Chapter 19
EVA
“Idon’t know what’s wrong with him. He just collapsed.”
I’m trying not to have a panic attack. I huddle in the back corner of the ambulance while the EMTs work to stabilize Evgeny. The siren wails, too loud even in here.
“Just collapsed?” Dmitri roars on the other end of the line, and I cringe. “Evgeny doesn’t just collapse, Eva!”
“I told you everything I told the EMTs—”
“Is he allergic to anything?” one of the EMTs asks. She squeezes the ventilation bag while the other EMT darts around the cramped interior, checking lines and equipment.
“They want to know if he’s allergic to anything,” I tell Dmitri.
“No, nothing,” he bit out. “Take him to Cedars-Sinai. His doctor is there. I’ll call him now.”
“Not allergic to anything,” I echo. “Take him to Cedars-Sinai. His doctor—”
“No.” The EMT working the bag cuts me off. “Too far. We’re taking him to Providence.”
“Too far?” My words come out barely a whisper, and I swallow back the swell of fear.
“What’s too far?” Dmitri demands.
“Cedars-Sinai. They’re taking him to Providence.”
“Fuck.” Dmitri grasps the seriousness of the situation. “I’ll meet you there. Don’t tell them anything until I’m there.”
The line goes dead, and I wrap my arms around myself, rocking back and forth for comfort like I have since I was a kid.
I look at Evgeny’s face, ghostly pale under the mask and the harsh ambulance lights. The EMTs keep working on him, and all I can do is sit there and feel helpless.
And scared. More scared than I’ve been in a long time.
Chaos explodes as the ambulance pulls up to the ER.
The medical team is there to meet us. They rush Evgeny inside, calling out to each other in rapid English I can’t fully comprehend at the moment, slews of medical terminology and acronyms leaving their mouths.
All I know is that his blood pressure is dangerously low, his heart rate dangerously high, and he’s in respiratory failure.
My heels tap on the linoleum, then slow and stop as they wheel Evgeny’s stretcher through the automatic double doors. I can’t go with him.
I stand in the hallway, my mind a whirling blank, staring at the closed doors until a nurse takes pity on me and guides me to the waiting room. I’m so lost in shock that she has to push me down into the chair.
When she brings me a cup of water, I drain it, whispering a thank-you for her kindness.
“Your boyfriend back there?” she asks.
Her blue scrubs clash with the harsh fluorescent lights overhead, and I feel like I need sunglasses as a headache starts to pound behind my eyes. It’s too noisy with all the people, the phones ringing, the staff hustling back and forth. Too busy, too bright, too close.
“Something like that.”
She gives me a small, compassionate smile and squeezes my shoulder before she leaves me in the waiting room.
I look around the waiting room at the old, scuffed linoleum, the faded red fake-leather seats with tears exposing the padding underneath, and a mix of people.
Some are old, some young. Kids and parents.
Some in pajamas, others in T-shirts and shorts, others in loungewear they probably threw on to rush to the hospital.
I wonder what happened to whoever they’re here for.
What the fuck happened to Evgeny, and why do I care so much that I feel numb and hollow and scared?
Shouldn’t I be elated? My captor is incapacitated. I can leave the ER free and clear, escape the Kucherov Demon, as I’ve learned he’s called, and disappear. The others will be too busy caring for him to come after me I hope.
Granted, they’ll probably think I did something to him if I disappear suddenly. But I know this is my chance.
Except I don’t want to go. All I want to know is that Evgeny is okay. I’m desperate to know he’s okay.
I want him to be okay so badly I could tear my hair out.
Instead, I curl into myself, squeezing my eyes tightly shut, and realize I’m still clutching Evgeny’s suit coat. The EMTs had ripped it off him and flung it onto the pavement. I grabbed it automatically, thinking he would be upset if he didn’t have it when he woke up.
It was an irrational thought, but nothing about this situation is rational.
I clutch the coat closer and bury my face in its folds. It smells like him, and I breathe it in, picking out each scent. Cedar, cardamom, vetiver, citrus, a faint hint of sweat, and the unnamable musk of his skin I’ve come to know well over the past two months.
Tears push at my eyelids, and I press the fabric and my palms to my eyes, forcing them back. I can feel the bandage on my forehead covering the cut from the incident in the bookstore, when Evgeny had become my white knight. That thought makes the tears harder to ignore.
Please let him be okay. Please.
“Eva? Where is he?”
I jerk upright to find Dmitri standing above me like a giant, growling bear. He’s as frightening as one, too, his face a forbidding storm, breathing hard, like he ran here. And he probably did.
“Back in the ER.” I point to the doors like he doesn’t know where that is, sniffing and rubbing the moisture from my eyes.
He pivots, and I watch him march up to the desk, people parting to let him through. I hear his voice as he harangues the charge nurse, gesturing, threatening. But the nurse has probably seen it all, and after a few minutes, Dmitri stomps back, the storm on his face even blacker.
