Chapter 30
Nate
I stand by the window, watching Savvy get into her cruiser and drive off.
She’s barely even acknowledged me since her father led her out of the church, covered in blood and looking like a ghost, but still very much alive.
The blood hadn’t been hers, even though, for several very long minutes after I heard the shot go off, I was terrified Brant and Hugo rushed in there too late. Roy had to hold me back from rushing in after them, and he was right, my little girl was traumatized enough and needed me.
“Give her time,” Hugo says behind me.
Our kids were placed together in a room.
They’d both asked to be and nursing staff readily agreed.
The small hospital only has limited rooms and we arrived with three patients at once.
Tatum, Carson, and KC Kingma all had drugs in their system, and Carson also had a head laceration and suffered a concussion.
Apparently, the kid had been knocked back by a Taser, which allowed Maynard to subdue Tate.
That gave Carson enough time to regain some muscle control and he tried to fight the much bigger man off, but got his head slammed into the road instead.
I have a whole new appreciation for the teenager after finding out he’s also the one who urged Tate to get out.
All three of them were admitted to the hospital for observation, at least until the lab is able to identify what exactly they’ve been drugged with.
So I’ve been stuck in this room for a day and a half now, waiting for a chance to talk to Savvy, but she’s been actively avoiding me, even though I’ve seen her come in and out of the hospital and pass by in the hallway.
“I don’t fucking understand, man,” I complain, trying to keep my voice down for the kids.
“Listen, she’s got a ton to process. She has a severely shorthanded department she has to keep running, she’s got several state and federal agencies milling about in her town, and her father is being closely looked at in the shooting of Maynard.”
“He was fucking holding a gun to her head,” I hiss. “What would they have him do? Ask fucking politely to unhand his daughter? That’s bullshit.”
“Shh,” he shushes me. “I know it’s bullshit, I was there, he was completely justified, but that’s protocol, and believe me, Brant himself would insist every step is followed. He’s retired, a civilian now, there are slightly different standards for a justified shooting.”
Hugo gave me the outlines of what went down in that basement, but I’m sure there’s a lot he left out. I’m still fuzzy on Maynard’s motivations and I’m eager to learn all the details, because the Savvy that walked out of that building is not the same person who went in.
I need to know what changed.
“Look,” he continues. “All I’m saying is she’s under a lot of pressure, so give her a little time. Believe me, I’m feeling pretty damn useless myself, but our job right now is to look after our kids.”
The conversation is over when Doc Wilson walks in with another doctor we briefly saw when we got here.
“You remember Dr. Sharma?” Doc asks.
“Call me Rohan,” the man says, holding out his hand for first Hugo and then me to shake. “I don’t stand on formalities.”
His handshake is firm and his smile seems genuine. I’d guess him to be around my age, maybe by a few years on either side.
“Dr. Sharma is new to town, but I’m sure you’ll be seeing a lot more of him,” Doc informs us. “He’s joined my practice, and will eventually be taking over.”
Then he smiles at each of the kids in turn. “So, how are you guys doing? Think you might be ready to go home today?”
“Yes, please,” Carson is the first to respond. “I’m bored out of my brain.”
“I’m sure you are, kid,” the older man says with a grin.
“But I have to tell you, you’re gonna have to take it easy for at least another week with that hit your noggin took.
Rest at home, no strenuous activities, I’d advise against too much gaming so limit the screen time, and come check in with me in a week. ”
He turns to Tatum. “And you, young lady, should be good to go with another day or two at home. You don’t have to come back, unless you have any complaints. And that goes for both of you.”
Then he redirects his attention to us. “You’ll need to keep an eye out for mood swings, anxiety, any memory loss or impaired cognitive functioning, that kind of thing.
Now, I don’t think the kids were exposed to the drug long enough, but it pays to be cautious.
They were injected with a hefty cocktail of ketamine and propofol.
Although, most of the ketamine should be eliminated from the body after ten to twelve hours after administering, on average, some remains and can be detected in the urine up to two weeks after.
Propofol dissipates much faster and is already gone from their system. ”
With a promise a nurse will be in shortly with the kids’ discharge papers, the two men are about to walk out when Bess arrives with a bakery box. The older doctor greets her with a nod before disappearing down the hall, but Dr. Sharma pauses, his eyebrow raised as he inspects the box.
“Busted,” she grins at him sheepishly. “I hope the kids aren’t on any dietary restrictions. I thought they might be allowed a little something sweet.”
“They’re allowed. I’m partial to sweets myself,” the guy smiles back, tapping a finger on the Strange Brew logo on the box. “Yours? I was in there for coffee and breakfast the other day, and I’m pretty sure I saw you pop out of the kitchen a time or two.”
I hear a distinct sound of grinding teeth behind me and when I glance over my shoulder at Hugo, he’s glaring at the new doctor with a jaw clenched so tight, I’m afraid he’ll break it.
Interesting reaction.
“Yup, it’s mine,” Bess clarifies. “Hope you enjoyed your breakfast.”
“I did. I’ve gotta run, but I was planning to come back, so I’m sure I’ll see you around,” Sharma returns before he hurries out the door.
I almost laugh at the sharp huff from Hugo.
I’m not exactly sure whether he just feels very protective in a friendly way or if he actually has an interest beyond that.
I suspect the latter. He most definitely has a strong opinion on that little exchange, and glares at Bess as she approaches the kids’ beds.
