The List (Killcreek Drifters MC #2)

Prologue

Almost three years ago…

It all happened so fast.

The call from the doctor. The news of her new heart.

Time was of the essence, and there was little time to contemplate what was actually happening.

It was probably for the best. Less time thinking of everything that could go wrong.

Complications during surgery or her body rejecting the new heart were all valid concerns.

But no one talked about that now. Between her family and the medical staff, it was all positive.

She’d been briefed on the procedure long before today.

So much so, she’d thought she was fully prepared.

I’m not.

In a matter of hours, she and her family had been contacted, piles of paperwork had been filled out, and she was set up in her pre-surgery hospital room.

She’d been poked, prodded, and had multiple wires hooked up to several machines monitoring her.

There’d been an influx in the number of doctors and nurses coming in and out of her room. This was a big deal.

I know.

Finally, things had begun to settle and quiet down.

T minus one hour. In less than sixty minutes, she’d be rolled into surgery and put to sleep.

Hours later, she’d wake up with a new, healthy heart.

In less than twenty-four hours, her life would make a sharp turn from her “normal” downhill spiral and fast-track to the end.

Not of life, of course. For Addison Huxley, it would be her new beginning.

My second chance.

It seemed like a dramatic reference. Yesterday she wasn’t dwelling on her heart transplant.

It didn’t consume her every thought. Maybe at the beginning, a year ago, when she’d been told she was being put on the waitlist. Nobody liked waiting, especially when it could mean life or death.

But it essentially became part of her every day.

She lived her life and hoped it would all work out in her favor.

And by all accounts, it had. Kind of.

Somewhere, enroute, a beating heart was being kept on ice.

For me. Someone else’s heart. And there was where it got tricky.

Realistically, Addison knew how the human body worked.

She’d taken science class like everyone else and knew the basics.

All the essential organs needed to live.

A year ago, she was given her diagnosis, and her only option was a transplant.

Aside from a lot of big words she didn’t understand, it seemed cut and dry.

Almost simple, with the biggest obstacle being the waiting.

They couldn’t give her a specific time frame for how long it would take.

Because no one could predict death. But that wasn’t how it was explained.

When a heart becomes available. As if they were out of stock and on back order.

It had been an emotionless conversation.

There were specific factors to matching a donor heart. That’s what the doctor had called it. The donor heart. Addison didn’t question it at the time. Why would she? A year ago, it was a plan with countless what ifs. It wasn’t real.

It is now.

She was getting a new heart. And the donor?

I don’t know. There was so much happiness and focus surrounding her surgery.

It was all about Addison. The donor was never mentioned.

Ironic. This person, a stranger, lost their life, and because of that tragedy, everyone around her was celebrating Addison’s second chance at life.

My best day was their worst. Because they died, I get to live.

Addison drew in a breath, trying to calm her nerves. It was easier to control her body physically. Except for that damn foot. It shook uncontrollably. It was as if it had a mind of its own. No matter how many times she moved her leg or tightened her muscles, it wouldn’t stop shaking.

Until…

A hand clasped around her ankle, and she jerked her gaze to the end of the bed. Andrea, the nurse who had been taking her vitals, was gently but firmly grasping her and offering a warm smile.

“Contrary to popular belief, we’re not always in full control of our bodies. Our brains get the final say.”

True.

Addison flattened her lips, forced a smile, and nodded.

“Nervous?”

It was a yes or no question but not an easy answer. Addison was prepared. She understood exactly what was happening. The staff had been great about updating her with everything. She’d been given a play-by-play. So, was she nervous?

I don’t know what I am.

She stared up at the ceiling in silence.

“My grandmother used to say, ‘penny for your thoughts’. But with inflation, I’ll bump it up to a quarter.” The joke was corny but welcome, and made her chuckle.

“This is the first time in twenty-four hours that it’s been quiet.

Eerily silent. Kind of like when the weather channel announces a record-breaking blizzard, and everyone freaks out.

There’s a mad dash to the grocery store to clean out the shelves.

Lines at the gas station, setting up the generator.

Flashlights and batteries, candles, and lighters.

” Addison laughed, thinking of the last major snowstorm a few weeks before.

