Chapter Ten
Knight
I stared at the framed medical degrees lining Dr. Patel’s office wall.
Beside me, Lavender’s palm felt clammy against mine, her fingers interlaced with my tattooed ones in a death grip neither of us was willing to break.
The office smelled of antiseptic and coffee, the space so cramped my knees nearly touched the desk.
A child’s crayon drawing was taped to a filing cabinet, stick figures beneath a yellow sun, the words “Thank You Dr. P” scrawled in wobbly letters. Some kid Dr. Patel had treated.
“She’s late,” Lavender whispered, glancing at the clock for the fifth time in as many minutes.
“She’ll be here,” I murmured, squeezing her hand gently. “Probably just stuck with another patient.”
I kept my voice steady despite the storm churning in my gut.
The past forty-eight hours had been a blur of additional tests, blood draws, and urgent consultations since Brynn’s condition had taken another downturn.
The shadows beneath Lavender’s eyes had darkened, her slim body somehow growing even more fragile.
The door opened and Dr. Patel entered, a stack of printouts clutched in her hands. She offered a tight smile that didn’t reach her eyes as she settled behind her desk. My stomach dropped. I’d gotten good at reading people in prison and everything about her body language screamed bad news.
“Mr. Leahy, Ms. Calloway,” she began, her voice carrying that careful neutrality doctors perfect for delivering life-altering information. “Thank you for coming in. I know you don’t like leaving Brynn.”
“Just tell us,” I said, the words scraping my throat raw. “Is it Brynn?”
Dr. Patel shook her head quickly. “Brynn is stable for now, though we’ll discuss her condition in a moment.
” She adjusted her glasses, a nervous habit I’d noticed during our previous consultations.
“I have your final compatibility results, Mr. Leahy.” Lavender’s grip tightened painfully around my fingers.
I barely felt it. “You are an excellent match for your daughter,” Dr. Patel said, and for a split second, relief washed through me like a flash flood.
“There are no concerns about the transplant procedure itself.”
“Thank God,” Lavender breathed, her body sagging slightly beside me.
But Dr. Patel wasn’t smiling. She shuffled the papers before her, and I braced for the other shoe to drop.
“However,” she continued, her voice taking on an edge I hadn’t heard before, “there is a complication with the transplant committee approval.”
“What kind of complication?” I asked, my voice dropping dangerously low.
Dr. Patel met my eyes directly, something hardening in her gaze. “The preliminary psychological evaluation has raised… concerns among two committee members.”
“What concerns?” Lavender asked, her voice thin with sudden tension.
Dr. Patel sighed, removing her glasses and pinching the bridge of her nose.
When she spoke again, her words carried barely restrained anger.
“I’m going to be blunt with you both because I respect you too much for hospital-approved euphemisms. Certain members of the committee have expressed reservations about Mr. Leahy’s criminal history and his current affiliations with a motorcycle club reportedly full of ex-convicts.
” The words hit like a physical blow. My vision tunneled, the edges of the room darkening as rage bloomed hot in my chest. “They’re questioning your motivation for donating,” Dr. Patel continued, her tone making it clear these weren’t her words.
“Some have suggested you might be attempting to manipulate Ms. Calloway or establish an unhealthy control dynamic.”
“That’s fucking ridiculous,” I snarled, my fingers clenching reflexively around Lavender’s hand before I caught myself and abruptly let go, afraid I’d hurt her in my anger. “She’s my daughter and I just fucking found her.”
“I know,” Dr. Patel said firmly. “And for the record, I chose to phrase it exactly as they did in committee, rather than use the softer language the hospital administrator suggested, because I fundamentally disagree with their assessment. I’ve spent considerable time with both you and Brynn, together and separately.
Your motivations are crystal clear to anyone actually paying attention.
You want to help that girl with every breath you take, and you love her mother just as much. ”
Lavender reached for my hand again, but I kept mine clenched in a fist on my knee, not trusting myself to touch her without somehow transferring the violence building inside me.
“What do we do?” Lavender asked, her voice surprisingly steady. “How do we win this fight?”
Dr. Patel leaned forward, her professional detachment giving way to quiet determination.
“I’ve been advocating strongly on your behalf since the committee meeting this morning.