I shouldn’t laugh at his obvious frustration, it’s not like I’m doing swimmingly in the romance department myself.
Bess seems oblivious to it all as she ceremoniously whips the lid back off the box.
“Fresh donuts, anyone?”
Savvy
I’ve been sitting here, staring at the text I received twenty minutes ago, waiting for the knock on my door.
It’s been five days since Auden’s brains were blown all over me, my father’s finger on the trigger.
There are events you know, even as they are happening, will be etched into your brain with excruciating detail.
This was definitely one. From the casual, “Don’t worry, he’s alive.
For now,” right up to the deafening reverberation of the gunshot that brought a long friendship to a violent and abrupt end, and every moment in between.
I’ve relived each one of them time and time again as I’ve lain awake in my empty bed. The lonely picture on my nightstand found the trash can that very first night, when I finally got home, after spending the night before in the hospital and at the office.
There was no sleep then, and there has been little since. I’m coasting by on coffee, piles of work, and sheer will. Although, I will say the latter is wearing concerningly thin.
And now I get this message from the man I’ve avoided all week, announcing he’ll be here in mere minutes and if I even think about ducking out to avoid him, he vows to hunt me down.
I’m too tired to duck and run, I haven’t even had the energy to change into my sleep shirt and go to bed, which I fully intended on doing when I left the station.
The kicker is, I could probably sleep with Nate holding me, but first I owe him an explanation for avoiding him, and don’t know that I’m ready.
I’m hurt, I’m confused, I feel betrayed, and nothing in my life I thought I knew for a fact was apparently based in reality.
As much as Nate does not carry any responsibility whatsoever for any of it, he is entwined in all of it.
Also, if I’m absolutely honest with myself, I have to admit I’m ashamed for being so gullible for so long.
I know Nate didn’t trust Auden’s motivations, but I brushed it off.
That could’ve cost two innocent kids and one of my deputies their lives.
As it is, they’ll be traumatized for the duration because I couldn’t see what was right under my nose.
A sharp rap on my door interrupts the sea of self-doubt and recriminations I’m drowning myself in, and I push myself to my feet with a groan.
I almost sob at the sight of him, so strong and handsome, and I want to throw myself in his arms, despite the angry scowl he’s aiming at me.
“You didn’t run.”
“No.”
I step aside to let him in. When I follow him inside, he stops in front of the coffee table, his hands jammed in his pockets.
“Can I get you something?” I ask, almost by rote.
His response is curt. “I’m fine.”
I sit down in the same spot on the couch I just vacated, grab a toss pillow to hold in my arms, and curl my legs under me.
Even as I’m doing it, I recognize the defensive body language.
Nate notices too, and his expression gentles slightly as he perches himself on the edge of the coffee table in front of me.
“Talk to me.”
“Where is Tatum?” I ask as a last attempt at diversion.
“Spending the night at Naomi Battaglia’s,” he answers, before repeating, “Talk to me, Savannah.”
I shake my head. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I avoided you.
I could tell you I was busy with work, wrapping up this case, and dealing with the investigation into my father, but as valid as they all may be, they’re also just excuses.
The truth is, there is so much to unravel and I haven’t even really wrapped my head around it myself.
As you can see, I’m a bit of a mess, and I was frankly afraid if I talked to you, I would fall apart, and I didn’t feel I could afford to.
Not until my job was done and I could start processing. ”
He reaches out his hand and wraps it around my ankle, his thumb softly stroking the strip of bare skin between the cuff of my pants and the edge of my sock. The simple soothing gesture alone is enough to make my eyes well up.
“Look at me, Savvy.” He waits until I lift my eyes to his. “I love you. Do you know how hard it’s been to see you struggle from a distance and not be able to do anything?”
There’s no holding back the tears, not after a declaration like that.
I’m barely coherent when I mutter, “Don’t be nice to me, please. Not when I have to tell you things that are going to upset you.”
He swiftly moves from the coffee table to the couch beside me and pulls me onto his lap like a child.
“Tell me,” he prompts, stroking my messy hair with his large hand.
So I do, starting haltingly, but I don’t leave out any detail of my exchange with Auden Maynard. I cling on to his shirt, feeling every reaction to what I’m saying in his body’s response.
“Sanchuk,” he suddenly interjects inexplicably. At my quizzical look, he clarifies, “The sheriff’s underling, it’s gotta be him. It would never have occurred to me, but picture those two side by side. The hooked nose, the dimples. There’s a definite family resemblance, I can’t unsee it now.”
He’s right, I can’t believe I missed it. I wonder if Sanchuk knew, or if my father ever picked up on it. Mental illness runs in families too, and I’m willing to bet both those men could be considered psychopaths.
I slightly shift in his lap so I can look him in the eye.
“Are you okay?”
“Am I okay?” he echoes back. “No, not by a long shot, but that has nothing to do with you and everything to do with that sick bastard.”
“I’m so sorry.”
I start sobbing again and he immediately gathers me closer and gets to his feet with me in his arms.
“Nothing for you to be sorry about.”
“Where are we going?”
“I’m drawing you a bath, and you’re gonna relax and let all of this garbage spinning through your head drain itself, and then I’m taking you to bed so you can sleep.”
It’s not until much later, after I’ve cried myself dry and washed myself clean, I nestle in his arms and press my face into the side of his neck.
“I love you so much.”