Detached

by Elicia Hyder

  “Pretty common with head wounds,” Celise said. “Lots of capillaries in the scalp.”

  The information didn’t seem to help Essex relax. “When I pulled up, I thought you were dead.”

  “Right now, I feel like I’d rather be.” I winced as Celise dabbed the deep gash with gauze.

  “Didn’t you numb her scalp?” Essex asked her.

  “She refused,” Celise answered. “I’ve learned better than to try to argue.”

  Essex scowled at me. “You know, Nyx, normal people aren’t so well acquainted with the emergency-room staff.”

  “You know everyone who works days in here.” Our job required regular trips to the hospital: suicide attempts, DUI blood draws, rape kits.

  “Yes, but they can’t identify my personality flaws.”

  I pointed at Celise. “Well, this one gave birth to my niece, so . . .”

  Essex looked surprised.

  “Don’t let her fool you,” Celise said to him. “All the other doctors and nurses know her flaws too. Are you new on night shift?”

  “First week,” he answered.

  “Good luck,” Celise said with a grin.

  I made quick introductions. “Celise Kendrick, this is Sergeant Tyler Essex. Celise survived a short time being married to my brother.”

  They shook hands over my head.

  “The Sergeant Essex?” Celise asked, casting me a teasing smile.

  “What’s that mean?” he asked.

  “We’ve just heard a lot about you. Good things, which is rare coming from this one.” She pointed the syringe at me.

  My cheeks burned as he looked at me. “That’s good to know,” he said.

  Ugh.

  She touched my shoulder. “Be right back.”

  “Been talking about me, huh?” Essex asked when she was gone.

  “Yeah. Complaining.”

  He smiled. “Did they do a head CT?”

  “Let me sit up.”

  He grabbed my arm to help, but I wrenched it free and pushed myself up against the thin mattress. My whole body ached, and stars twinkled around my boss’s face. I forced my squinted eyes to relax.

  God, he’s hot.

  I was lightheaded. Must’ve been the concussion.

  Touching my chin, he turned my head for a better look, then cringed. “Damn.”

  I pushed his hand away. “I’m fine.”

  “Your ear’s dangling. You’re not fine.”

  “CT was clear. No bleeding, but doc says I’ll need staples to close my head and sutures to reattach the top of the ear.”

  I could feel the sticky blood dried on the side of my face and down my neck. Celise had tried to clean it off, but she’d mostly just diluted the mess, making it spread. As much as I could see of my undershirt was soaked in dark blood.

  Essex was still visually cataloging the damage. “You’re lucky that mirror didn’t take off your head. You hurt anywhere else?”

  “Mostly sore from the fall. My ass will have some spectacular bruising.”

  Red burned through his cheeks. He cleared his throat and changed the subject. “Do you remember any of it?”

  “I remember everything until I blacked out. I didn’t even hear the car coming until it was almost on top of me. It’s like it wasn’t even running.”

  “Electric motor.”

  “Was the guy hurt?”

  “Not a scratch. Just shaken up.”

  “Was he drunk?”

  “No. Said he thought he saw a person in the middle of the road.”

  “I was nowhere near the middle of the road.”

  “I’m sure he was distracted by blue lights and hit a slick spot. It’s a good thing you parked where you did. He sends his condolences, by the way.”

  I’d woken up in the emergency lane with the chick I’d pulled over cradling my head in her lap. Blood had been everywhere. All over her. All over me. She’d called 911 before beginning roadside triage. “What happened to . . .?” I couldn’t remember her name.

  “The woman you pulled over?”

  “Yeah.”

  “She’s still here. Saw her in the waiting room when I came in.”

  “Really? She’s been here the whole time?” I looked over his shoulder like she might be standing right behind him.

  “I think so.” He grinned. “Maybe she’s hoping you’ll let her off with a warning.”

  “Ah, damn it.” Celise dropped her arms against her sides when she reentered the room. “Why did you sit up? Do you know how long it took me to fish all that black hair out of the way?”

  “Got any scissors?” I asked.

