Total pages in book: 157
Estimated words: 159208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 796(@200wpm)___ 637(@250wpm)___ 531(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 796(@200wpm)___ 637(@250wpm)___ 531(@300wpm)
“Meadow? I’m glad you came,” I say, shaking her hand. “Thanks for calling nine-one-one. You did the right thing.”
She nods. “I was so scared. When I couldn’t wake him up this morning...I thought he was gone. He was barely breathing. They told me on the phone how to check his vitals. I felt a pulse, but not much.” She shakes her head. “He even gave me flowers a little while ago...”
“I heard,” I mutter softly.
“He’s had that terrible cough forever, and it rained hard the other night. His tent sprang a leak and he insisted he was going to fix it, but the last time I saw him awake, he was white as a sheet.” She sighs.
Dammit, I know that frustration.
Why the hell didn’t I just drag his ass home with me a long time ago?
Because I was busy with Nevermore, of course, one more epic catastrophe hanging over me.
“He’s such a nice man. I hope he makes it through this,” Meadow says, looking at me sadly.
“He’s strong as a bull. He’ll pull through, I think. I’ve seen him survive far worse than pneumonia.” I’m putting on a brave face.
Deep down, I’m scared shitless that Wyatt’s extra lives are up.
“In the war, you mean?” she asks.
I nod firmly.
“He tells me stories sometimes...”
“Yeah? He doesn’t usually talk about it.”
She shrugs. “Sometimes he needs to, and my daddy was a soldier.”
I cock my head. She gives me the far-off look I’ve seen a hundred times. It says her father probably never made it home.
“I’m sorry. Did he die in action?”
There’s pain in her expression, despite her shy smile.
“He killed himself. The insurance doesn’t pay that way, so we lost everything. Mom couldn’t handle the streets well, so...she’s gone too.”
Wow, fuck.
This girl just summed up a tragic life in two sentences, and somehow she’s still smiling.
“I’m sorry, Meadow.”
“It’s okay. We all just put one foot in front of the other and keep on moving, right?”
I nod. Wiser words today.
“I’m going to go check on Wyatt. When I leave tonight, I can give you a ride back if you need it?”
“The nurse said I can sleep in the waiting room.” She rubs at her weary eyes. “I think I’ll take the offer. It’s more comfortable.”
I nod and push open the door to Wyatt’s room.
He’s not bleeding, but he looks as bad as he did that day in Iraq. The ventilator and tubes are plugged into him like a human battery, the color drained from his face.
The nurse said he looked rough, but now her words have emphasis.
I move to the bed, clasping his arm with one hand.
“Hey, it’s Burns. Wake up soon. You’re missing out on your next cinnamon roll,” I joke with a boulder building in my throat. It’s the only thing I can stand to say.
I’m only in the room for five or ten minutes. He’s virtually comatose. What he needs right now isn’t my company, dammit.
I go back to the nurses’ station after stopping to give Meadow a few encouraging words I wish I believed.
“Where’s Jennifer?” I ask the guy at the desk.
“She’s making her rounds right now. It could be a minute before she’s back. Is there something I can help you with?”
“I just want to know if there’s anything that can be done for Wyatt that hasn’t already been tried?”
“You’re next of kin, right?”
“His brother,” I half lie.
He nods. “Let me pull up his chart for the doctor’s notes...”
“He’s got IVs, and he’s on a ventilator. There are some other things we could try, but Medicaid won’t pay for it, and I don’t even know if he’s got that.”
“He has VA insurance, but—fuck, I’ll pay for anything it doesn’t cover. Spare no expense.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to his doctor and find out more for you. Do you have an ID?”
I’m so goddamned done with this.
My friend is dying, and I’m caught in this red tape. But I’ve already taken out enough rage today for one lifetime, so I’m not going to hound this guy who’s just doing his job.
“I own Haughty But Nice. I’ll pay cash for whatever he needs. Send me the paperwork for a payment method, take my card, whatever you need. Just make sure he has the best care. I have to track down his son, but I’ll leave you my number. Call me for anything financial.”
He opens a drawer, pulls out a form, and hands it to me. “This is a guarantor’s form. Just get it back to us soon.”
I promise I will.
By the time I’m stumbling outside, drawing thick breaths, I’m wrecked with a hundred regrets about not doing more for Wyatt Emory when it mattered, even if I had to twist his arm.
All the regrets in my life are catching up, threatening to crush me under their weight.
Dakota Poe feels just as lost as Wyatt, and after this fucked up day, I wonder if I’ll ever find my way home.