Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74383 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74383 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
“Stab wound along the posterior rib,” I said, although nobody asked. “Likely the ninth or tenth rib. Entry depth about seven inches, based on blade length of approximately ten.” My voice trembled, even as I tried to maintain my clinical background and stoic demeanor. “Possible contact with spleen.”
The medic’s eyes flicked to me in surprise, then at his partners. “Load him. Now.”
In the ambulance, it should’ve been me sliding an oxygen mask over Montana’s face, hooking up an IV, rattling off meds. Yeah, right. I was a mess. Montana squeezed my hand. His blood connected us in a way I never imagined, and he sensed my fear of losing this small contact.
But he’d release me at the hospital. Had to. Maybe it wouldn’t sting as badly as my first caregiver switch, when heartbreak was raw and new.
At the hospital, nurses swarmed him in a blur of blue scrubs and clipped voices. One of them rounded on me, just as Montana muttered something in Creole.
“What’s he saying?” I asked as she ordered me to step back. His voice rooted me to the spot, his saying my name, a low rumble of passion and Creole. “Please tell me what he said?”
“Step back!” she growled.
“Trust me, I know.” If she weren’t so rude, I’d apologize. Maybe explain that this pain was deeper than leaving the only foster home I knew and loved at age six. Not that I needed to be my awkward self now. My blood-slick hands rose in surrender, every fingerprint stained red. My knees bore the same stains, the price of kneeling with him. I’d prayed for him, even though I sucked at it.
I shoved one hand through my wig, and it snatched back. “Damn!” I pushed it in place and dialed Virginia. No answer. Called again. Nothing. Thirty minutes blurred by in a fog of disinfectant and cold tile. A racking cough came from someone who’d wait forever in the ER lobby if other, more critical, patients kept coming in.
Tennessee called me. Cartoons buzzed from my tiny studio as his deep voice steadied me in the way I needed. Hell, he should’ve freaked out over his big brother.
Sometime later, two uniformed cops came to let me know they’d cordoned off HC&PP, and I provided my statement. Not that I’d provided a good description of the boys. Maybe they’d find them, maybe not …
Or NYPD will cuff you, and Edwin will steal what he never wanted.
“Journey?” Virginia burst into the waiting area, her hair wild, chest rising and falling with every frantic breath. “… garçon … fé mal?” Her voice cracked, Creole pouring out like a wail.
I blinked.
“Is my son hurt?”
I managed a nod, anxiety twisting my throat. “No word yet. If the knife didn’t pierce his spleen, the surgery might take two hours. If it did—”
Virginia shook her head hard, cutting me off. “Sugar, don’t you dare say it.”
I shut my mouth, pressed my bloodied hands into my lap, and tapped my feet against the polished floor. Because if Montana didn’t make it off the operating table, nothing would matter.
Even if he did … I needed to run. Truth’s weight crashed into me all at once. Compassion, fear, guilt—and for the first time, I didn’t know which would break me faster: losing Montana tonight or leaving him before tomorrow came.
montana
. . .
Bright lights awoke me. Similar in intensity to what I’d stood under in November. Game Seven. I groaned, bit off a cussword while glancing around the room. Momma. Washington. Texas. Auntie Peaches. Tennessee would be here, but he’d stayed with Darius.
Which meant … Working my jaw, I growled, “Where’s Journey?”
“Just rest.” Momma padded to my bed.
“Bruh.” Texas dragged a hand through his dreads. “That’s the first thing out your mouth? A broad’s name?”
Ignoring him, I scanned the room until my eyes landed on Washington.
He scrubbed his fingernails over his short beard, avoiding my stare. “She was here when the doc said you’d be fine, but were sedated, waking up soon.”
“She should be around here somewhere.” Momma stepped into the hallway for a quick glance in both directions. “Journey rode in the ambulance, bébé. A few nurses said the EMTs thought she knew her stuff.”
A jagged sigh ripped outta me. Should’ve been relief. But my body ached, and her disappearance didn’t sit right in my chest. It clawed. Glimpses of her gorgeous, glittery brown eyes flashed. Those eyes had locked on mine when I thought I’d slip under. She’d knelt with me, hands steady, whispering things I couldn’t quite hear but damn sure felt. She’d climbed into the ambulance like she belonged to me. Her kind of goodness? Didn’t come every day.
Where the hell was she now? I couldn’t let her go. Be a fool to. Now that I’d had a taste of having her around … She damn sure hated Big Country, but she cared for me. I’d bled into her hands, and she’d stayed.