Chapter 23
Chapter
Twenty-Three
Ryan
I’m hooked up to a million tubes and electrodes. There’s a constant beeping next to my ear, and I’m stuck watching reruns of a show I didn’t enjoy very much the first time it aired. Any TV show with a laugh track is trying too hard.
My parents left an hour ago. Bear isn’t talking to me.
I’m in constant but mild pain, like a gnawing annoyance.
My shoulder is all banged up from hitting the floor before Bear could catch me.
My hand is cut from hitting various objects over the evening, and somehow I’ve broken my left pinky toe.
But it’s not the physical injuries that have me upset.
Last night was the second-worst night of my life.
I lost her.
My body betrayed me.
I don’t know how I’m going to pay medical bills.
The surgery might not be an option anymore.
And everything is my fault.
It was all avoidable, but I was too chickenshit to do anything about it—survivor’s remorse had me believing I wasn’t allowed to love again. It was self-sabotage.
When my phone rings, I assume it’s Bear checking in and I almost don’t answer. But then I lift the phone and my heart-rate monitor spikes.
“Amber?” I don’t even give her a chance to say hello.
“I’m going to give you three minutes to answer all of my questions.” She states it like she’s addressing a platoon about to go to war. “How long are you in the hospital?”
“They’re keeping me under observation for two or three more days.”
Her voice stays steady. “Was it bad?”
Translation: Did I almost die?
“It was the second-worst cluster I’ve ever had.”
“Hmm. What’s your treatment plan?”
“I don’t know.” I swallow as I come face to face with all of my deepest fears. “Tomorrow I have a meeting with my doctor after he examines my test results.”
“Are you going to follow the treatment plan?” Ouch. This one is loaded. She’s not asking if I can follow it, she’s asking if I will. It’s not fair to pin my life on the slim chance she’s willing to forgive me. We both deserve better.
I pick at the mediocre hospital blanket. “As best as I can.”
She gives a little “uh-huh.” Her voice is icy and clinical. “Do you understand how much you hurt me?”
Of course I do. “I hurt you and broke your trust, but I don’t think I’ll ever really know the extent or depth of the damage.”
“Because you don’t really know me. You never asked about my background or even why those guys were following me that first night.” She lets the weight of the sentence sink in. “Why didn’t you want to call the cops that night?”
“A couple of reasons. One, I work for a group called the Four Families. It’s a criminal syndicate, and as a general rule, I like to keep the police as far away from my life as possible.
And two, I wasn’t legally allowed to ride Bear’s motorcycle because I was still one month shy of being six months seizure-free. ”
She hisses, “So your desire for self-preservation and loyalty to a crime family was more important than my safety. Cool.”
That cuts deep because she’s right. But she wasn’t exactly pressing the issue to call the police, and I never asked her why. Shit, I still don’t know the answer.
Amber continues her interrogation. “Why the club? Were you always Fox when you were there?”
This one’s harder to answer. It cuts open old wounds.
“My wife and I used to go there because she was worried that if one of us had a medical emergency and died, she didn’t want the other to be alone.
The club offered that sense of safety. When she died, I felt lost, and the club became like a home.
But everyone would tell me how great she was, how sad they were for me, and I felt like …
” I never really dissected it until Amber forced me to confront it.
“I lost my wife, my home, and Club Midnight was my last refuge. And that was slipping away, too. But then I put on a mask one day, went in, and no one brought her up—it was like getting back a small part of my life.”
I relied too much on Fox. He was a fantasy I thought I could never live up to. But lately I began to feel like my old self again. And it’s all thanks to her.
I’m about to tell her all of that when there’s banging on the other side of the line. She curses as the sound of wood shattering and a door being kicked down explodes through the phone. “Amber, are you okay?”
“Bo?” she whispers, and then there’s a scream and shouting I can’t place. I don’t know what language it is, but she’s answering back. I can hear panic and pleading in her voice.
“You think you could leave me?” The snarling male voice yells. Then there’s a crash and the line goes dead.
She’s in danger. I want to rip the IVs out, but I stop. I’m half-naked and I have no way to protect her. I should call the police. But the police mean questions, and she’s right, I don’t really know her. Instead, I call the one person who can help.
Dimitri picks up on the first ring. “Ryan, you okay?” His voice sounds concerned.
“Amber’s in danger. Someone broke into her house.”
The good-natured Russian on the other end goes dark and menacing. “I’ll call my guys.”
“Please hurry,” I say.
Dimitri adds, “My guys will come at a cost. You understand?”
“I’ll pay whatever it takes.”
The line goes dead and I’m left with my racing heart and soul-crushing anxiety.
One minute, two minutes—there’s a lifetime of worst nightmares with every passing second.
The heart rate monitor rapidly beeps. The TV show is doing a shitty job of distracting me, it can’t hold my attention for more than a few seconds at a time.
My phone rings as the credits roll for the show. “Is she okay?” The words rush out in a garbled mess.
“Amber is safe.” A woman’s voice answers, and at first I think it’s Amber, but it’s deeper, harder—someone who’s seen shit. Then I realize who’s speaking. “We’re moving her to a secure location,” Alana says.
“Can I see her? I just need eyes on her.”
“No.” Her tone is final, like law. “She was roughed up, but she’ll be out of the hospital long before you will. She needs time.” She pauses, then adds, “You both do.”
“But—” I start, and she cuts me off.
“She’s alive and safe, but it will be a long time before she’s healed. If I were you, I’d use that time to heal yourself.”
She hangs up. Relief and a new set of questions sit next to each other in my chest—relief that Amber is alive, and a gnawing need to fix all the things I broke.
The heart rate monitor beeps slow down as I take a deep breath.
Amber is safe and alive …. I can’t help her heal or even be the glue to fix all the things I broke.
And I don’t know how much can be repaired because I never bothered to ask her anything about herself.
I only cared about how she made me feel.
She’s right, I’m selfish. I won’t even get the chance to prove to her that I will do better.