“You really can’t go back there.”
Dmitri flicks a glare my way but doesn’t say anything as he drops into the chair beside mine. He barely fits.
“You’ll just make it worse and waste precious time. I’m sure they’re doing everything they can.”
“You sure know a lot about hospitals,” Dmitri growls. “I didn’t know you were a fucking doctor, too.”
“Sorry.” I ball the fabric of the coat in my hands. “I’ve just… I’ve done this a lot.”
Dmitri goes quiet before he asks, “You have?”
“Yeah.” I almost end it there, but something compels me to continue. “My mom got sick when I was sixteen. I was here with her a lot.”
Another stretch of silence before Dmitri says, “Oh. Sorry. That sucks.”
I shrug because there’s nothing else to say, and I’m not going to pretend it doesn’t suck. It does, very much.
“You must hate hospitals.”
When I glance at Dmitri, I’m surprised to meet his eyes with his mouth set in a frown. “Yeah. I do.”
Silence stretches before Dmitri pats me on the shoulder awkwardly. “He’s strong, Eva. He’ll get through this.”
I hope so, I think, but don’t say it out loud.
After an interminable wait, a man asks, “Are you the woman who came in with Mr. Kucherov?”
Dmitri gives me a narrow-eyed look that speaks volumes before we stand to meet the doctor in scrubs walking toward us. He looks tired, dark circles under his eyes, and his gaze is still a bit wild.
“How is he?” Dmitri and I ask the question at the same time.
“We’re trying to stabilize him, but Mr. Kucherov is in critical condition. He has multiple organ and respiratory failure. He had a seizure but hasn’t had another one so far.”
The words feel like a slap, and I drag air into lungs suddenly too tight, the room clouding over as tears press at my eyes again. Dmitri curses under his breath.
“You were with him, right?”
I nod, my gaze sliding to Dmitri before I say, “We were on a date.”
There is no reaction from beside me. Did he know?
“We’re having trouble figuring out what’s causing his condition, though it seems like he was poisoned somehow. Can you tell me what happened? What was going on before you got to the restaurant? Did he report any pain? Any ill feeling?”
“No.” I shake my head, still fighting back tears. “He was fine. No pain. He was at work before we left.”
“What about what you ate?”
“We only ate the starter. The appetizer.”
“You both ate it? And you feel fine?”
“Yes. Yes to both.”
Something manages to get through the frantic fog swirling in my mind. “He had the wine, though, but just a couple of sips. And then I spilled both our glasses. I didn’t get a chance to have any.”
The doctor stiffens, his eyes narrowing with interest as if he’s just sniffed out prey. “The wine?”
“Yes.” Something else tugs at my memory, and I have to chase it before I can finally catch it. “Some of it spilled on this.”
I hold Evgeny’s coat out so the doctor can see the darker patch where the wine stained the fabric. The doctor calls for gloves and a bag, into which he places the suit coat.
“Thank you. This may help.”
He rushes away with the coat, and there is nothing left for Dmitri and me to do but wait. And wait. And wait some more.
It gives me too much time to imagine all the horrible things that could happen. When the doctor finally comes out, I’ve convinced myself he’s going to tell us they couldn’t save Evgeny.
The doctor looks exhausted as he pulls the cap from his head. “He’s stable for the moment. He’s in the ICU, but he’s stable. He was poisoned.”
Dmitri does not share my shock, but the anger radiating from him is palpable.
“Can we see him?” I ask.
“Only family.”
“I’m his brother, and this is his wife.”
From the way his eyebrows beetle, the doctor doesn’t believe a word Dmitri says. “Look, this is serious. A man almost died and appears to have been poisoned. I’m going to have to call the police. We need to know whether this was accidental or—”
“Can I speak to you for a moment?”
I don’t know what Dmitri says, or threatens to do, but all thoughts of police are forgotten by the time the doctor returns, and he lets us both into Evgeny’s room without a fight or word about it.
I almost run the other way when I see Evgeny in the bed, suit replaced with a faded hospital gown. He’s still ghostly pale and has a breathing tube down his throat. He’s wired with IVs and drips and monitors, and it feels like we’re in some sci-fi movie.
Neither Dmitri nor I try to talk. The big man takes the recliner in the corner, and I drag a chair to Evgeny’s bedside, wrapping myself in the extra blanket a nurse handed to me earlier. I don’t know if Evgeny would want me here, but I hope my presence offers some comfort.
I hesitate, then touch his face, tracing the sharp line of his jaw, the high cheekbones, and the scars.
Soon, the room is quiet, save for the beep of the heart monitor and the occasional chime from one of the other displays.
I’m unsure if Dmitri is asleep or just resting his eyes. They’re closed, leaving me to contemplate the small thrill I got when Dmitri called me Evgeny’s wife, even if it was a lie.