CHAPTER 70
Special K
“Here. Change your shirt, little brother.” Evander holds one of his bespoke button-down dress shirts in front of me. He keeps a whole stack of them in the back of his SUV.
I don’t respond. I don’t accept the shirt. I just keep staring at the swinging doors that lead to a long, sterile-white hospital hallway and the operating rooms beyond.
“The surgery could last a while,” Finn says. “You should at least sit down, K.”
I don’t sit down.
“C’mon little brother,” Cal says. “You’re scaring the hospital staff. You’re scaring Aunt Phyllis.”
I glance across the family waiting room of the Sweetbriar Regional Medical Center. It’s wall-to-wall MacLaine & Company in here, including Dad, Joe, and half the ranch staff. And everyone’s staring at me with giant raccoon eyes.
Cal’s right. Aunt Phyllis is still crying. She’s been crying non-stop for the three hours we’ve been here.
I’d cry too if I could.
I can’t. I’m dead inside. I’ll stay dead until I know Frankie will live.
It’s a good thing Jasmine’s spending the night at her friend’s house, because I’d never want to subject her to this kind of real-time crisis.
I swear Victoria, Emma, and Summer were here earlier, but they’re gone. I don’t know where they went. Phoebe’s not with us, but that’s not a surprise since she’s been running interference and serving as our eyes-and-ears in contact with the surgical team.
It’s nice to have a nurse in the family.
And I’m just a waste of space. Powerless.
I’ve done everything I can. And I know we’ve got the best of the best working on Frankie in there.
There are many upsides to being filthy rich, and I’ve learned that if you throw around enough money, you can get anything you need at any given time, no questions asked.
I’ve already made massive contributions to our country-bumpkin hospital, and I’ll be making plenty more. I know that Frankie is in good hands here.
But money can’t buy everything. It really chaps my ass that they won’t let me hang around outside of the operating suite. Somebody said something about me not being her husband.
Yeah, well, fuck that. That’s the first thing that’s going to get fixed when Boots is feeling up to it.
She’s going to marry me.
I’m struck by yet another wave of sadness, this one because I have no way to contact her grandfather to tell him what’s happened. Because I don’t know who the man is or where he is.
That’s another thing that’s going to get fixed. She’s going to let me in. All the way. Her life and mine will be two halves of a whole, the way it’s supposed to be when you really, truly love someone.
The way I really, truly love Frankie.
Declan saunters into the waiting room with his arms laden with soda cans and snack foods. He plops down on a chair near me and puts his feet up on the plastic seat across from him.
He drops the booty into his lap and holds up a snack package wrapped in clear plastic.
“That vending machine’s the shit,” Declan says to me. “Chocolate cupcakes. Toffee. Peanut butter cups. Cheese crackers and barbecue potato chips and protein bars. Can you say score? You get dibs, K. What’cha want?”
I shake my head. I don’t want any of that chemical-industrial complex shit.
“Now’s not the time to eat,” Cal admonishes Declan as he snags a protein bar off his lap. Evander and Finn go in for the kill immediately after.
“You should have some sugar,” Cal tells me, chewing. He places a hand on my shoulder. “You’re still in shock, little brother.”
“When Frankie can eat, I’ll eat,” I say.
“Lord Almighty, the man speaks!” Declan says.
Just then, Victoria, Emma, and Summer blow into the waiting room. Their arms are full, too.
“Move aside,” Summer says, shoving her shoulder into Evander’s ribs and kicking Declan’s legs aside so she can reach me.
My sisters-in-law swoop in as Declan scrambles out of the way, and the women form a circle around me. Emma takes one of my hands and Victoria rests a palm against my back, while Summer directs me to a fake leather recliner.
“Sit your ass down,” she says, like I’m a Springer Spaniel. And before I know it, I’m in the chair.
Summer glares at Declan.
“What?” he yells.
Cal and Finn smack him on the back of the head. Under any other circumstance, I’d be laughing.
“Take a breath,” Victoria tells me in a severe tone. “You’re white as a sheet, K.”
“He’s still shaking,” Summer says.
Victoria reaches into a shopping bag and pulls out a Navy hoodie. My hoodie.
My sisters-in-law yank off my blood-soaked tee without asking and then shove the sweatshirt over my head. At least they allow me the dignity of putting my own arms into the sleeves and pulling the sweatshirt down to my waist.
Victoria then places a blanket over me and tucks it under my chin and around my shoulders. It’s my blanket. From my house. Only then do I check out what else they brought.
“I have your favorite,” Emma says.
I stare up at my three angels of mercy. “Which favorite?” I ask Emma. “Anything you make is my favorite.”
She leans down and kisses my left cheek. Victoria kisses the right.
Summer stands over me, smirking. “In your dreams,” she says.
And I almost smile.
“Fluids first,” Emma says, clapping her hands.
Summer marches over to Declan. “Hand it over, please.” Summer grabs a soda from Declan’s stash, which he doesn’t much like.
“Hey! I was gonna drink that!” he calls out.
Summer opens the pop top and hands the cold can to me. I chug the contents, and the rush of sugar and caffeine instantly makes me feel better.
“You’re all over the news,” Victoria says. “Well, not you, but your handiwork is.”
“True,” Evander says. “Half of Nevada’s most wanted captured in one fell swoop—most of them in body bags, but captured nonetheless. Six from the FBI’s and four from the DEA’s.
“They get all the credit,” Declan whines.
Evander scowls at him. “They get the credit, and we avoid prison.”
“Works for me,” Finn says.
Of course, Evander’s already got all the legal snags worked out and I’m sure Cal cleared the scene of anything and everything that smells of the MacLaine boys. Declan’s already stashed Mavis in the hangar, no doubt.
All of these details flash through my brain in a split second, crowded out by thoughts of Frankie.
I rode with her on the Medivac. The medics had to fight me to get me to remove my pressure on her belly. They got enough blood in her to keep her alive on the short flight, but there were a couple of moments when it was touch and go.
One of the medics kept eyeing me up and down, taking in my tactical night camo and armor. Finally, she asked me, “Was this some kind of military raid?”
“No,” I said.
When the medics would let me, I stroked Frankie’s hair and talked to her. The sight of her face was shocking. Koslov beat her to a pulp. He deserved what he got and far worse.
Phoebe returns, and everyone’s eyes track to her.
She scans the room for me, and when she shoots me a freckle-faced smile, I know that Frankie will make it.
I pop to my feet as she walks up to me. “They’re closing Frankie up,” she tells me.
“The surgeon said she got insanely lucky—the bullet caused minimal vascular damage and only grazed the liver. No other vital organs were damaged, K. She’ll need to stay a couple weeks in the hospital, but she’ll make a full recovery. ”
Everyone in the waiting room erupts in cheers. There’s a lot of hugging happening and I pick up Phoebe and swing her in a circle. As I rotate, I see that my dad has now joined Phyllis in crying and that Evander looks like he wants to poke my eyes out.
I set Phoebe down and she pats my arm. “Frankie will be able to dance at my wedding—and any other weddings she might be attending,” she adds with a wink.
“You probably should specify which kind of dancing,” Summer says.
“Thank you, Phoebe,” I croak, just as I collapse in the chair.
It happens—everything I’ve been holding in comes to the surface and I weep like a damn baby, putting Aunt Phyllis’s breakdown to shame.