by A. Lynn
“I think she overdosed.”
“How long has she been like this?”
“I’m not sure, I have only been here for about ten minutes.”
“Has she been using for a while?”
“She said she had only been using for a few months, but that was a month ago. So maybe four or five months?”
“What is her drug of choice?”
“Heroin.”
“Did you touch anything in the scene?”
“No, sir. I smacked her cheeks to try and rouse her and checked her pulse in her neck. Apart from that, I don’t think so,” I say as my phone starts ringing. Sasha. “I need to take this.” He nods.
“Sasha,” I say.
“Reagan, what’s going on? Police and an ambulance? Talk to me.”
“She overdosed.”
She gasps and chokes out, “No.”
“She has a weak pulse and barely breathing. I hope we caught it in time,” I sob.
“Thank God! Are you going to the hospital with her?”
“Of course. Can you keep Jordan tonight?”
“Yes, of course. Let me know what’s going on.”
“I will,” I say as I end the call.
Three hours later…
My phone’s battery is getting low. In need of a break, I make my way out to my car and grab my charger so I can send an update to Sasha and let Stella know what’s going on. Thank God tomorrow is my scheduled day off. I would hate to leave the salon in a lurch but I wouldn’t have another option.
Me: No news yet. Hopefully soon. How is J?
Sasha: No news is good news, right? He was fine as usual, I just put him to bed.
Me: Okay, I’m going to get back in there. Talk soon.
I walk back into the ER waiting room just as the nurse comes out of the back and calls for the family of Ryan Walker. “That’s me.”
“We just moved Ryan upstairs to a room so she can stay for observation,” she says. “The doctor will be by shortly to go over the situation. She is resting now but you can join her in her room.”
"Thanks," I say as she walks me to an elevator and tells me that Ryan is in room three-fifteen.
Walking into her room to see her laid up in the bed has my anger come flooding back. How the fuck could she do this to herself. It's time she makes a decision. I pull my phone out to text Stella but before I can pull up her contact the doctor comes in.
“Reagan?”
“Yes.”
“I am Dr. Sanchez, I treated your friend,” she says. “Ryan did in fact overdose on heroin; however, I don’t foresee there being any lasting issues. She was very lucky. Ten or fifteen minutes later and she probably wouldn’t be here. The police administered two rounds of Narcan before she was transported to the hospital, so her position had begun to improve before she arrived. I would like her to stay here for a couple of days, just to make sure that she is in the clear. But as I said, I don’t think that there will be any lasting effects.”
“I know you said she wouldn’t have lasting effects from the overdose, but will there be any form of repercussions from the Narcan? I’m sorry, that sounded less stupid in my head.”
“The only stupid questions are the ones that don’t get asked,” she says with a small smile. “Narcan nasal spray is used as an opioid blocker to counteract the decreased breathing that occurs with an opioid overdose, by reversing the depression of the central nervous and respiratory systems. Side effects vary in severity and from one person to the next, but I would imagine that these effects are better than death.”
“What kinds of side effects are possible?”
“Many of the side effects are paralleled with the symptoms of withdrawal. Such as restlessness, agitation, nausea, vomiting, trembling, flushing, headache, body aches and tachycardia—fast heart rate."
“Is that all I will have to worry about?”
“No, those are just the ones that are the most common among recipients,” she sighs. “There are the more serious side effects that affect the cardiovascular system—the tachycardia that I mentioned earlier, hypotension or low blood pressure, and hypertension or high blood pressure. As well as the effects that affect the central nervous system—brain disease and coma. Those aren’t overly common but can be just as fatal as the overdose itself.”
A choked sob leaves my throat at the prospect that Ryan could face any serious and ultimately detrimental effects. How could she be so stupid? So selfish?
“Reagan, I have to ask what the plan is from here? She needs to get into a program and quit before it’s too late.”
“I know. We have had this conversation a few times, but all she says is that she doesn’t need help. That she can quit whenever she wants,” I say and roll my eyes. “If she doesn’t get into a program, I’m going to have to make her leave. I won’t risk our son, I can’t. Does that make me a horrible person?”
“No, it doesn't. You have to think about the safety and well-being of your child. Some people just need tough love," she says as I nod. "Do you have any other questions or concerns?"
“No, ma’am.”
“Okay, I’ll be back around tomorrow to check on her progress.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
When she nods and leaves the room, I text the update to Sasha, then text Stella.
Me: Sorry about earlier. Ryan has been hiding a heroin addiction from me for... I don't even know how long, but I only found out about it a month ago. She failed to pick up our son from preschool—and not for the first time either—and they weren't able to get her on the phone. When I got home to tear into Ryan's ass, I found her having overdosed in her bedroom.
Stella: Damn, that sucks. I hope she will be okay.
Me: The doctor seems to think that she will be, but she and I have some hard decisions to make because I won’t allow her to hurt Jordan.
Stella: I don’t blame you. As women, we are supposed to be wired to put our children above all, and you do what you need to do if someone is compromising that.
Stella: Where are you at now?
Me: The hospital. I plan to stay here.
Stella: Alone?
Me: Apart from her and J I don’t have anyone.
