12. Dalton
12
DALTON
I stare at the phone.
“Nadia?”
She doesn’t answer.
The call is still going. I can hear muffled music and talking. It’s echoing, like she’s in a small room.
“Nadia? What’s going on? Where are you?”
Then the call ends.
Fuck.
She sounded in great distress.
Where did she say she was going?
Did she tell me?
I pace our apartment as I scroll through the text messages.
She said she’d be out tonight and not to worry if I wasn’t home when I got in from my shift.
I keep scrolling. Then I find it.
Aces. A bar in East LA.
I grab my keys and race to lock up and jump into my Jeep.
Where is her cousin? What’s happened?
I slam my hand against the steering wheel as I drive across town, ignoring all speed limits and turning any yellow light into a reason to gun it.
She might not even be at the bar anymore. It’s almost midnight. Someone could have taken her somewhere. She could be in real danger.
“Shit!”
There’s no way I can track her. We don’t have that level of connection. I have to hope she’s at Aces.
I think about the call. The music would get louder, then fade again. It’s a bathroom at the bar. I’m almost sure of it.
She went in there, then … what? She said she was sick.
The light turns red, but I don’t care. I gun through it, swerving to miss the car that starts through the intersection.
It honks at me. I don’t care about that either.
We get a slew of over-intoxicated people at the ER every weekend. She’ll be okay. She might need her stomach pumped. IV fluids.
Unless she’s allergic to something.
Or somebody at the bar drugged her.
Fuck. FUCK!
I finally reach the block of the bar. There’s no parking anywhere.
Fuck it. I pull onto the sidewalk and slam the door. Tow the car. I don’t care.
Thankfully, there’s no line to get in, and no bouncer outside to notice my shitty parking.
I yank on the door.
The noise hits me. It’s crowded.
I scan the faces, looking for her. She’s not going to be out here.
And I don’t know her cousin. We’ve never met. I couldn’t spot him either.
The bathroom. I have to find that.
I sure as hell hope she’s in there.
The back corner has a hallway, and I head for it. There’s a crowd here, too, and a line to get in.
“Hey!” some woman says, pulling at me as I skip them and tug on the door.
I jerk away from her and head inside.
Several women at the mirrors turn to gape at me.
“Nadia?” I call out. “Are you in here?”
The noise matches what I heard earlier. This is it. I know it.
There are three stalls, all closed.
I drop to my knees.
I see her instantly, curled over the toilet, her legs crumpled beneath her.
“Shit, Nadia!”
The door is locked, but I kick it, holding the top so it won’t slam into her.
The wood splinters, and it opens.
“Jesus, man!” The women scatter.
I pull her off the toilet. “Nadia?” I lightly smack her cheek to bring her around. “Nadia?”
She finally stirs. “Dalton?”
Shit. She’s weak as a kitten.
The floor is filthy, so I pull off my shirt and lay it on the ground. Then I carefully pry her off the toilet to rest on top of my shirt.
Her hair fans out. She’s pale. Her eyes flutter. “So sick.”
I feel her pulse. Slow. Her skin is clammy.
I use my phone as light and check her pupils. They react normally. So she’s probably not drugged. Just too much booze.
I sigh in relief. “How much did you have?”
Tears leak out of her eyes. Her mascara is smeared.
A hefty man bursts into the bathroom to loom over us. “What the fuck, man?”
“Call an ambulance,” I tell him. “Right now. She’s weak from throwing up. She’ll need an IV, maybe her stomach pumped. Her pulse is low.”
“Are you a doctor or what?”
I gesture to my pants scrubs. “Yes.” Every long shift is worth it, because I’ve seen a lot of people like Nadia. I know what to do.
The man looks us over, Nadia on the floor. “Shit.” He punches on his phone.
A woman with a riot of black braids peers in. “Can I help?”
“Could you wet some paper towels?”
She hurries toward the sinks.
“She’s not dead, right?” the man asks.
Jesus. “No, she’s not dead.”
“Sorry, is she yours?”
“She’s my roommate.”
The man talks into the phone, then nods at me. “Ambulance is coming.”
I check Nadia’s pulse again. Still weak and slow. It seems like the vomiting is done.
I hadn’t pegged her for a party girl.
Another woman bursts into the bathroom. She’s pregnant. “Nadia?” she calls. “Are you in here? You’ve been gone—” She spots us, and her hand covers her mouth. “Nadia!”
She kneels next to us. “What happened?”
“She called me. She was throwing up.”
“Is she okay? She doesn’t look okay!”
“She’s all right. We’ve called an ambulance.”
