Chapter Fifteen
Amy
I paced the apartment holding my phone. Mitch was supposed to be here by now for breakfast after his night shift. He’d said he would be, and he always did what he said he’d do.
I was cross.
I was worried.
I was confused.
The buzzer sounded on my intercom system. “Oh, thank goodness.” I raced to it. “You’re here, good, come up.”
“Amy.”
“Becca?” I peered at the screen.
My best friend stood there with one of her boyfriends. I wasn’t sure which, the twins were so similar to me.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“Can we come up?”
“Sure?” I let them in then rushed to open the apartment door. As I waited for them to climb the two flights of stairs, a sense of dread gripped me.
Why were they here?
Where was Mitch?
“What’s going on?” I demanded. “Mitch was supposed to be coming straight from work.”
Becca took my arm and led me into the apartment. “Let’s sit down. Cillian and I need to speak to you.”
“Speak to me about what?” I looked from her to Cillian. “Is it Mitch?”
“He’s been shot,” Cillian said, his deep-green eyes settling on me.
I sat with a bump, my body crumbling onto the sofa. Legs unable to hold me up. “Shot!”
Becca nodded. “I’m so sorry, Amy.”
“Is he…?” My throat constricted. “What happened?” My heart squeezed, some kind of vicious thick rope lassoing around it. This couldn’t be true. Shot? How?
“At work?” I asked. “Some bastard? On the street.” My eyes prickled and filled with tears instantly.
Cillian glanced at Becca then shook his head. “No, not at work.”
“But…how…where? Where is he? Is he…?” Words were falling from my mouth, but I couldn’t utter that last one.
Dead.
He couldn’t be dead. I’d just found him. We’d just found each other. Please no…I’d do anything. Sell my soul to have him still breathing.
“He was mugged,” Cillian said.
“Mugged? But…?” My mind spun. Mitch wasn’t the vulnerable kind, he was stacked with muscles, tall, too, and gave off a don’t-fuck-with-me vibe when strangers glanced at him the wrong way. What kind of suicidal maniac would be brave enough to mug him?
“He’s in the hospital.” Becca took my hand between both of hers. “They’ve been operating, but Cillian just heard that he’s out of surgery now.”
Relief caught my breath—he wasn’t dead—but that feeling was instantly snatched away again. “Surgery? He’s had to have surgery?”
“Yeah.” Cillian glanced at his watch. “Six hours apparently.”
Nausea gripped me. While I’d been sleeping, dreaming of a beautiful beach house, Mitch sipping a cocktail at my side, the sun, the sea, the blissful state of just being together, he’d been cut open and stitched up.
Fuck. How could I not have known somewhere in me? How had my senses not told me the man I was falling for was at death’s door?
I jumped up. “I’ve got to get there. He’s at JR, right?”
“Yes.” Becca also stood.
“They might not let you—” Cillian started.
“If he’s out of surgery, I’ll see him.” I set my jaw determinedly. “Heaven help anyone who tries to stop me.”
He nodded, once, his jaw tight. “Come on, I’ll drive you.”
I grabbed my purse and keys, and we hurried down the stairs and into Cillian’s vehicle. It was dark with blacked-out windows and smelled metallic, coppery, inside.
I shoved a piece of material with a Union Jack printed on it off the seat and belted up.
Cillian was soon maneuvering through the early morning traffic. Impatience gripped me at every traffic light and roundabout, and I swore at a rubbish collecting truck that slowed us down for a good thirty seconds.
Eventually, we arrived at the hospital.
“Do you want me to come in with you?” Becca asked.
“No, I think I’ll have more chance of seeing him if I’m on my own.”
“Are you sure? I can call work and—”
“No, honestly, I’ll be fine. I’ll drop you a message as soon as I know more.”
I jumped out and slammed the door then half walked and half jogged to the entrance.
A tall blond guy stood outside, on the phone. I paused and studied the bandana around his neck. It had the same Union Jack print on it as the one in Cillian’s car.
For a second his blue gaze held mine, then he turned his back to me, obviously deep in conversation.
I rushed through the automatic doors and up to the reception desk. “Mitch Cooper, please. Just out of surgery.”
The receptionist tapped away and then noticed me. “Tom’s ward. To your left here and then use the lift.”
“Thank you.” I whizzed past a waiting room, several empty gurneys and a porter’s office, then stabbed at the lift button.
Soon I was standing outside Tom’s ward. I used the alcohol gel on my hands, as instructed by a big green poster, and then walked in.
It was a hub of activity with nurses and doctors and cleaners all milling about. Beeps and alarms pinged off the bright-white walls, and to my right a nurses’ station held a panel of monitors and was bustling with staff.