Stella: Where is your little boy?
Me: Ryan’s foster mother still lives down the street from our house, she usually is our sitter. Ryan and Sasha are still pretty close. She is the only grandparent that he knows.
Stella: Oh, I see.
Stella:Well, get some rest and let me know if I can help.
Me: Thank you, I will.
I am just about to put my phone on the charger, grab my kindle and settle in for the night when a new message comes from a number I don’t recognize.
9682127491: How are you doing?
Must be a wrong number. Nobody ever calls or texts me unless it’s Ryan and I already talked to Stella and Sasha. I don't know who else would be texting me unless they're from work… but all those numbers are saved. I shrug and plug my phone up. A few minutes later my phone is chiming again.
9682127491: Reagan?
Me: Who is this?
9682127491: Who do you think it is?
Me: It’s been a long ass night, so why don’t you give me a hint.
9682127491: Just one?
Me: Sure, why not?
9682127491: Hmm… let’s see…. I’m sexy as fuck.
Me: Sorry that’s not ringing any bells. What else you got?
9682127491: Damn, baby! Savage!
Me: That’s me… ‘Cuz I’m a Gangsta!
9682127491: Bahahaha!
9682127491: Ok, how about I’m 6’3, dark brown hair, and green eyes?
No fucking way! Surely it’s not who I think it is! That would be impossible, I never gave him my phone number—a fact I have kicked myself repeatedly for. But maybe? Not likely, but fingers crossed, right.
Me: Uh, I think I might know now…
9682127491: Go on, baby, tell me who I am.
Me: Ok, so I met this gu
y a few weeks ago and I was super into him. I waited for him to come to me, but he never did… is this you, Micah?
9682127491: Who the fuck is Micah?
Me: I take it that this is not Micah?
9682127491: Fuck no, it’s not! Only a pussy ass motherfucker would have a name like Micah!
Me: Well, that escalated pretty damn quick. LOL! What happened to ‘baby’?
Crow: You just called me some other motherfucker’s name. The fuck, Reagan?
Me: *Shrugs* ROFL!
Crow: Who. The. Fuck. Is. Micah?
Oh, my God! I needed that. I’m surprised Ryan slept through the laugh that ripped from my mouth. Side note: Why does it seem like he’s jealous? I’m probably reading too much into it. He’s probably just being nice. I mean he was at the salon today when everything went down.
Me: *More giggles* *Shrugs*
Crow: Don’t make me ask again.
Me: Fuck, Crow! It was a joke. I’m just fucking with you... Jeez
Crow: Not a funny one, Reagan. You almost got his ass beat.
And there goes the little bit of laughter he had given me. I seriously don’t know who the fuck he thinks he’s talking crazy to. I’m not the one, especially today.
Me: Well, he’s fake so you will have to excuse me if I don’t give a fuck.
Me: Oh, and I’m sorry my joke wasn’t to your liking. I got to go. I don’t have the patience to deal with this alpha-hole male bullshit from someone who isn’t even a friend, let alone a boyfriend.
Crow: The fuck does that mean?
Me: It means goodbye.
Crow: No.
Me: No? No what?
Crow: This is not goodbye. That decision is not just yours to make.
Me: What? Do you hear yourself? I don’t need permission from anyone to say goodbye to somebody.
Crow: So you can try and make me jealous, but when I respond you just get to say goodbye? I don’t fucking think so.
Me: Jealous? I was joking with you. How is somebody like me going to make your Jason Momoa looking ass jealous?
Crow: Don’t.
Me: Don’t what?
Crow: Don’t talk down about yourself. You are quite possibly the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.
Me: Sure, Crow. If you say so.
Crow: Did you get your emergency taken care of?
What? I really think there is something off with this man. I shake my head and wonder if it would keep me away from him. Probably not, but it couldn't hurt to ask. Not him, obviously, crazy people never know they're crazy, right? I guess I could ask Stella—oh shit, what will she say about me talking with her son?
Me: Not even close. Ryan overdosed so I am posted up at Wickenburg General. Nice subject change, by the way. Does that mean you’re done acting like a crazy person then?
Crow: Smooth, right? *bouncing eyebrows*
Crow: Where is your son?
Me: He is spending the night with his MiMi.
Crow: His MiMi?
Me: Sasha Buckler, Ryan’s foster mother.
Crow: I’m glad you have a support system.
Me: It’s Ryan’s support system, but I am thankful all the same. Apart from Ryan and Jordan, I have no one.
Crow: You ok, baby?
Me: Fuck, Crow… I am so pissed off right now. I want her to wake up so I can choke the shit out of her. And hug her—but for me, not for her. I can’t believe I almost lost her tonight.
Crow: Is she in the ICU?
Me: No, she is in room 315.
Crow: Does she get to go home in the morning?
Me: They want her to stay for a couple of days for observation, but I highly doubt she will. I feel like I don’t think I know her anymore. How can someone change so drastically in such a short amount of time?
Me: Crow?
About an hour later, while I’m looking at my phone to see if Crow replied—spoiler alert: he didn’t—someone knocks on the door while pushing it open. When I make eye contact with the most beautiful face I have ever seen, a waterfall breaks free from my eyes.