“It’s like sheer panic, as if the apocalypse is coming.

And then once it starts snowing” —She paused, glancing over at Andrea— “it just gets quiet. And you’re left with only your thoughts. ”

Andrea’s face softened. “That’s a damn good description. Are you a writer?”

I wish.

Addison scoffed. “Bartender.”

Andrea raised her brows. “Even better. You can make a celebratory batch of Margaritas when this is all over. Let me know when and where, and I’ll be there.”

Many times, small talk was overrated. It awkwardly filled a void, though Addison usually preferred silence. But to her credit, Andrea was good at it.

Another nurse stopped in the doorway and knocked lightly.

“About fifteen.”

That was all she said before disappearing. It was as if they were speaking in code.

Andrea waved and turned back to Addison. “Well, we’re getting closer to margaritas.”

“Fifteen minutes ’til surgery?” Addison asked.

“No, they won’t start for another forty-five.” Andrea tucked Addison’s chart under her arm, smirking. “For most people, we can’t begin without the patient. In your case, we’re waiting on your partner.”

My new heart.

“Ahh.” Addison tapped her fingers on the bed. “The real star of the show.”

“You both get top billing.” Andrea winked.

No, we don’t.

“Will it arrive in a beer cooler?”

Andrea snickered, glancing over at the machine monitoring her heart. “Now, that would be fitting for you. But unfortunately, hospitals aren’t that creative. Just a standard transport cooler escorted by a member of medical staff.” She chuckled. “He gets a credited role in this show.”

Addison had been given the entire rundown of how it worked.

She’d seen movies where the organ was transported via helicopter with dramatic music in the background.

There was always someone carrying the cooler, handing it off to the hospital.

It was an important job. And in fifteen minutes, her own handler would arrive.

With a cooler and my new heart.

Someone else’s heart. That fact was still lingering in her mind.

She’d had two sessions with a therapist in the last year.

They broke down all the potential concerns and fears.

Dissected all the emotions that went along with receiving someone else’s heart.

But at that time, no one had died so she could live.

Until now…

Her eyes welled, and she sucked in a breath, willing her tears away.

She needed to focus on the good. This was a life-changing moment.

One that she and her family had been waiting for.

While they’d always kept a positive attitude and never spoke about the possibility that Addison wouldn’t get a heart in time, she knew her mom and dad thought about it.

How could they not? You’re not supposed to outlive your children.

And they wouldn’t. Her parents wouldn’t have to bury their child.

But the donor’s family would. Goddammit!

She turned her head toward the window and closed her eyes.

Focus on the good.

“Hey.” Andrea’s voice was soft as she slid her cool hand over Addison’s arm. Obviously, she wasn’t hiding her emotions very well. A tear slipped down her cheek, and she immediately wiped it away, forcing a smile.

“I’m fine.”

Andrea slowly nodded. “If you have any more questions, I can get the doctor. We want you to be as comfortable as possible without any concerns.”

She blew out a heavy breath. “No, they’ve been thorough.”

And they had. Not a detail was missed. No question went unanswered.

Addison knew exactly what was going to happen from prep to recovery.

However, the aftermath was uncertain. She’d been given all the statistics.

Her chances for a complete recovery were good.

But nothing in life is guaranteed. That thought, once again, circled back to the donor.

“Okay.” Andrea wrapped her hand around Addison’s wrist. “We also have an onsite psychologist. I can have her come up if you want to” —she shrugged— “talk.”

The idea of speaking with a stranger about her deep-routed emotions was not an option. Thirty minutes of therapy wasn’t going to change how she was feeling.

“Thank you, but I’m fine.”

No, I’m not.

“Well, if you become not fine, let me know.” Andrea paused, and her gaze softened.

“It’s normal to be nervous, Addison. I’d worry if you weren’t.

So, if you change your mind about talking to any of the doctors, we’ll make that happen.

No one wants you going into this without all your questions and concerns addressed, okay? ”

This was her shot. An opening to the only question that plagued her mind right now.

“Um” —Addison hesitated— “Do you know anything about the donor?”

“The basics. Male, thirty-two.”