“Oh my god!” She clutches her belly. “Oooh!”
Now I have two women in distress on my hands. “Deep breaths. Slow down and breathe.”
She nods, taking in long, jagged breaths.
“Are you the pregnant woman she lived with? Allergic to cats?”
“Yes! Who are you?” She takes in my naked chest.
“Dalton. Her roommate.”
“Her … what?”
Uh oh. I didn’t realize Nadia had kept me a secret. “We’re friends. Sharing a space. She called me. She’ll be okay.”
The woman takes in more jagged breaths.
Then a man races in, pushing people aside. He’s huge. “Camryn? Did you find her?”
This is bound to be the cousin.
I turn to explain things, but then I’m lifted by my waistband. “What the fuck did you do to Nadia?”
Camryn pummels his leg. “Max! Put him down! It’s Nadia’s roommate! And look at him! He’s wearing scrubs. Are you a doctor?”
Any second, the flimsy string holding up my pants together is going to break. Damn, this guy is strong. “I’m Dr. Dalton Murphy. Let me the fuck down.”
Max lowers me again. “Shit. Sorry.”
The first woman passes me wet paper towels over the pregnant woman’s head. “Here. Sorry. This is crazy.”
I take them. “Thank you.”
I wipe the wad of towels over Nadia’s brow, across her neck, and press it into her wrists.
Camryn’s voice is full of fear. “She’s sick, Max. She called her roommate.”
“Wait, her roommate?” His eyes rove over me.
I focus back on Nadia.
“They’re friends,” Camryn says.
“She has a friend here?”
I can’t explain and don’t know how much I should explain. This is Nadia’s situation. Her eyes are closed.
“Nadia?” I shake her shoulders. “Are you with us?”
She moans. “Yes.”
The temperature rises as more people crowd into the room. I look up to see additional men as tricked out as this one, and some of them even more. Good grief. Did someone call a SWAT team?
“Who are all these people?” I ask.
“Our friends,” Camryn says. “They’re fighters.”
“Did you call an ambulance?” Max booms.
“First thing,” I say. “We might have to pump her stomach, get her some fluids. I’ll keep close watch.”
“Oh, God. I should have slowed her down.” Camryn starts crying.
Max wraps an arm around her. “She’s a grown woman capable of choosing her drinks.”
Nadia lurches up. “I’m going to throw up again.”
“On your side so you won’t aspirate,” I tell her. “You’re too weak to get up.” I pull her hair out of the way.
She coughs and heaves, but nothing comes out. She’s gotten it out.
“Jesus Christ.” Max turns around. “Where is the fucking ambulance?”
But I hear the terse instructions. “Move aside, please. Let us through.”
That’s the paramedics.
“Back up. Let them get her loaded,” I say. I slide Nadia to her back again.
Max, Camryn, and I move aside as the two men enter the bathroom.
“Dr. Murphy?” one says. I recognize him from the ER. He came in a couple of hours ago with a heart attack patient.
“I’m her roommate,” I say. “She called me.”
“What happened?”
The other one kneels beside Nadia to take her vitals.
“Looks like regular alcohol poisoning. No definitive sign of toxins, but I’m sure they’ll run a panel to be sure. She called me. It took me a good ten minutes to get here.”
The other man stands. “Let’s get her loaded.” He turns to me. “You coming with us?”
I glance over at Max.
Camryn takes his arm. “Let him go, Max. He’s a doctor. We can follow.”
Max nods.
They load Nadia onto the stretcher and strap her in. When they lift her, her eyes flutter open. “Dalton?”
She asked for me.
I throw my shirt back on. I’ve had worse on it in the ER. “I’m here. You’re all right, Nadia. We’ve got you.”
“Dalton?” Nadia asks again. Now she’s confused. “Where’s Max and Cam?”
Okay, so she maybe didn’t mean to call me.
“We’re here,” Camryn says with a cry. “Nadia!”
“I’m okay,” she says. “I think it was bad tequila.”
“We’re taking you to the hospital,” the paramedic says.
“Okay.” Nadia closes her eyes. “I might throw up again.”
“We’ll take care of you,” I tell her. “Don’t worry.”
She reaches out for me, and I take her hand.
Maybe she did call me? It doesn’t matter. I’m here.
The two paramedics push forward toward the door.
“We’ll go to South General,” I tell Max and Camryn. “Come find us.”
“We will,” Camryn says.
“Keep her hydrated,” I tell Max. “She might have contractions if she’s distressed.”
He nods.
And with that, I follow the paramedics through the crowd of Aces, my hand clasped around Nadia’s.