  Puzzled, Celise opened a drawer on the rolling cart by my bed. She handed me a pair of shears, and in two quick moves, I lifted up the right side of my long hair and sliced through it.

  I handed her back the shears, along with the twelve-inch handful of blood-matted locks. “Here. Donate this to a wig program or something.”

  Celise’s mouth was gaping. “This isn’t Master Clips. We don’t do that here.”

  Essex was staring at the clump of hair. “Is this part of the concussion?”

  “Nope. This is just crazy.” Celise dropped it in the red trash bag.

  “The hair was in the way. Now it’s not.” I lay back on the pillow. “Gonna have to shave it off anyway.”

  “Why?” Essex asked.

  Smiling, I draped my forearm over my eyes. “How else will I show off the scar?”

  I heard both of them snicker.

  Celise pushed my face toward the pillow. “Now, be still.”

  I cringed as she pulled strands of hair from the wound again.

  Essex lifted my arm off my face to look at me. “Take the damn drugs, Saphera. You’re going to be off for a few days anyway.”

  “I don’t need—”

  “Calm down. It’s our weekend off anyway,” he reminded me.

  “Oh, right. But I am going to my interview tomorrow.”

  “I’m sure they can reschedule it.”

  “Hell no.”

  “Fine, but get ready for a nice little vacation. The department’s going to need all the details on the concussion, and you’ll have to be cleared by medical before returning to duty.”

  “I’m OK.”

  “Keep saying that. Celise, at least give her lidocaine for the staples.” Essex backed toward the door. “I need to make some calls, but I’ll be here when you’re done . . . unless you want me to stay.”

  With a groan, I covered my eyes again. When I heard the hallway door open and shut, I peeked at Celise. “Give me the drugs.”

  Essex returned when the doctor finally came in to discharge me.

  Dr. Richmond read over her notes. “The headache may last a few weeks. Take the weekend off, and follow up with your regular doctor in seven to ten days to have the stitches and staples removed.” She looked at me over the tops of her glasses. “If the headache gets worse, if you have a seizure, new vision problems, arm or leg weakness, or new problems with balance and coordination, come back in. Do you live alone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can someone stay with you tonight?”

  I grimaced. It hurt too much to think.

  “If not, it might be a good idea to keep you here for the—”

  “I’ll figure something out.” Nothing in me wanted to stay in the noisy hospital. I hated hospitals.

  The doctor didn’t seem sure she believed me. Hell, I wasn’t sure I believed me. “Head injuries are serious, Nyx.”

  “I’ll make sure she takes it easy,” Essex said.

  I would have glared at him if it didn’t hurt to look up. “When can I go back to work?”

  “Typically one to two weeks. Who’s your primary physician?” she asked.

  “Dr. Pratts.” I pointed to the ceiling. “She has an office upstairs.”

  “Ah yes. I’m going to let Dr. Pratts make the final call on returning to work. She’ll also take out the stitches and staples after at least a week.”
>
  “I’ll make an appointment tomorrow. Thank you, Dr. Richmond,” I said.

  “My pleasure. Stay safe out there,” the doctor replied to both of us before turning back toward the nurse’s station.

  Pain radiated through my left butt cheek and down my leg as I stood. Before moving, I took a second to let the pain settle and the dizziness fade. At the triage door, I looked around for Celise but didn’t see her anywhere.

  “Looking for something?” Essex asked.

  “My sister-in-law. Wanted to say goodbye. She must be busy.”

  “Probably. The waiting room is slammed. Do you have everything?”

  I picked up my phone and keys off the counter. “Where’s my weapons belt?”

  “In my car. Figured I’d be driving you home.”

  “I’ll call an Uber.”

  He gave me the side eye.

  “You’re on duty. There’s no sense in you driving—”

  “Stop being so stubborn, and let me help you for once.” He held the lobby door for me.

  Ready to argue, I turned toward him so quickly that the room spun. Black threatened to close over my eyes again, and I grabbed a fistful of his shirt.

