Chapter 25 Zuri
zuri
. . .
Four Years Ago
Malik lay asleep at my breast in the private hospital. The warmth of skin on skin pulled me near to the tiny life I had created. Someone knocked on the door.
“Come in?” I expected to see the nurse. She’d shown kindness. Hadn’t asked who my child’s father was, though the entire hospital—from general practice to specialized care, and hell, even the Ear, Nose, and Throat doctors—had speculated.
Edwin entered. He pawed the silver streak in his thick goatee, shut the door behind him, and leaned against it. “Boy or girl?” he asked.
“I had a son. His birth certificate won’t include your name, rest assured. Just go.”
“Why are you doing this to us, Zuri? We’re dynamic. I heard you want to treat scum.”
I rolled my eyes. “Not scum. People at County don’t have the best health insurance.”
My position at the county hospital began in a few weeks. I’d secured childcare. But healthcare? I’d be damned if I wasn’t sticking the bill to this hospital.
“You’ll start at their free clinic. Is it Wednesdays and Fridays or Tuesdays and Thursdays? What’s next, Saturday morning cartoons and a tin can for coins?”
“Does it matter? I’ll be doing what I love.
” My arms wrapped around Malik, tiny and new.
“Do me a favor. Don’t ask the next first-year med student to abort your child.
Doesn’t matter if she reveals her pregnancy on Chicken Wing Wednesday.
Life matters. Those I’ll treat at County matter too, Dr. Heine. ”
I glared at him, hand sneaking under the crumpled covers to reach for the nurse call button.
He grabbed the remote and flung it against the wall.
Malik jerked awake. Tiny newborn cries rent the air.
“Shut him up!” Edwin pulled an envelope from inside his blazer.
At his harsh glare, a dread seized me, and I pulled Malik closer. My baby stimulated and latched.
“Good.” Edwin opened the envelope. He placed it in front of me.
“Adopt … adoption?” I murmured. “You want me to put my child up for adoption?” I’d never mentioned foster care. My past was a drain on his affluent life. He was a prominent member of the hospital board. In addition, he’d coauthored medical journals that I had cited while in college.
I shook my head no as he turned to leave. “Think about it.”
Later, I’d gone to the nurses’ station. Empty.
A beep cut through the night. The narcotics cabinet had a similar beep in the ER. A blue glow spilled across the maternity-supply room. I froze as a lean man opened the cabinet. Dr. Edwin Heine. Not in a white lab coat. No ER scrubs. Not even a badge.
He placed a box on the linoleum floor. Then another and another. White boxes, glossy packaging. Opioids. Edwin scanned barcodes with his phone, each beep sharp.
Fear snaked my gut. I started backward, lost my balance, and whacked my hip on the crash cart. It rattled loud enough to wake the dead. Great. Classic Zuri. Chapter 420: Clumsy Espionage Edition.
Edwin didn’t even lift his eyes when he said, “Zuri, I sent the nurses to lunch. What do you need, Little One?”
“Wh-what?” I squeaked like a giant who asked a phlebotomist if it was going to hurt when they glimpsed the needle.
He scanned another barcode. The beep sliced through my panic. He then stood to his full height. Smiled that too-white smile. “Why do you think I saw you as chief resident material?”
I tried to think of something sharp, biting. My brain came up with because you’ve binge-watched too much Grey’s Anatomy? An inaccurate depiction of the medical field. Nah, I got something better. Arms folded, I said, “Because you’re lazy and wanted me to do your paperwork?”
After hefting one arm, as if in agreement, his smile thinned. “Okay, you are so stupid. You never figured it out, Little One.”
“Stop. Calling. Me. That. I never liked it.”
But I remembered. Dang, I hated how I remembered. The nickname carried a hundred memories—vendor lunches with slick reps flashing Rolexes, Edwin shoving forms under my nose, murmuring, Just sign, Little One.
I’d signed because what else do awkward people-pleasing interns do? Say no? Ha. And then I wanted to forget.
Pregnancy brain arrived with brain fog thick enough to hide a body. Then his scalpel-sharp denial of being a father? The anesthesia over my guilt.
“For your information, Zuri, your name is on the narcotics log in the ER supply room. Forged it myself.”
I staggered back. Hip met crash cart. Again. Thunk. By now, the cart and I were in a committed relationship. Dang, finally someone—er, something wanted me. “Edwin, you f-forged—”
“I needed a little more than what you had signed for in the ER closet before taking off on maternity, Zuri. Since you got yourself pregnant, I decided, why not? When that little tax deduction cried its way into the world, I’d dig myself out of the deadly hole I dug myself into.”
“What hole?” I asked. Part of me screamed, Girl, this isn’t a job interview, where they ask, “Do you have questions for us?” and you feel compelled to respond.
He answered by flicking his gaze to the far corner.
A man leaned against the wall, face half in shadows, arms folded. Watching me like a future rape-kit recipient. My skin crawled as I folded my arms across my chest.
“Meet the Hole, Zuri. They own me. Don’t go to the horse tracks. Ever. If you have a gambling addiction.”
Wait. He’d said … they?
My throat closed. I couldn’t turn away from the stranger’s stare.
“You’ll decline the county dump. Excuse me, hospital’s offer,” Edwin said. “I’ll rescind your resignation. Because of that baby, you’ll sign whatever forms I need. Saves me the trouble of forging your chicken-scratch or grooming your replacement.”
“I—”
“Say you will,” Edwin pushed.
“Because”—the other man in the corner finally spoke, tone level as a flatline—“I can guess who Dr. Heine’s weak spot is. He doesn’t live without the baby. Or the sexy—”
“Don’t want the baby.” Edwin chuckled, low and ugly.
“Okay. So, your weakness,” the man replied, staring at me and pulling down the collar of his dress shirt to show a familiar tattoo. “Say you’ll stay at this hospital.”
Montana stroked my back as we sat on the balcony. “He let dude put hands on you?”
“Edwin only let him”—my tone lowered—“t-touch me. I did a couple of months because the guy threatened my son. His people could find us anywhere. And the guy thought lifting pills meant he could lift my shirt too.”
“You went to Curtis and Deidre?”
“Yep. I picked up my baby from childcare and left. Everything.” I let out a pathetic chortle, glancing toward the morning sun. “So, wanna talk about this 3X balloon head?”
“Non … chère. Stop with all the joking. I love the banter. There’s a time for that.”
“Yeah?” My eyes rolled. Keep saying love, and I might lose my temper.
“Zuri, I’m serious. I can’t have you speaking in vain about yourself. Dry humor, self-deprecation? All that gotta go. Now, Big Country didn’t get to where he is, a sixty-five million a year MLB contract, speaking negativity to my spirit.”
Okay. Wisdom met ego with that one.
“Allowing someone to speak negativity over me? Please. I won’t allow nobody to do that to you, Zuri. What it look like me allowing you to badmouth you?”
“Okay …” I was wondering if he was going to keep reading me.
“Joking just cause? I’m with that.” He nodded.
“So,” I gasped, blinking, “you’re passionate about this subject?”
“Yep. Jokes don’t hit the same when you use them as a defense—to protect yourself from me. You trust me?”
“Of course,” I murmured.
“Finish the story, Zuri.”
Dang, this was what I dreaded. Should I conclude with Don’t freak out, I might’ve defended myself too effectively … Some self-defense and a little homicide sprinkled in. Barely counts.