“Doc, we brought you a change of clothes,” Reaper says.
I look up and pull my fingers from my hair. Right. Clothes. I glance down at my ruined, blood-stained shirt and jeans and sigh. “Thanks, Reaper,” I say, reaching for the folded shirt and pants in his hands. I head to the restroom and clean up as best as I can, trashing the blood-stained clothes.
I make my way to the waiting room and wait for any news on Joanna. Reaper sits next to me and leans forward, placing his elbows on his knees. “Joanna is strong. She’s been through a lot. She’ll be fine.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “You didn’t see it, Reaper. I’ve seen a lot of shit. I’ve fixed hundreds of people. I’ve performed multiple surgeries.” I meet his intense stare with my tired one and swallow the lump in my throat. “That was the most blood I’ve ever seen. It was everywhere, obviously,” I snort sarcastically and wave my hand down my body. “We need to prepare ourselves. If she dies, that’s on us, Reaper.” I pat my chest with my palm harder than necessary, but I want Reaper to see that I’m serious.
He looks away from me, contemplating his next words. Reaper laces his fingers together, and the exhale that leaves him deflates his entire body. When he realizes I’m right, his shoulders fall. “I know. We should’ve done more. I thought she was fine. She seemed … she seemed happy, like she was having the time of her life at college.”
“Depression is a trickster. Seems like it fooled us pretty well. I’m a damn doctor, and I didn’t realize she needed help. I’m a fucking doctor, Reaper! How could I have not seen that she needed help?” I lean back and turn my head toward the door the doctor is supposed to walk through, but it’s still closed.
“No one is perfect, Doc. People hide their pain well for a reason.”
I frown and disagree. “No, she didn’t hide it that well, now that I think back on it. When Patrick had his transplant, and she was there, I saw the oddities. Something wasn’t right, and I chose to ignore it. If I had pushed aside my…” I almost say attraction. “Anyway…” I run my fingers through my hair again and stand. “I’m going to find some coffee.”
“I’ll make sure to get you if the doctor comes out and says anything.”
I give him a tight smile and stare at Tongue, who is standing in a corner, as he always does so he can see everything. He still has blood on him, but unlike me, Tongue enjoys a good blood bath. He probably won’t shower until later.
Exhaustion sets in my bones. I rub my eyes and wake myself up a bit. The thud of my boots echo along the white floor. Fluorescent lights reflect in the tiles, and the brightness burns my eyes for a second, giving me the jolt I need.
I hang a right to go down the hallway, but the double doors on the left swing open, and a doctor walks out. I spin on the sole of my boots and hurry in the direction I just came from. My hand travels along the edge of the counter where a redheaded lady is sitting, pursing her lips as she talks on the phone. “Doctor,” I call to him to get his attention.
He jerks his head up from the medical chart, the glasses he’s wearing has his eyes magnifying larger than what they really are. The dome of his head is bald, but the sides have hair and are turning silver from old age. “Do you have information on Joanna Davis?” I ask, a little more desperate than I mean to.
“Are you family?”
I hate that question. As a friend, it’s frustrating that blood makes family to a medical professional, but as a doctor, I understand not wanting to violate HIPAA. So I do what all people do in this situation. I lie.
I fucking hate liars. I like to kill people who lie to me more than twice, but given the situation, I need to do whatever I can to get into Joanna’s room. Right as I’m about to open my mouth, Tongue’s hand slaps against my chest, and he steps in front of me, towering over the doctor.
“We are her family.”
I peek my head around Tongue’s shoulder and see the doctor swallowing as he cranes his neck back to look at the savage tongue-cutting beast in front of him. “Um, all … of … you?” the doctor stutters, readjusting the frames of his glasses.
Tongue leans forward, arms crossed. “All of us. This—,” he slaps his hand on my chest again, taking the breath from my lungs—“is her fiancé, and we are his brothers.” Tongue spreads his arms wide to show the impressiveness of the men surrounding us. There are just a few of us here, but any regular Joe would be shaking in his boots. “I suggest you tell us what you know.” Tongue bends down until his nose is close to the doctor’s trembling shoulders and sniffs him. He groans as if he’s smelled something delightful, and the doctor leans back, trying to get away from Tongue. “I love the smell of a coward in the afternoon.”
His hand reaches for the knife on his hip, but it’s my turn to stop him with a hand to the chest. “What my brother here is trying to say is we are all family, and Joanna means the world to us. Is she okay?”
A drip of sweat rolls down the doctor’s temple, and his Adam’s apple bobs under the scruff of his day-old beard. “Um…” His voice shakes as he tries to get away from Tongue, but the menace keeps sniffing him and closing his eyes. Tongue is losing himself in the scent of fear, no doubt coming off the doctor in waves. “She is alive. It was very hit and miss. She died on the table, but we were able to bring her back.”
It’s a punch in the gut to hear that. It knocks the wind out of me. I know what it’s like to hear a flatline while operating on someone, and there is only a fifty-fifty chance at bringing them back. The person’s heart either beats again or it doesn’t.
“You’re talking dirty, doctor. I like that,” Tongue growls, sniffing him again.
“Damn it, Tongue. Snap out of it. This isn’t about you. This is about Joanna!” I snap. He lands his cold gaze on me, the bloodlust craze vanishes and is replaced with regret.
“Sorry.” He takes a step back and hides behind Reaper, not that it’s considered hiding since Tongue is a head taller than our Prez.
The doctor lets out a long breath as if he’s relieved he gets to breathe again. I bet he is. “She had to have two blood transfusions, and she has stitches up and down each arm after we repaired the veins. She’s going to be in pain for next couple weeks, but she will be fine. We are keeping her for a seventy-two-hour observation.”
Suicide watch.
And I’m going to be here for every minute of it. I’ll be damned if I leave her alone in her darkest time.
“Can I see her?” I ask. I know I can if I pull the doctor card; hell, I used to work at this hospital. This guy doesn’t know me, but I know people, and if he says no, I’m not afraid to call the big guy to allow me in. They have been begging for me to come back to the hospital, not that I’d tell Reaper that.
“Only two of you,” he says with an aged, shaky voice.
Well, that was easy.
Me and Reaper.
“I’ll be waiting out here,” Tongue says. He lurches forward and play bites the air, scaring the doctor.
“I got him.” Badge grips Tongue’s arm as he madly cackles through the waiting room. Slingshot and Braveheart shake their heads and follow the sound of what reminds me of an insane asylum. They sit in the chairs furthest away from the front desk.