Chapter 9 Guilty Confessions
NINE
GUILTY CONFESSIONS
Milly
I wake up, get changed, and go downstairs, where the smell of toasted bread greets me. Demon is watching cartoons with Sammy and is braiding her hair. I let out a long, dreamy sigh, drawing Demon’s attention to me. I walk toward them. “You guys are up early.”
“Sammy couldn’t sleep, so we came down here to watch some TV so we don’t wake Ivy.”
Aww, my heart. He’s this big teddy bear when it comes to Sammy and Ivy, and it’s the sweetest thing to see a violent, protective man find love and treat a woman like a queen. A tinge of jealousy hits me. I wish I had that.
“Well, have a good day, you two.”
“Bye, Milly,” Sammy says with a smile. She looks exactly like her mother, but with freckles.
At work, I put my things away and then go to the ER. Edward is with a patient. The nurse who’s with him stares at him with a dreamy expression. The patient does too. She’s around his age. She puts her hand on his arm and flutters her eyelashes at him. He’s very popular around here.
The nurse running the ER announces, “There’s a trauma case coming in with a gunshot wound to the chest. ETA five minutes.”
“I’ve got it,” I reply, dashing outside toward the ambulance bay while putting on my gloves. Adrenaline pumps through my veins as I wait.
Edward meets me outside. “I thought you might need a hand.”
“You looked like you were needed inside,” I say with a cheeky smirk.
He huffs. “She thought she was having a heart attack. I did a physical and a scan. It all looks fine. I’m waiting for the blood tests. By the sounds of it, I think she had a lot of caffeine this morning and she panicked.”
“I bet she was over the moon getting you as her doctor,” I joke.
He shakes his head with a grin. His eyes crinkle at the corners.
The sirens get louder until the ambulance comes into view. Once it reverses, the back doors open and a paramedic pulls the victim out. “Dorothy Anders, seventy-five years of age, one gunshot wound to the chest. She was in her home when a stray bullet hit her. There’s no exit wound.”
Dorothy keeps opening and closing her eyes, looking disoriented. Her distraught husband, pale and shaky, is by her side.
“She’s incoherent, has a rapid heart rate, low blood pressure, shortness of breath, and swelling at the site,” the paramedic adds.
The gunshot wound could have pierced her heart. We wheel her inside on a stretcher while Edward keeps pressure on the wound.
“Bay 2,” the head nurse calls out, so we take her there.
Two nurses have the room set up, and we all move the patient to the bed so the paramedic can take the stretcher away
“Oh, Dorothy,” the husband cries. “You have to save her,” he pleads, looking at me. He grabs her hand. “She’s all I’ve got. You have to save her!”
“We will do our best, Mr. Anders,” I assure him, then look at the nurse. “Can you get him out of here?”
She nods and tries to pull him along, but he won’t budge. “Come on, we have to let the doctors work on her.”
“I can’t leave her! She needs me!” His voice echoes with a haunting pain, but I focus on Dorothy. We roll her and double-check there’s no exit wound, and then check her pulse.
“Weak pulse,” I say to Edward, and he gives me a dire look. We take a scan of her heart to confirm it is what we think. We can see internal bleeding. It’s catastrophic.
The husband is still screaming.
“Get him out of here!” I yell at the nurse, trying to concentrate. Another nurse comes over and helps move him out of the room.
Dorothy loses consciousness and becomes unresponsive. “Dorothy, stay with us,” I say, but she flatlines. The long, eerie tone of the heart-rate monitor fills the room.
I start CPR. I’m puffing and calling out each chest compression as I go. I step away and look at the monitor, but it flatlines again.
“I’ll do it,” Edward says, leaning over Dorothy to perform the chest compressions. I’m catching my breath, watching him.
“Come on, Dorothy,” I mumble.
After two more rounds of CPR, I call the time of death. I take off my gloves, and Edward and I walk out.
With each step, the dread of having to talk to Dorothy’s husband builds. “I can talk to her husband, if you’d like,” Edward suggests.
This was my patient. Unfortunately, it comes with the job; with the highs of saving patients, there are also the lows of them passing away. “It’s okay.” I give him a sad smile. “Thanks for offering.” I make my way to the ER waiting room, and the husband spots me immediately and rushes over.
“What happened? Is she okay? When can I see her?” His eyes are red from crying, his voice is hoarse, and my chest aches for him.
“Let’s go to a room and talk somewhere more private.”
