Chapter 9 #2
The nurse at the station glanced up. “Gentlemen, lower your voices, please, or take this conversation outside.”
Tate tipped his head back, stared at the overhead fluorescent lighting, and forced himself to draw a deep breath. “Do you know when someone will have an update for us?”
“She’ll be out as soon as she can, sir. While you’re waiting, please keep your voices down.”
There wasn’t another soul in the room. Still, he pressed his tongue to his teeth and swallowed the reply. Getting thrown out wouldn’t get him to Scottie faster. He couldn’t fix this from the parking lot.
“Your concern for workplace safety is admirable, Tate.” Damian leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “But might I remind you this is not your wheelhouse.”
Not your wheelhouse. The words slid under his skin like a splinter. He laughed once, short. “That’s cute. Love your maritime reference.”
Arguing with Damian was useless. The man wore certainty like a tailored coat. Tate paced the length of the room again. His stomach growled, but if he took five minutes to get a snack, that would be when news came.
The double doors leading to the parking lot slid open. Lainey and Gary came in. Gary’s oxygen cart rattled when the wheels hit the tile. Lainey’s dark-circled eyes found Tate’s.
“Hey,” he said. “You made it.”
“Thanks for taking care of my girl.” Gary clapped him on the shoulder. “Any news?”
“Not yet.” Tate flicked a look at Damian. “I was just reminding Damian he needs to rethink workplace safety protocols before anybody else gets hurt.”
Lainey’s blue eyes toggled between Damian and Tate. “How bad is she?”
“I think she probably has an infection from a virus,” Damian said.
“Or her symptoms were exacerbated by standing in freezing cold water. Or maybe it’s working all hours of the day and night that has put her in this situation,” Tate said.
Damian opened his mouth, then clamped it shut and shook his head.
Tate raked a hand through his hair. He could picture the Copper, flowing wide and carefree between the banks, an invisible current swirling in its depths. Scottie hip deep, with her camera trained on the river.
“How often do you talk to Scottie about her work?” Damian asked, his voice laced with an edge. “About her hours, the conditions, what she’s been through?”
Blood roared behind his ears. “If you’re implying?—”
“Fellas, let’s take a minute.” Lainey stepped between them, then gently guided Tate to a row of chairs on the opposite side of the room. “Here. Sit.”
He sat but fisted his hands in his lap.
Damian claimed he knew better than to push people to their physical limits.
Maybe he was being unfair. Damian wasn’t the other driver.
Damian hadn’t given her a virus. But he had put her in one of Alaska’s most powerful rivers and called it necessary.
And Scottie—Scottie had probably smiled through the shivering like it was nothing.
Because she’d risk her own safety to get the shot every single time.
“I’ll ask for an update,” Gary said, gesturing toward the nurse behind the sliding-glass window. “Maybe she’ll give a family member more information.”
“Good point.” Tate leaned forward, planting his elbows on his knees.
She’d said he smelled good. She’d murmured that he was strong.
The words kept sliding through his head uninvited.
He had found himself, on the drive, compulsively rolling down his sleeve, sniffing for soap or cedar or anything that could have provoked that slurred confession.
Warmth crawled up his neck. Thankfully no one else in the car had noticed.
Anytime now, someone would probably come out and tell them Scottie had influenza, or strep, or some nameless passing virus, and he would feel stupid for picking fights in a waiting room.
But beneath the speculation, a sharper truth still pulsed.
If he couldn’t control outcomes, he could at least challenge anyone who tried to put people he cared about in precarious situations.
The chair protested as he slumped back, his attention riveted on the Approved Personnel Only sign mounted to the doors leading into the emergency room.
Control is an illusion, his therapist had said once, and he’d nodded like he understood. He understood now that he didn’t. Control was more like oxygen.
The nurse’s phone rang. Sneakers squeaked on the linoleum. Snippets of Gary’s questions filtered through the stale air. Beside him, Lainey’s fingers flew over the keyboard on her phone. Damian yawned, then tipped his head against the wall and closed his eyes. Tate’s hands curled on his knees.
A crash sounded somewhere beyond the nurses’ station. The woman speaking with Gary gasped, then released a nervous laugh. It sounded like a metal tray hitting tile.
Tate lurched halfway to his feet before he caught himself. False alarm. Good grief. He pawed at the back of his neck.
“We’re all awake now, aren’t we?” Lainey said.
He sank back down, his pulse still sprinting.
The kid who’d gotten his drink from the vending machine sat facing the TV, kicking his feet against the leg of his chair.
He tore the label strip off his drink and let it fall to the floor.
Tate stared at the scraps of paper, irritation flaring all over again.
Who let their kid just drop trash on the floor?
Why couldn’t people pick up after themselves?
Following the rules, keeping order, would just make everything easier.
Damian cleared his throat and walked across the room, stopping in front of Lainey.
“Scottie’s good, you know. The best camera operator I’ve worked with in a long time.” He scuffed at the floor with the toe of his sneaker. “That’s why I brought her here. Other people would panic. They’d lose their edge when things get a little dicey.”
“So you’re admitting that things get dicey,” Tate said. “That’s progress.”
“Tate.” Lainey shook her head at him. “Let him finish.”
“Scottie sees things that other camera operators don’t,” Damian said. “She frames it just right, even when she’s shivering and her teeth are chattering. The story, it’s there and she captures it and it’s amazing.”
“I don’t doubt that she’s good at her job,” Tate said, fighting to keep his voice even. “I think the part you’re missing is that she can’t perform at a high level if you’re always risking her safety.”
Damian huffed out a breath. “Don’t you think I know that? I’m trying to be nice, dude. I’m trying to be kind. She has a gift and a rare skill set.”
But no shot is worth risking a life.
The words stuck in his throat. Scottie might feel differently. He couldn’t really speak for her, could he?
Lainey touched his sleeve. “Let’s wait until we know more information. You might be panicking for no reason.”
“Right?” Damian nodded. “That’s what I’m saying.”
Oh brother. Tate wanted to punch something.
Gary came back, wheeling his oxygen tank beside him. “Doc’s tied up in a trauma situation. Nurse says probably ten more minutes.”
Ten. Got it. He could do ten.
Twenty minutes later, right when Tate was about to climb the walls, the door slid open like a sigh. Everyone sat up straight at once. Dr. Monroe stepped out into the waiting room, her eyes scanning the faces.
“Family of Scottie Sheridan?”
Tate’s heart kicked against his ribs. His hands opened and closed. He rubbed his sweaty palms on his jeans.
Please, Lord, let her be okay.