Chapter 9
Nine
Ambitchous: the desire to become a better bitch.
—Dru’s secret thoughts
DRU
I didn’t want to go to work.
I was tired, my body hurt, and I was fairly sure I was about to start my period.
I felt like I’d been hit by a train…or fell out of the sky.
And I knew without a doubt that I’d get asked a hundred times today what happened to my face—you couldn’t hide the tiny little cuts all over me from tiny slivers of wood in that tornado that’d cut my face.
Plus, they’d want to know how I got it, and it’d eventually get out that I’d been in that plane crash.
Yet, I walked down the length of Finnian’s driveway, barely able to keep my eyes open.
I’d called an Uber an hour ago, telling him to pick me up at the estate’s front entrance.
I’d have asked him for the code, but the man slept behind a locked door, and slept like a freakin’ log.
I’d knocked on his door for a solid minute before deciding that I wasn’t going to get him to open the door.
If he was even there.
I mean, at this point, he might not have been.
I didn’t actually see the man go to bed last night.
After all his friends left—Finnian had introduced them all to me—he’d led me to a room up the stairs and at the end of the hall straight across from his room.
There, I’d showered, gotten dressed in the clothes that were at the end of my bed when I came out of the bathroom, and headed back downstairs to find the place empty but for him.
He’d fed me a plethora of food, and then he’d put me to bed before telling me to knock if I needed something.
I had, but he hadn’t answered, so I’d taken that as my sign to leave.
I didn’t have a phone, but I’d been able to sign into the same iPad we’d taken from off the dead mother and order my Uber.
I’d also signed in and prepaid and tipped for my ride before quietly leaving the house.
I would get the Uber driver to drop me off at home, where I had luckily thought ahead and put a new electronic key on my door.
If it was even still locked…
I found my Uber exactly where I asked him to be and climbed inside.
After confirming the address, I leaned back and closed my eyes for the long ride that would take me from Finnian’s glorious house to the slums of Dallas where I now lived.
When I got home, I thanked the driver and all but shuffled like a zombie to the side door of the complex that led up to my apartment.
Unsurprised to find that the door wasn’t latched, I walked inside and headed to my apartment that was on the first floor at the back—there were four total on the floor.
My door was surprisingly shut, so I unlocked it and headed inside.
The moment I got there, I felt a little bit more centered.
Not that Finnian’s place was bad at all.
It wasn’t.
In fact, it was really great, and I could definitely get used to living in that palace Finnian called a home.
However, I had my own life to get back to, and I didn’t want to overstay my welcome.
I headed for my room and took the quickest shower I could, washing, shaving, and conditioning before I got out and got dressed in my navy-blue scrubs.
Twelve years ago, when I first started working at the hospital, I’d hated scrubs.
However, over the years, I’d gotten so comfortable in them that they almost felt like a second skin.
Today, I’d chosen my baggiest pair to help with the discomfort I felt when clothes rubbed against sore spots on my skin.
I’d only thought I looked bad last night.
Today, I looked like I’d been sandblasted.
I had several spots on my body that looked like I’d had skin meet with concrete.
One of those spots was front and center on my face, right above my left eyebrow.
I covered it up as best as I could with makeup and dried my hair.
Fifteen minutes later, I was ready to go, heading to the front door armed with nothing more than my nursing bag.
I felt naked without my purse or my phone, but I’d figure those two things out as soon as I could.
I’d have to figure out what I needed to do when I lost my ID, cell phone, and all of my other personal effects.
The thought of going to the Department of Motor Vehicles made my skin crawl.
I’d heard nightmare stories lately about how busy it was.
And at this point you had to make an appointment that was three months out.
I was not looking forward to my free time today when I made those calls I needed to make.
Hopefully I got the time I needed, too, because delaying this any further than necessary would likely suck.
I didn’t know how you were supposed to live without your ID and your cards.
The only good thing I could say was that I had my debit card hooked up to my Apple Pay on my watch.
I could at least go anywhere that accepted that.
Grabbing my spare car keys, I headed outside to the Old Beast, a 1981 Chevy Blazer, and closed the door.
I started the Blazer up—thankful that I hadn’t paid the airport parking—and let it idle for a few short minutes while I got my head straight.
Once I felt okay to drive—because damn, I was tired—I headed to work, surprised when I made every single light between my apartment and the hospital.