One smiled at me. “Can I help you?”
“I’m trying to find Mitch Cooper,” I said. “I’ve been told he’s here.”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “Are you a relative?”
“Yes, I’m his next of kin.”
“Oh, okay.” She stood. “This way.” She ducked off to the right, and I rushed to keep up with her.
“How is he doing?” I asked.
“I’m just a receptionist, the nurses will be able to tell you more.” She gestured forward. “He’s down here, in a side room. We take care of our own, and as a cop, on the front line, that makes him one of ours. Figured he’d appreciate some peace at night and an en suite.”
“Oh…yes, thank you. He’ll be glad of that.” I paused at a door that had his name scrawled in the center of it on a white board.
She squeezed my shoulder. “From what I heard he’s been in surgery most of the night. Expect him to be sleeping.”
“Okay.” I pushed into the side room.
For a moment it felt as though my knees might give up on me, and then my eyes filled with tears and my heart squeezed.
He appeared too big for the bed; all tanned wide shoulders and broad chest, the white sheets stark against his flesh and his body hair thick. Drips were attached to his right forearm, kept secure with a bandage, and the right side of his abdomen was taped up, a spot of blood at the midline.
A nurse, blue scrubs, spun from a stack of machinery attached to the drips. “Hi. Are you a relative?”
“Yes. Is he…how is…will he…?” My mouth was so dry the words were grating on my tongue.
“He’s comfortable,” she said. “Plenty of pain meds on board.”
“Good.” I took a step closer, my attention on his abdomen. The sheet sat low, just above his hips, and the dressing to the left seemed so out of place on his usually perfect body. “And…that…?”
“The surgeon will talk to you at some point, but it was a successful surgery. He had a section of bowel removed that had been damaged and then it was reattached. Shouldn’t cause any problems going forward, all being well.”
“So he’ll make a full recovery?”
“Certainly physically.” She frowned. “Though getting mugged at gunpoint, that’s not going to be easy to get over, for anyone, even a big tough guy like him.” She glanced at his face then turned to a monitor.
He was sleeping, his mouth a flat line and his jaw relaxed, though there was a slight frown on his brow.
“Can I stay with him a while?” I asked.
“Sure, pull up a chair.” She gestured to the corner. “But expect him to sleep most of the day. If he does wake up, he can press this button for pain relief. I’ve told him that already, but he might forget. Don’t you press it, though, you’ll overdose him.”
“Okay, I’ll remind him.” A small white button on a lead sat beside his left hand.
“And he can have a sip of water, but only a sip, not gulps, not a whole cup, his insides aren’t ready for that yet.”
I dragged the heavy chair to the side of the bed and sat.
“I’ll be in every fifteen to thirty minutes to check on him.”
“Thank you, and thank you for everything.”
She smiled and slipped her pen away. “Let me know if you need anything.”
“I just need him to be okay.”
“He will be.” She slipped out, leaving me alone with Mitch.
It hadn’t been the way I’d expected my day to start, but he was breathing and so was I; that had to be good no matter what else had happened.
After half an hour of watching him sleep, I found my phone and quietly called work, told them I wouldn’t be in due to a family emergency. I didn’t give them time to ask questions. They knew I didn’t have family to speak of, but I wasn’t in the mood to explain.
I then messaged Becca with an update. She texted straight back and said she’d pass on the information to the others.
I presumed she meant the twins.
Mitch stirred. A small moan as he moved his head to the left.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” I shot up and stroked his hair from his brow. “You’re going to be okay. I’m here. Everything is going to be fine.”
He blinked open his eyes, the bright lights seeming uncomfortable, and then his focus settled on my face. “Amy,” he croaked.
“I’m here. And you’re going to be okay.” I kept stroking his hair. “You’re in hospital. You’ve had surgery. But you’re going to be okay.”
He lifted his hand, slowly, and touched my cheek. “Are you really here?”
Emotion threatened to swamp me, but I had to stay strong…for him. “Yes…let’s get you a sip of water.”
He took it gratefully, then licked his dry lips. He set his head back on the pillow and winced.
“The nurse said to press this button for pain relief.” I slotted it into his hand. “Have some.”
He did just that, and one of the machines whirred softly.
I took his hand in both of mine. “What happened? Can you remember?”
“I…I got shot.” He frowned at his abdomen. “Fuck, it hurt, you know, I’ve often wondered what it would be like, but it was so much…more.”
“Can you remember what the guy looked like? The police will be on a major man hunt.”
He swallowed and used his pain button again. “I can’t really remember anything.” He paused. “Is that supposed to be bleeding through the bandage?”
