that will make you feel better.”

She looked at me like I had just suggested something impossible. Her hands wrung together, twisting in the fabric of her sweater. “Scott, it’s so far away. What if something happens? What if you need me?”

“I need this, Mom.” My voice cracked, my throat tight with emotion.

I rolled closer to her, the wheels squeaking softly on the hardwood floor. When I reached her, I placed my hand gently over hers, stilling their frantic movement.

“Please.” My eyes met hers, desperate and pleading. “Please, Mom. I can’t keep doing this. I need to breathe again. I need to be somewhere that doesn’t remind me of… of this.”

Her face crumpled, and tears spilled down her cheeks. She sank to her knees in front of me, gripping my hands as if she could anchor me to her through sheer will alone.

“Scott,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I’m so scared. I almost lost you once. I can’t…” She broke off, sobbing.

My heart shattered. She was part of the reason I needed to go. Every time I saw her cry, every time I caught her looking at me like I was broken beyond repair, it gutted me.

“Mom,” I said softly, leaning forward so our foreheads touched. “You’ve been strong for me for months. But this… staying here, seeing you like this every day, it’s killing me. I need to try to heal. And maybe… maybe you need to heal too.”

She cried harder, clutching me as if letting go meant losing me all over again. Her tears soaked into my shirt, hot and endless.

We stayed like that for a long time, her sobbing quietly while I held her. I didn’t rush her. I didn’t speak. I just waited, praying she would understand.

Finally, she nodded, her breath hitching. She pressed a kiss to the top of my head, lingering there like she could memorize the shape of me.

“Okay,” she whispered, her voice so quiet I almost didn’t hear it. “Okay, baby. We’ll do it your way.”

Relief surged through me so powerfully I nearly broke down myself.

The next days passed in a blur of preparation. My mom threw herself into planning, making endless phone calls, her voice clipped and businesslike as she worked through her fear by controlling what she could.

Interviews were held over video calls. I sat silently in the background, watching as she questioned each nurse with the precision of a drill sergeant.

She asked about their experience, their certifications, their ability to handle emergency situations.

Finally, she chose someone, a quiet, efficient woman from an agency with glowing reviews. I didn’t care much who it was. I just wanted to leave.

The day of my departure arrived too quickly and not quickly enough.

My mom insisted on driving us to the airport herself. Every so often, I caught her glancing at me in the rearview mirror, her lips pressed tightly together, her eyes glassy.

When we reached the airport, she parked and came around to my side, helping me into the wheelchair. Her hands lingered on my shoulders, her grip trembling.

The nurse stayed quiet beside me, calm and professional. My mom kept fussing, double-checking everything, her anxiety spilling over in rapid bursts of questions.

At the gate, it was time to say goodbye.

She knelt beside me, taking my face in her hands. “Scott,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “I need you to promise me you’ll call every day.”

“I will,” I promised, my throat tight.

Her tears fell freely now, dripping onto my cheeks as she kissed my forehead. “Be safe, baby. Please, just… be safe.”

My heart twisted painfully. I hated leaving her like this, hated being the cause of her worry, but I knew I had to go.

“I love you, Mom.”

“I love you more,” she whispered back.

The nurse gently pushed me toward the boarding tunnel. I looked back one last time, memorizing the sight of her standing there, small and fragile against the vastness of the airport.

Then I turned away, facing forward as we boarded the plane.