He shakes his head abruptly. “No! Tell me now!” he shouts, and I feel the eyes of the onlookers.
“I’m so sorry.” I gulp. “The bullet pierced Dorothy’s heart, causing extensive internal bleeding. She succumbed to her injuries. We did everything we could, but she died.”
He drops to his knees, hyperventilating.
“Nurse!” I call out for assistance. I kneel by him, but he pushes me and I land on my butt.
“You killed her!” he screams, pointing at me with fury in his eyes. “It was you! You killed her!”
Two nurses rush to his side, so I stand, not wanting to upset him further by staying. His wife’s injuries were too extensive—there was nothing more we could do.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I tell him before I take a deep breath and walk away.
Everyone’s eyes are on me, so I take a quick break and go outside, to the front of the building.
As I dash out the front doors, the breeze greets my face and I can breathe again.
Even though I’m somewhat desensitized to the grief of others, there are cases that still affect me.
It comes with the job. You’d have to be a psychopath not to ever care.
* * *
Twitch
I’m weirded out. I got home yesterday and Mercedez wasn’t there.
She’s always there. I can’t remember a time she left the clubhouse.
I didn’t ask anyone because I didn’t want them to think I cared, and I don’t, but I thought it was odd.
Later that afternoon she returned, and even though we have no sort of relationship, I felt off-kilter.
I need to get my shit together and sort everything out with her.
I don’t want to lead her on, but I also don’t want to be a dickhead.
And now, with her finding Milly’s earring, she’s only more suspicious, and I don’t want her to cause problems or go to Reaper.
I’m going to have to have another firm conversation with her.
I need to make it clear we will never be together.
My head falls back in dread of epic proportions.
I’m hoping she’ll take it well, because even if she tells someone, who’s going to believe her over me and Milly?
Still, it’s what needs to be done. I don’t want Milly to think I’m playing with her and our time together meant nothing—because that’s far from the truth.
Mercedez sat by me at dinner, but I ended up having an early night. She seemed off. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but she wasn’t as clingy as usual. Which I should be happy about, but I’m still on edge.
“Twitch, it’s your turn, man,” says Cash at the dartboard.
I blink a few times, snapping out of my daydream, and take a shot. I miss, and the dart bounces onto the floor.
Cash laughs. “It’s not your day today.”
A puff of air escapes my lips. “No, it’s not.”
He takes a step toward me. “What did you say to Mercedez? She’s pissed off.”
I glance over to see her in the lounge, glaring daggers at me. Cringing, I shrug it off. “I wouldn’t know . . . probably just breathed.”
He laughs. “Nah, I haven’t seen her look like that before . . . like she wants to take your head off.”
I freeze. Does she know? She couldn’t. Milly and I didn’t tell anyone, and we left separately. “God knows.”
“Keep one eye open tonight,” he whispers, and laughs.
“Oh, real funny!” I say, taking another peek at Mercedez.
She’s still glaring. I don’t remember being an asshole to her, so I’m still at a loss as to why she’s so angry.
She gets up from the couch and strides over.
I groan under my breath. Cash laughs again, thoroughly enjoying this.
Oh, well . . . I’d better get this over and done with.
She puts her hands on her hips. “We need to talk.”
I give her a sharp nod. “Yes, we do.”
She glances at Cash, who turns away, pretending he’s not listening.
“Maybe somewhere quieter?” she suggests.
“Okay, let’s go to my room.” I walk up the stairs and through to my room, where I close the door behind us. As I turn, a sudden sharp pain stings my face. The sound of a slap echoes. I touch my stinging cheek.
“You fucking asshole!” she yells.
I take a step away from her, blinking. “You hit me!” It’s all I can say, because I’m still in shock. I lower my voice because others might hear us. “What the hell?”
She straightens her back and death stares me, eyes full of hatred. “You cheated on me . . . you slept with her, didn’t you?”
“Are you fucking kidding me? Me and you aren’t together, and that is none of your business,” I hiss. I should have denied it, but it slipped out.
She steps toward me and pushes me in the chest. I grab both her hands, holding her at a distance. She’s fighting me and yelling. My heart races as I try to hold her securely without hurting her. I don’t want to be hit again.
“You need to calm down!” My voice is harsh but firm.
She freezes, and her hands fall to her sides, so I cautiously let go, unsure of what’s going to happen next.
“I was always there for you, and you chose her!” she cries, her voice breaking.
I calm my breathing. “I didn’t choose anyone.” Yes, I did, but she doesn’t need to know that right now.