  He put his hands on my waist. When I focused on him again, his expression was begging, “See?”

  He took a step closer. “Look, I know you can take care of yourself. If any of the guys were here tonight and needed help, I’d offer.”

  To his credit, he was right. Unlike some of the other brass, I had no doubt Essex would always show up for his officers.

  “I know, but—”

  “But what?”

  But there was also that other thing between us. That treacherous gray area where attraction rumbled like a loosely corked geyser. It had been there since the night we met, when he’d challenged the lonely girl at the bar to a game of darts.

  Tonight, that gray area—along with everything else in the world—felt too unstable for me to be trusted.

  He lifted my chin to look at him, and for a second, I couldn’t remember what we were arguing about. Head trauma is tricky that way.

  “Officer Nyx!” a young woman behind him shouted.

  Essex released my face as the girl from the traffic stop hurried across the waiting room. She dropped her phone and a half-eaten Snickers on the way.

  She grabbed them and covered her mouth with her hands. “Thank god you’re okay.”

  And then she hugged me.

  I was frozen with my arms at my side. Over her shoulder, Essex was enjoying my discomfort. “Please don’t touch me,” I said.

  She took a quick step back. “Sorry, I was just so worried about you. I’ve never seen that much blood in my life.”

  “It happens with head injuries.” I squinted against the harsh halogens. “Thanks for sticking around to call for help.”

  “Of course.” She laughed nervously. “They would have found out if I ran, right?”

  I laughed and it hurt. “Yeah, they would have. What’s your name again?” My brain felt foggy.

  She stuck out her hand. “Bess Lincoln.” She leaned forward and winked. “No relation.”

  Essex chuckled. “We really appreciate your help tonight, Bess Lincoln, no relation.”

  Bess nodded, looking a little rattled. She still wore her white work shirt, though it was now red with my blood. “All joking aside, I’m really glad you’re okay. If there’s anything else I can do to help—”

  “Actually, there is. Can you give me a lift home?”

  She blinked a few times. “Um, sure, I guess.”

  I gestured toward her bloody top. “Doesn’t look like you’re going to work. Do you mind?”

  “Of course I don’t mind.” She dug around in her purse, spilling a gum wrapper on the floor as she retrieved her keys. She jingled them in the air and picked up the wrapper. “I’ll just go bring my car around.”

  “Thanks.”

  When she was gone, Essex frowned. “Seriously? You’d rather get a ride home from a complete stranger with a shitty driving record than come with me?”

  No. “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “She owes me for not writing her a ticket.”

  He laughed. “She dragged your ass out of oncoming traffic. I think you’re square. Try again.”

  A wave of nausea washed over me, and I grabbed the wall to steady myself. “Seriously, I’m grateful for the offer, but I just want to go home and pass out. If I go with you, we’ll go over my interview again, and my nerves will never let me sleep tonight.”

  My words took him back a step. “Oh. Nyx, I apologize if I’ve pushed too hard about the job.”

  “You didn’t do anything. I appreciate you looking out for me.”

  “You really shouldn’t be nervous—”

  I wagged my finger. “See? Here we go.”

  He grabbed my hand. “I only say it because I believe in you.” He held my gaze for a second longer than was probably appropriate.

  “Thank you,” I said quietly.

  He dropped my hand. “Who’s staying with you tonight?”

  “Umm . . .”

  “Can your brother come?”

  “I still haven’t heard back from Ransom.”

  “What about your mom?”

  “Mal? Ha. I’d rather stay here.”

  “I could lock you up in a cell for the night.”

  “I’d rather that too.”

  He lowered his voice and looked around to be sure no one could hear. “I’ll sleep on the couch—”

  “No, no, no—”

  “We don’t have to talk. You won’t even know I’m there.”

  I sighed so hard it hurt my head. “I don’t need a babysitter, Sarge.”

  “I’m not trying to babysit you. I’m trying to be a friend.”

  I put my hands up. “How’s this? Call me every hour. If I don’t answer, you can send the whole damn department Code Three to my house.”