“The nurse will be back soon, we’ll ask her, but I’d imagine some is to be expected.”
He nodded and set his attention back on me. “They took my wallet and phone.”
“They can be replaced.” I drew his knuckles to my mouth and kissed them. “What matters is you’re here.”
“And how are you here?”
“Becca and Cillian came to my place, to tell me.”
“Ah, good.”
“And I said I was your next of kin.” I shrugged. “Hope that’s okay. It’s only a small lie.”
He smiled. “If being next of kin means you’re the most important woman in my life, then yeah, you’re my next of kin. No lie.”
Despite the awfulness of the situation, my heart had a second of happiness. I wanted to be important to him. I wanted to be the most important woman in his life. He had kids, kids he loved, and I knew they’d always hold a huge part of his heart, but if I had some of it, too…that made me very happy.
His eyes closed, and he sighed.
“Sleep,” I said quietly. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”
I sat with him all day, speaking quietly to the nurses and two doctors who visited. He had a few sips of water, and activated his pain button several times, but mainly he slept peacefully.
Late afternoon, a policeman in uniform turned up. He wanted to take a statement, but the nurse refused him entry. She said Mitch needed rest, and besides, that he was too spaced out on morphine to say anything accurate.
He disappeared.
Eventually, the night shift nurses came on duty and urged me to go home and get some rest. I could come back in the morning, they said, with some lounge clothes for him. As soon as possible they’d get him up and moving to avoid bed rest complications.
Reluctantly, I left and then called at an all-night superstore to buy him a pair of dark-gray sweats and a black t-shirt.
I also picked him up a pack of boxer shorts and a few toiletries.
I resisted getting him any food. I figured having had surgery on his abdomen he wouldn’t be eating for a few days.
I did grab myself a ready meal, though, knowing I should eat if I wanted to be able to function the next day.
If I wanted to spend the day with Mitch.
I slept well and was back at the hospital bright and early. The ward was all go with breakfasts being served, dressing trolleys scattered around, and the usual alarms and buzzers going off.
Mitch’s room felt like a sanctuary when I stepped in.
“Hey,” he said with a tired smile.
“Hey you.” I kissed his brow. “Did you sleep?”
“Yes, don’t think I moved. Good stuff, this.” He held up the pain button.
I laughed softly. “Don’t get to used to it.”
“Can I have some water?”
“Sure.” I held it for him. “Anything else I can do for you?”
“I feel like…sticky, you know.” He nodded at a sink in the corner. It had a tall chrome tap and a paper towel dispenser next to it. “Can you…?”
“Help you wash, of course.” I held up the bag of clothes and toiletries. “I got you supplies.”
“You’re an angel.”
“Sometimes.” I twitched my eyebrows at him.
He chuckled and then groaned and clutched his side. “Don’t make me laugh.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, sorry, sorry.” I quickly soaped up a warm flannel and then carefully washed his face and hands then dried them. I gently rubbed it over his chest, and around his neck and underarms.
“Want this?” I held up deodorant.
“You’re so thoughtful.”
“I try.”
Just that bit of activity exhausted him, and he slept for another two hours before waking up just as the doctor came in.
“Good morning,” he said to us both. “How are you feeling, Mitch?”
“Like some asshole shot me in the guts.” He huffed.
“They did.” The doctor stepped to the side of the bed. “We’ll change this dressing today and get some of these drips and drains out. Sooner you’re up and about the better. Bodies aren’t designed to be in bed for too long.”
“And the pain med?”
He smiled. “That can stay for now, and the IV fluids. Tomorrow you can start drinking a bit more, maybe a tea, but not coffee, and we’ll get the drips down.”
“I can live with that.”
“And…” The doctor frowned. “Your colleagues are outside, they are very eager to come in and take a statement. You just showed up outside the emergency department, half dead and muttering about dogs.”
“Dogs?” Mitch appeared confused. “Why would I—?”
“I guess that’s why they want to speak to you.”
Mitch cleared his throat and glanced at me. “Do you think you’d go get me some ice, while I speak to them?”
“Of course.” I stood. “I’ll be back soon.” I was a bit hurt that he clearly wanted rid of me, but that was his decision.
“I’ll send them in,” the doctor said. “But keep doing what you’re doing and you’ll be home within the week.”
“Home.” Mitch nodded. “Right. Good.”
I walked past two uniformed officers who stood with their arms crossed and faces stern. Clearly they were very unhappy about the events that had unfolded and were going to do their utmost to catch the culprit.
I hoped they did, and then I hoped they locked him up and threw away the key.
He’d nearly killed my Mitch…my daddy.