AUTHOR'S NOTE:

What's up, buttercups?

Any votes and comments are appreciated. I would love to know what you guys are thinking. I know there are silent ones out there...reading and lurking..... come on out, babies. I won't bite. xoxo

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dedicated to JenYarrington
You. Are. So. Fucking. Awesome.

*****

"One thing before you go," he said, rubbing his chin. "The only obstacle you may be presented with is my ex-wife. Unfortunately we still have some common interests, so she will probably be around on occasion. Do not let her bullshit get to you. If you have any question about anything she should tell you, please come to me with it?" He raises his eyebrows, a bit concerned.

"Of course. You have my word," I state. "Thank you so much for this opportunity."

"I'll be in touch regarding when you should come to the hospital next week and meet with the nurse," he smiles and we shake hands once more before I go.

On the drive home, I wonder briefly about the ex-wife before basking in the joy of my new employment.

*****

Sherry's POV

Tuesday morning I headed to the hospital to meet with the day nurse and Mr. Twist regarding the particulars of my new job.

I dressed in regular clothes, a sweater and slacks, for today. I figured once I was working in the home I'd wear scrubs, but I didn't want to wear them to the hospital because I wasn't a hospital employee or a registered nurse.

Once I arrive at the hospital, I easily find my way to the occupational therapy unit where Mr. Twist is waiting for me, his face grave.

"Good morning, Mr. Twist," I greet him with a handshake. "Is everything alright?"

"We are having a bit of a struggle," he paused, "seems our patient had to be placed under mild sedation due to emotional upset over the current situation." His face is pain-stricken.

"Oh no," I say, "Is she not excited to be transferring home soon?"

My comment seems to agitate Mr. Twist further. His hand rubs his goatee in thought as he exhales visibly, the air rushing from his lungs in defeat.

"I should tell you something," he begins, averting his eyes, "I haven't been entirely honest with you."

Oh, shit.

I remain silent as our eyes meet and wait for him to continue.

"The patient is not my mother," Mr. Twist reveals.

"What?" This concerns me. Do I really want to work for someone who is deceptive regarding a job interview? It seems everything is starting badly. "Oh? Umm... who is she?"

"Actually... she's a he," he answers.

"He's transgender?" I whisper, taking a quick look to my left and my right. I try to hide my surprise, but a little gasp slips out anyway.

Mr. Twist begins to laugh a bit at my comment while I just stand dumbfounded.

"Oh no," he struggles to compose himself, "No, no."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Twist, but -"

"Let me explain, please," he interrupts, suddenly serious. "It's my son. He was involved in a car crash. He has a broken right arm, some scratches, and leg paralysis. It's an incomplete spinal cord injury with damage to certain vertebrae which allows functionality in some areas, yet not in others. Fortunately he maintains proper bladder and bowel function, but sexual function is yet to be determined." He stops talking, eyes searching my face to see how I'm receiving this information.

With my previous experience, none of the problems he'd mentioned were new to me. Piece of cake.

"Why the secrecy?" I want to know if he has a valid reason for falsely presenting this position. Can I trust him? It would be stupid of me to accept employment from a shady individual.

"I am a wealthy man. A wealthy divorced man, with a hellacious ex-wife. My son is young, handsome, has - well, had," he pauses for emphasis, "the whole world in front of him."

I listen intently. I want to believe him. I had such a good feeling about him initially.

Mr. Twist continues, "Unfortunately, having money isn't all wine and roses. While the benefits are plentiful, there have been a handful of times when I've been taken advantage of by people of unsavory character."

Nodding, I encourage him to continue.

"As a result, I'm forced to act in ways that protect the best interest of my family as well as my finances. What I'm trying to say, is if people knew this job was to care for a handsome and well-to-do invalid, I would have a line of gold-diggers at my door, eager to accept this position as a stepping stone while they try to lure my son into a false relationship in order to secure a lucrative future."

"Oh," is about all I can say at this point. I nod, trying to digest everything Mr. Twist has said.

"I am looking for a certain caliber of person," he continued. "Someone that shows interest in the elderly. A medical student. A person who cares for family members when the situation arises, when most people these days simply check them into an assisted living facility."

"Miss Parks...," Mr. Twist's eyes began to water, "My son is the most valuable thing to me in this world. More so than any amount of money that someone could try to take away from me. He is at a pivotal point in his life because of this accident, and how it is handled will make or break him, and I will do everything in my power to protect him. This includes finding a genuine person that I believe will care for him to the best of their ability." He took a deep breath, "I believe that person is you, Miss. Parks."

Wow. To say I am dumbfounded would be an understatement. I am oddly overwhelmed with emotion for this man I'd just met, and his son whom I didn't even know yet. What is happening to me? London is turning me into a pussy. My entire foundation of being was threatened, as my hardened shell produced a tiny crack of vulnerability that I hoped no one would notice.

"I am that person, Mr. Twist," I spoke in a calm but strong voice, "I am."

"I know you are, dear," he responds. "There's one more thing, but I'd really like you to see him first, if that's alright?"

"Certainly," I smile, "Of course."

I pull myself together internally as we walk through the double doors and down the hallway. Whoa. I wonder what he will be like.

"Remember, he had been sedated earlier, so he may or may not be awake at this time," Mr. Twist reminded me as he held open the door to the room for me to enter.

Despite all the things Mr. Twist had told me, I was in no way prepared for what greeted me inside that hospital room.

My eyes land on the bed, the aqua-colored sheets and blanket, one white-socked foot extended from beneath the covers. My eyes travel upward, noticing bed rails on either side, a few tubes, and a broken arm in a sling.

But it's when my eyes reach his beautiful sleeping face, curls splayed around him like a halo on the pillow that I feel my tiny vulnerability crack expand in a succession of fissures so rapid that I can scarcely hold myself together.

A fragile whisper falls from my lips as the jumbled puzzle pieces in my mind finally settle into place.

"Harry."