Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
LUCIFER
If I ever dig myself out of the financial hole I’m in—which let’s be honest, I probably have a better shot at winning the lotto—the first thing I’m doing is cutting a check to the hospital so they can buy new fucking chairs for every room in this joint.
I push myself out of the hard plastic chair that’s wreaking havoc on my back and make my way toward the coffee machine at the end of the hallway.
The thing looks like it hasn’t been cleaned in years, and the coffee it spits out smells like burnt rubber, but it’s hot and caffeinated, and that’s about all I can ask for right now.
Grabbing two Styrofoam cups, I fill them to the brim and stuff my pockets with a couple of sugar packets.
If Tori likes creamer, she’s shit out of luck.
Although I don’t think it would matter if I got her coffee order right or not, either way she’s more likely to throw it in my face than drink it.
The girl hasn’t uttered a word since they brought Jess down for her surgery, making the last couple of hours uncomfortable as fuck.
I carry both cups back to the waiting room and stop in front of Tori’s chair.
“Here,” I say, shoving the cup toward her.
Her gaze lifts slowly, landing first on the cup, then on my face. Her eyes are red-rimmed and glassy, and there’s a crease running down her cheek from where she’s been pressing it against her hand.
“What’s this?”
I hold back a sigh and keep the cup extended. “What does it look like?”
She hesitates, her fingers hovering near the rim. “You didn’t poison it, did you?”
“For fuck’s sake, woman.” I shove the cup closer to her chest until she has no choice but to take it or let it spill. “Drink it or don’t. I’m just trying to be considerate.”
She finally takes it from me, bringing the cup to her lips as she takes a tentative sip. A sense of satisfaction spreads through me, and I take a seat in the chair across from her, stretching my legs out in front of me to make myself more comfortable.
“She’s been under the knife for hours,” Tori says, setting the cup on the small table beside her. “You think we would’ve heard something by now.”
The doctor avoided us before he took Jess down for surgery, and I’m guessing that’s because I threatened to kill him and his family if he fucked up.
Still, while we’ve been sitting here like two schmucks, I’ve been Googling all the questions I would’ve liked to ask the man, and it appears a surgery like this can take anywhere from two hours to twelve depending on the complexity of the site.
We’re way past the halfway point of the latter, and no one has had the decency to update us.
Not a nurse nor a doctor. Not even the motherfucker who took the cash.
If Tori weren’t here, I would’ve caused a scene by now.
But the day is still young, and my tolerance is dwindling rapidly.
The sound of Tori’s phone ringing interrupts my plot to turn this hospital into the Devil’s playground, and I watch as she fishes it out of her purse. The screen illuminates her face, and something softens in her expression when she sees the caller ID.
“Hey, baby.” Judging by the way her voice transforms, it’s easy to assume it’s her daughter on the other end of the call.
“No, I’m still at the hospital . . . I know it’s late .
. . I’m sorry, sweetheart.” She pauses, listening, and I watch her throat work as she swallows.
“As soon as Jess is out of surgery, I’ll come get you, okay?
I promise. . . I know, baby. I miss her too .
. . Yes, I’ll tell her you love her . . . Okay. I love you. Bye.”
She ends the call and sets the phone on the table before bringing the coffee to her lips again.
“How old is your daughter?” The question comes out before I can stop it.
Tori’s eyes flick to mine, and for a moment I think she may tell me to fuck off, but the girl surprises me when she says, “Twelve.”
I stare at her.
“You had her young then.”
Something defensive flares behind her eyes. “Not that it’s any of your business, but yes. I was fifteen.”
Fifteen. I turn the number over in my mind, and it lands heavy in my gut. I think about my own childhood—the violence, the neglect, the way I had to grow up fast just to survive.
“You should go to her,” I say. “It might be another couple of hours. I will call you when I know something.”
Tori arches a brow. “You don’t have my number.”
“We should probably fix that then, considering we’re going to be in constant contact with one another.”
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t remind me.”
But she hands me her phone anyway, unlocked and open to the contacts screen. I plug in my number, then call myself from her phone so I have hers too before handing it back to her. She takes it, tucking it back into her purse without looking at it.
“I’m not leaving until they tell us she’s okay. Then I’ll go pick up Poppy and take her home. I’m going to have to figure out a schedule, but I’ll be back tomorrow at some point.”