And I’m not exaggerating, either.
I made every single one.
My mood was pleasantly uplifted when I pulled into my regular parking spot and got out.
That mood abruptly plummeted the moment I saw my sister standing at the entrance with her arms crossed over her chest.
I cursed myself for ever telling her where to find me when she needed me, and angrily started walking.
My light luck held out, and the street that I would have to cross flicked with a “walk” sign just as I was getting up to it.
I crossed the street, looking at several surprised drivers who looked a little flustered.
I paid them no mind as I got to the hospital entrance and my sister.
“What do you want?”
I could tell with just one look that Daniella was in her manic state.
“He won’t answer my calls,” she hissed.
Of course he wouldn’t.
“You need to go see your therapist,” I said. “And take your medicine.”
Daniella was already shaking her head. “I can’t. I need you to call him.”
“I’m not calling him,” I told her. “Go talk to Mom. I’m working.”
“You’re not working. You’re outside.”
I nearly rolled my eyes. “I’m outside the hospital, where I’m about to head inside to go work.”
She scoffed. “I need your help more than you need to work.”
If she only knew what kind of debt I was in, she wouldn’t be saying that.
Though, she would’ve still asked for my help instead of me going to work.
“I’m not arguing about this. I’m at work,” I said. “If you need anything, go find Mom.”
Because she would help Daniella in a heartbeat.
Because Daniella was her favorite, and always had been.
“This isn’t something that Mom will like me doing.”
“Then it’s for sure not something I’ll like,” I pointed out.
“I don’t agree with your stalking. I didn’t agree with you getting engaged to that fucker in the first place.
What I do agree with is you taking your medicine and acknowledging that you have a problem.
Now, make an appointment with your therapist and go see her. ”
“Why’d you even go there, anyway?” she asked, ignoring my suggestions.
I drew in a deep breath, then let it out. “Because I wanted you to know that he wasn’t the one for you.”
Because I could just see the headlines now: Eugene Delemonte, best friend of Senator Josh Horn, has a stalker. A restraining order has been filed against Daniella Rossi.
Then yet another set of friends would know about my sister’s awful behavior.
We’d already moved multiple times because of Daniella’s many “relationships” gone wrong.
I didn’t want to do it again.
Hence me trying to help her before it got any worse—i.e., she pulled out the showing up in his home unannounced thing she liked to do and setting up cameras.
“I can’t believe you won’t help me.” Daniella crossed her arms over her chest and pouted.
It worked with my parents.
It’d never worked with me and Romeo, my brother.
“Sorry for your bad luck,” I said. “See you later.”
Daniella said something under her breath, but I didn’t stop to ask her what she’d said.
I didn’t want to know.
I turned away and headed for my floor.
The surgery wing was hopping, ready for a day full of surgeries to start any second.
I was unsurprised to find Chevy there, ready to get to work.
He was one of the best anesthesiologists we had in the area, and though scary as hell, I fully respected him.
Every single patient that came through the door I knew would be in good hands when it came to Chevy Clayborne.
The surgeon who was headed toward me, however?
Him, I could do without.
Dr. Aggie Powell was a thirty-something brand-new baby attending that I felt only got the surgeon job he got because his brother also worked on our floor.
Neither one of them, Aggie or Correl, could I stand.
But Aggie was always worse than Correl for some reason, and I really had no clue why.
Both were equally as disgusting and had no bedside manner.
If I could erase two individuals from this earth, it would be them.
“Why, hey there, Nurse Drusilla.”
I gritted my teeth. “Dru.”
“Sorry, Dru.” Aggie smirked. “I forgot.”
Sure you did, buddy. Sure you did.
I didn’t comment and instead went to the staff lounge and got all my stuff put away before heading back out and pinning my badge to my shirt.
I smiled when I saw Aella coming out of the bathroom.
“What are you doing here?” she asked with surprise.
“Gotta make some money, honey,” I teased.
She shook her head. “I can’t believe you’re here. You had an ordeal.”
Yeah, I did. But having “ordeals” didn’t mean that the credit card companies stopped making their calls.
“Unfortunately, I don’t get the luxury of time off.” I shrugged, not explaining.
Explaining took time and inevitably led to more questions.
Neither of which I had the time or the inclination for.
“If you’re sure,” she murmured.
I shrugged again. “I’m about as sure as I can be.”