I’ve arranged for an expedited personal interview for Mr. Leahy with the full transplant committee this afternoon at four PM.
It’s short notice, but if you had a lawyer present, the board might be intimidated enough to proceed.
Needless to say, any reasonable person would never have brought this up. ”
“Will that be enough?” Lavender pressed.
“I hope so,” Dr. Patel replied, honesty bleeding through her professional facade. “Several committee members are already on our side. The chief of nephrology and I have worked together for fifteen years. He trusts my judgment.”
I barely heard them, blood rushing in my ears as I fought to contain the rage threatening to explode from my chest. My past was, indeed, coming back to haunt me. Only Brynn would be the collateral damage. The bitter irony of it twisted like a knife between my ribs.
“There’s more we need to discuss,” Dr. Patel continued, her voice growing heavier. “Brynn’s latest labs suggest we are going to have to make a decision. Her body is retaining fluid, and her creatinine levels have risen sharply. The fatigue, the headaches, are both related to her kidney failure.”
“What does that mean?” Lavender asked, though I could tell from her voice she already knew.
“It means if we can’t proceed with the transplant within the next twenty-four hours, we’ll need to begin dialysis,” Dr. Patel said, her words falling like stones into still water.
“It’s not what any of us want. Dialysis is hard on anyone, but especially difficult for a young woman Brynn’s age.
Once we start, she stays on it until a transplant becomes available. ”
“But you said dialysis makes it more likely the graft of the transplanted kidney wouldn’t take.” Lavender’s voice wavered slightly, but she put her chin up.
“That’s correct. Which is why this whole delay is so irritating.
” She looked at me. “I have no idea if this is personal or just two blowholes pretending to be relevant or if they’re abusing their power because they can.
” Dr. Patel glanced from me to Lavender and back.
“I will get to the bottom of it. I’ll warn you now, though, I will not be the professional you’re used to dealing with in this meeting.
” Her gaze turned dark and I knew I had at least one ally outside my club. “We will get this sorted out.”
Something cracked inside me, the thin veneer of control I’d maintained splintering under the weight of it all.
I surged to my feet, the chair scraping harshly against the floor.
“This is my daughter’s life,” I growled, the words tearing from my throat.
“Not some goddamned political game. Brynn shouldn’t have to pay for my past crimes, which, by the way, I already paid for. Dearly.”
“Mr. Leahy --” Dr. Patel began, but I was already moving.
“Knight,” Lavender reached for my arm, but I shook her off gently.
“I’m sorry, Lavender. I just need some air. I won’t go far,” I muttered, then stormed toward the door.
I heard Dr. Patel call after me, but I was already gone, rage propelling me down the sterile hallway as faces turned to stare.
My daughter was dying, and some committee of strangers who’d never even met her thought they had the right to judge whether I deserved to save her life based on mistakes I’d made years ago.
Eleven fucking years of penance, and still, the universe wasn’t done making me pay.
* * *
Lavender
I bolted from Dr. Patel’s office, barely remembering to thank her before I rushed after Knight’s retreating back.
His broad shoulders carved a path through the crowded hallway, patients and staff alike stepping hastily aside.
“Knight!” I called, not caring about the heads that turned or the disapproving frowns from the administrative offices close to Dr. Patel’s.
I struggled to catch up with Knight’s longer strides. He turned a corner, disappearing from sight, and I quickened my steps, heart hammering against my ribs. Then I heard a crash and muffled curse from behind the door marked “Stairs.”
I yanked the heavy door open, the sound of ragged breathing echoing off concrete walls.
The stairwell echoed with Knight’s curse and the heavy clang of the metal door.
Knight stood one flight down, his back to me, his forehead pressed against the wall.
Blood smeared the painted concrete block in front of him, bright crimson stark against the drab gray.
“Goddamn it,” I breathed, letting the door swing shut behind me.
Knight didn’t turn, but his shoulders tensed at the sound of my voice. I descended the stairs slowly, cautiously, as if approaching a wounded animal. When I reached him, my eyes fixed on his right hand. His knuckles were split open, blood flowing freely down his fingers to drip onto the floor.
Without a word, I moved to the small custodial station in the corner of the landing, tearing several paper towels from the dispenser with trembling hands. I dampened some with water from a nearby eye-wash station, then turned back to him.