27. Boston
BOSTON
“ H ey, Mitch.” Drake knows the cop. “Just taking care of an unwanted guest.” Drake points at me. “He assaulted Abby and has been stalking her for well over a week. The bastard likes to hit women. Thinks it makes him a bigger man.” Drake turns his stony gaze to Scott, who cowers on my couch. “You’re a fucking putz. A tiny man. You’re going to get up close and personal with what happens to men who hit women in jail.”
Drake takes a step back while Mitch and his partner collect Scott. They haul him up and off my couch, spin him around, and unceremoniously cuff him.
I expect Scott to get in the last word, blaming me like he’s done every other time. Instead, he leaves my house, head bowed, shoulders slumped in defeat.
Tom Jenkins and Fred Cavanaugh, my EMTs, wait for the cops to leave with Scott in tow. They exchange words with Mitch, who gives a shake of his head. I guess Scott’s going to jail without his injuries tended.
“Doc…” Fred’s jaw drops when he sees me.
Tom follows suit. They rush toward me, pause to let Drake give them room, then fuss over me and my injuries. Their expressions worry me.
“Do I look that bad?”
“Have you looked in a mirror?” Fred puts his medical bag down on the coffee table.
“No.”
“Don’t.” Tom gently grips my chin. He shines a light in my eyes and begins his assessment.
“I’m fine.” I bat him away, feeling self-conscious.
“Doc…” Tom’s tone turns serious. “I think you should come with us.”
“Why?”
He gestures to his throat. “That bruising concerns me. You need to be observed overnight.”
I feel my throat. It’s tender and bruised. Swelling. I swallow and note a lump in my throat.
“Where else are you hurt?” Fred places a blood pressure cuff around my arm and guides me to a seat.
I pull up my shirt. All three men wince. No, make that four.
My uncle wobbles into view, looking pale, emaciated, and enraged.
“This is what he’s done to you?” The shock of his expression makes him look paler than before.
I give a clipped nod, feeling self-conscious that my private life is no longer private. Give it a few days and everyone in town will know. Not the best way to make an impression.
“Abby, I agree.” Uncle Pete examines me. “The bruising on your neck needs to be watched. If it closes off your airway…”
“I know.” I roll my eyes and try to smile.
The scariest thing about this is that I took care of a man when I was a resident. Like me, he was in a fistfight. He was choked. Two hours later, we inserted a breathing tube because the swelling nearly closed his airway off completely.
“I also want to scan your abdomen.” My uncle is in doctor mode, triaging my injuries. “Let’s get her loaded up.”
Before I can protest, Drake comes over. He gathers me in his arms and carries me to the ambulance and waiting gurney. He places me down as gently as he can and brushes the hair out of my eyes.
“I’m going to follow them.” He glances over his shoulder. “And help your uncle.”
I get what he’s saying. My uncle’s too weak to make it on his own.
“Thank you.” I grip his arm, communicating more in a look than I could in a lifetime of words.
“I’ll see you later, city girl.” He shakes his head and cracks a smile. “You sure know how to make things interesting.”
“I try.” My smile is weak and getting weaker by the minute. Fred and Tom load me into the back of the ambulance while I drift in and out of consciousness.