“I will stay with her until then.”
She cocks her head to the side, studying me with those sharp, discerning eyes. “Don’t you have something to do? Laws to break? More lives to ruin?”
I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste copper, but before I can fire off a smart reply, the double doors swing open, and the surgeon emerges still dressed in his scrubs.
I’m on my feet in a flash, advancing toward him.
“Talk,” I demand.
He clears his throat and adjusts his glasses. “The surgery is complete, and everything went as planned. We removed the affected area of skin and were able to achieve healthy margins.”
“Margins?” Tori asks before I can.
“Healthy tissue,” he clarifies, his gaze shifting to her. “We need to remove all the dead and damaged skin so the graft has a clean base to adhere to. We were successful in that regard.”
I cross my arms over my chest, and the surgeon adjusts his glasses again.
“After that, we placed the skin graft over the wound and secured it in position with dressings. The graft we placed is from a donor site on her hip. It’s a large graft, and there’s always a risk that part or all of the graft may not take.
If the blood supply doesn’t establish itself, the tissue can die, and we’d have to go back in and repeat the procedure. ”
“Is she still in a coma?” Tori asks.
The surgeon nods. “Given her overall condition, we’re keeping her under.
Her body needs time to heal without the added stress of consciousness.
The burns are extensive, and the pain would be—” He pauses, choosing his next words carefully.
“Significant. The sedation gives her the best chance at recovery.”
“Where is she now?” Tori asks.
“She’ll be in recovery for at least an hour, then they will return her to the intensive care unit,” he replies.
“The ICU team will continue monitoring her very closely. Right now, our priorities are supporting her heart and lungs, preventing infection, managing pain and sedation, and watching the graft and the surgical site carefully.” He pauses, then adds, “The first forty-eight hours post-op are the most critical for the graft. We’ll be checking it every few hours to assess the blood flow.
If there are any changes, we’ll address them immediately. ”
“When can we see her?” I ask.
“Once she’s back in the ICU, one of you may sit with her. Considering how long you’ve already been here, it wouldn’t be a big deal if you both decided to go home. I gather the nursing staff has your contact information, Mr. Holland. If there are any developments, someone will reach out to you.”
Fuck that. “I’m staying.”
Tori’s head snaps in my direction, but my gaze remains locked on the surgeon.
“I’ll let the charge nurse know.” He hesitates, then adds, “Mr. Holland, I know this has been difficult, but your wife is in good hands. My team and I will do everything we can.”
Your wife.
Every time I hear those two words, the lie burrows deeper into my skin, branding me with something I have no right to claim.
Dismissing that feeling, I give him a tight nod and watch as he turns and walks back through the double doors.
The moment he’s gone, Tori turns to face me fully, her arms crossing over her chest.
“You’re not staying,” she snaps.
“I am.”
“Lucifer.” My name sounds like a curse in her mouth. “We had a deal. You said you’d let me make the decisions about her care.”
“I’m not making any decisions. I’m just going to sit with her so she’s not alone.” I meet her gaze, and something in my expression must give her pause because she doesn’t fire back immediately. “Go get your daughter, Tori. She needs you. I will call you if anything changes.”
She studies me for a long moment, and I can see the war playing out behind her eyes.
“Fine,” she sighs. “I’ll be back tomorrow as soon as I get Poppy situated.”
She holds my gaze for another beat, then reaches for her purse, slinging it over her shoulder before making her way toward the hallway that leads to the bank of elevators.
Alone, I sink back into the plastic chair, the one that’s been torturing my spine for hours, and I wait. A while later, my phone chimes with a text. I reach into my cut to retrieve it, spotting a text from Dread. His words from earlier ring inside my head as I unlock the screen and open the text.
Dread: Spoke with our friend, the judge, about your situation. Call me.
Those words and what they imply stare back at me like a loaded gun, and as much as I want to dismiss them like I did when he first suggested I marry Jess, I can’t.
I took every fucking dollar that man had, and had he not offered it to me, I would’ve taken drastic measures against my club.
The kind that finds a president in a pine box or, at the very least, stripped of his patch.
Before I can think better of it, I type out a reply.
I’ll hear you out, but not tonight. She just got out of surgery, and I haven’t seen her yet. Come to the hospital in the morning.
Dread: Copy that.
And keep this shit to yourself.