  “Counteroffer. I call you every hour, and I post McCollum outside your place with a key.”

  “Deal.” My brain was tired of negotiating. All I wanted to do was curl up in a dark, silent room and shut the hell down. “Tell him I’ll leave a key on top of the doorframe.”

  “I’ll get your stuff from my car. At least let me help you outside. You don’t look so steady on your feet.”

  “I’m not.” No point in lying.

  He put an arm around my waist as we walked through the sliding-glass doors.

  Bess pulled up under the overhang in her rattling, rusty green coupe. The gears thunked into place as she put the car in park. It backfired. Essex shook his head as he opened the passenger-side door.

  “Hang on!” Bess called across the car, diving toward the floorboard. She tossed soda cans, food wrappers, and enough paper to fill a library into the back seat.

  Essex lifted an eyebrow and lowered his voice. “Did they give you a tetanus shot in there?”

  I smiled.

  When the seat was clear, he protected my head with his hand as I eased into the car. “Be right back,” he said when I was inside. I left one boot on the ground as he ran across the parking lot to his SUV.

  Bess let out a low whistle that echoed in my ears. “That’s your boss?” She gripped the steering wheel with both hands. “If he were my boss, I’d never be late to work.”

  “Speaking of work, are you going to get fired?” I asked, looking across the dark car at her. She had stars tattooed behind her right ear.

  “Probably, but it wouldn’t be your fault. It’s been coming since the day I started.”

  Essex returned with my woven black weapons belt. He handed it to me, then checked the empty chamber of my gun before handing it to me with the slide open.

  I checked the weapon myself, then closed the slide and laid it on my lap. I put the clunky belt between my feet when I pulled my right leg inside.

  Essex leaned in the doorway. “Text me when you get home?”

  “Yeah.”

 
He checked that the door was clear before closing it. He stepped back to the sidewalk, and I held up a few fingers as Bess pulled away.

  It was after midnight, but the world was too bright for my head. I shielded my eyes against the oncoming headlights. Still feeling like I might puke at any moment, I closed my eyes and reclined against the headrest.

  “So where am I going?” Bess asked.

  “You know Delaney’s in Winter Village?” I asked because everyone knew Delaney’s, the shiny new hotspot in my neighborhood.

  “Sure. The Irish bar?”

  “Yep. Go there.”

  “I don’t know much about head trauma, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to be drinking alcohol right now.”

  “I live in the condos behind it.” I prayed she’d shut the hell up, but if getting hit in the head wasn’t indicative enough, luck was not in my favor tonight.

  “Wow. Those are nice.”

  The condos at Winter Village were nice, too nice for a cop’s salary. Half the units had private owners, mostly corporate executives from the Bay Area who spent their summers on the lake and their winters on the ski slopes. My side of the complex was owned by the developer, and the units were rented out by the week to vacationers with deep pockets.

  I was the only long-term resident, and only because the management gave me half off the rent for helping keep the place secure. I generally responded to a couple of calls per month from my temporary neighbors. Mostly noise complaints and illegally parked cars.

  “So do you have a real name? Or should I just call you Officer Nyx?”

  “Corporal Nyx.”

  “Oooo-kay. Wanna listen to some music, Corporal Nyx?”

  “No.”

  “Oh, right. Head injury. Bet it hurts.”

  “Getting hit by a car usually does.”

  “You get hit by cars often?”

  “No.”

  “Don’t really feel like talking?”

  I held my finger over my lips. “Shh, or I might puke all over your car.”

  She laughed quietly. “Wouldn’t make much of a difference.”

  Couldn’t argue with that.

  We rode for a while in semi-silence. Bess hummed “Miss Independent,” tapping out the beat with her fingers on the steering wheel, until I considered shooting her. I changed my mind when I realized I’d have to drive myself.

  The bars were still in full swing when Bess pulled into my neighborhood, on the mountainside, behind Winter Village. From the air or on Google Maps, Ransom always joked that Sapphire Lake looked like a saggy ass. By his description, I lived in the tramp stamp, on the long north shore of the lake.