He opens his arms with a sad look on his face as he says, “Come here, baby.” Before I have a conscious thought I am on my feet running straight into his arms. I don’t quite remember jumping into his arms but I would have had to, to get my arms around his neck and legs around his waist. He squeezes so tight that it makes me ache. Do I pull away? Hell to the fuck no. When I feel his lips at my temple, the world begins to right itself somehow.
He walks deeper into the room to sit in the chair I just vacated. “What are you doing here?”
“You said you needed a hug, plus I didn’t want you to be alone, baby.”
My heart swells in my chest. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I know I didn’t have to, baby, but I wanted to.” He smiles, wiping tears off my face.
“Thank you, Crow,” I rasp and wrap my arms around him tighter. “That means a lot. Especially after the argument we just had.”
“The first of many, I’m sure. Get used to me being where you are, baby. It will take a lot more than a few words to keep me from coming to you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. You think you could be okay with that, baby?”
“I really like it when you call me ‘baby’,” I whisper.
“Good.”
I smile and ask, “So what have you been up to since the last time I saw you?”
“I have spent the last month doing whatever I could to cross your path. And to think you were right under my nose the whole time." He shakes his head.
Confused, I ask, “Why?”
“To see whatever this is,” he says, motioning between the two of us. “The pull feels just as strong as it did then. Doesn’t seem to be going anywhere, so neither am I.”
I just nod, because what the hell do you say to a declaration like that?
Nothing, you say not a damn thing. You just enjoy the best hug of your life and that is what I did until about fifteen minutes later when Crow cleared his throat.
I pull back to look him in the eye when he asks, “You want to play a game?”
“What kind of game?”
“A get to know each other better game, like twenty questions… but we would take turns asking and answering.”
“Sure, but I assure you I am not that interesting.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” he says, giving me the stink eye.
I raise my hands in acquiescence. “You first.”
“Okay. Have you always lived in Wickenburg?”
“I have,” I reply. “Have you?”
“Yes. How old are you?”
“Twenty-three. You?”
“Thirty-two. Does the age gap bother you?”
“Not in the least. Does it bother you?”
“Wouldn’t be here if it did. I suspected you were younger, but it’s not like it’s a huge one. What’s your favorite food?”
“Tacos,” I say. “I could eat that shit every day. What's yours?"
“It's a toss-up. My Mexican side screams fajitas or enchiladas, but I love pizza. What do you do with your free time?”
“Pizza is J’s favorite, too. I spend most of my time with him, but when possible I like to go to Fallen, too. What about you?”
“I have recently discovered something that I want to spend all my time with,” he says, making me blush.
“Oh, that’s cool,” I say, sounding like a fucking idiot.
“What is your favorite movie?”
“Right now?” He nods. “Bohemian Rhapsody, hands down,” I say. “What about you?”
“Avengers: Infinity War and Avengers: Endgame.”
“Right!? That whole Marvel universe is kick-ass! Although I’m still fucking salty that M. Night Shyamalan’s Unbreakable, Psych, and Glass weren’t produced under the Marvel umbrella.”
“I don’t think I have seen those.”
I gasp dramatically and clutch my chest. “I feel like I don’t even know you!”
“Oh, that’s easy, The Shawshank Redemption. You?”
“I would have to go with Scarface. Cliché, I know.”
“You’re right, that is very cliché.”
“Smart-ass. What’s your favorite song?”
“Right now I would have to pick “I Hope” by Gabby Barrett or “Be Alright” by Dean Lewis. All-time, though, Van Morrison's "Into The Mystic" and Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody”,” I reply. “What’s yours?”
“Right now it would be “Radioactive” by Imagine Dragons but all time would be “The Unforgiven” by Metallica.”
“Respect… My dad was a big fan of Metallica. He was always playing their music.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, where are your folks?”
“They were killed in a car accident when I was nine. Hit head-on by a drunk driver."
“Damn, baby, I’m so sorry,” he says as he pulls me into a hug.
“It was a long time ago," I say with a small shrug. "My Grams raised me. But then she died of a heart attack when I was nineteen."
“So you really were all alone then?” I just nod and lay my head on his shoulder. “Until now.”
God, he smells so good. Like mint, leather, and the wind. With a hint of something sweet. I wonder how hard I would have to ask to get him to give his shirt to me? “What’s your name, Crow?”
He opens his mouth to answer at the same time “Rea…” is rasped behind me.
I hop off Crow’s lap and spin towards Ryan. I feel Crow stand behind me and wrap an arm around my waist, giving me more support than I think he realizes. I link our fingers together and lead him towards the door.
“I’ll be right back, Ryan.” Once we are in the hallway I turn to Crow and hug his waist tight and look up at him. “Will you think I’m being a bitch if I ask you to go so I can deal with Ryan?”
“No, baby.”
“Good,” I say. “What’s about to go down in there is between me and her. Her willingness to have this conversation is going to be slim as it is, but in front of you she will most likely clam up.” I drop my head to his chest to leech some of his energy for the coming battle because I don’t see how this could possibly end well.