by Lolita Lopez
Once the chief had taken the jar of bullets from Eddie’s hand, it had all been over for O’Halloran. The dick was toast. Unfortunately, he’d probably take his team with him. For now, the guys were suspended with pay pending investigation. Sad, too, because there were some good men on that team.
“I should get you something for the swelling,” Mick said, his voice a bit a gravelly. He rubbed his face and sat up in the chair.
“No.” Eddie reached over and squeezed his arm. “It’s fine. You need to rest.”
“And you need to have that X-rayed, but you won’t.” Mick smiled and shook his head. “Let me grab an ice pack and some meds.”
Eddie knew better than to argue with Mick when he was in doctor mode. He stood up and checked Whitney’s IVs and the monitors before leaving the room. A few minutes later Mick returned, slapped a couple of pills into Eddie’s hand, and dropped an ice pack in his lap. “Break that, and give it a shake.”
Mick walked over to the sink and filled the pink plastic cup from the pitcher set. He grabbed a washcloth from a cabinet and brought both over to him. “Here.”
Eddie accepted the cup of water and tossed the pills into his mouth. He swallowed the cool liquid and set aside the cup. Following Mick’s orders, he broke the plastic ice pack and shook up the contents. It felt instantly cold.
“Give me your hand.” Mick prodded the swollen knuckles and made a noise. “Probably not broken, but if that swelling doesn’t go down, you will go for an X-ray.”
“Yes, Doctor.” Eddie watched Mick drape the washcloth over his knuckles to protect the skin and then placed the ice pack on top of it. “Thanks.”
Mick cupped Eddie’s jaw and brushed his thumb over his cheek. He slid back down into his chair and gazed at Whitney. “She’s doing okay. I mean, I realize how this must look to someone who doesn’t see people in dire straits every day. But, really, Eddie.” He turned his head and gave an encouraging smile. “She’s doing well.”
“If you say so,” he said, a tad unconvinced. “She looks like hell to me. Do you think she’ll wake soon?”
Mick shook his head. “We’ll keep her sedated for the night, probably most of tomorrow. Allison did a lot of work on that right lung. Keeping her out and on the ventilator is the best thing for her heart and lungs. Let them rest, you know?”
Eddie nodded. “Makes sense.”
“In the morning, we should take turns going home and taking showers and changing. Tomorrow is my day off anyway, so I’ll be here.”
“I’m off shift for three days,” Eddie said, his mind recalling his schedule. “We’re going to have to take time off, though, aren’t we?”
Mick nodded. “While she’s in the hospital, I can pop in and out during the day to check in on her and you can come in after work and spend the evenings with her. Once she’s out of here, she’s going to need help, especially with all this going on,” he added, his fingers drawing a line down the center of his chest.
Eddie’s stomach had rolled when he’d seen the incision between her breasts. The reality had hit him hard. Mick and Allison had had their hands in Whitney’s chest. They’d patched up her lung and a whole host of other organs.
“How are we going to tell her about the ovary?” Eddie cringed at the thought of telling Whitney she’d lost such an important piece of herself. Her spleen had been removed, too, but honestly, who missed their spleen? But an ovary? A woman would definitely miss her ovary.
“The same way we tell her about everything else,” Mick said matter-of-factly. “We don’t make a big deal out of it or freak her out. Yes, her fertility will be diminished by the loss, but she still has one good ovary, and the repair to her uterine artery was good.”
“Will it be dangerous for her to get pregnant?” Eddie worried about her future. She’d made it abundantly clear she wanted to be a mother.
“Not once she’s healed.” Mick scratched his chin. “Daniela”-he looked over-“Dr. Cardenas, did a consult while we were in the OR. She’s a damned fine OB/GYN. She tells me that in a year or so, Whitney’s risk would be very low. She’ll be monitored a bit more than other women, but there’s no reason to anticipate problems.”
“I’m glad,” Eddie said with a breath of relief. “I want her to have everything she wants.”
Mick smiled and reached over to take his hand. “I know you do.”
Eddie got quiet as guilt gnawed at him. “I feel like a lot of this is my fault.”
Mick frowned. “You’re fault? How the hell do you figure that?”
“I should have spoken up about O’Halloran. I should have asked the chief to make him wait before rushing into that damn bank.” Eddie swallowed hard. “I shouldn’t have blown up the other night. Maybe she wouldn’t have gone to the bank. Maybe she’d have been out having lunch with you or me.”
“Or maybe she’d have stepped onto a crosswalk and caught a bus in the face.” Mick scowled and shook his head. “Eddie, shit happens. This isn’t your fault. It’s not my fault. It was a bunch of dumb-ass robbers and a jackass SWAT guy. Let them shoulder the blame.”
Eddie smiled at Mick. He always knew exactly what to say. All those worries and regrets from earlier in the day hit him right in the solar plexus. Today he’d faced the stark possibility of Whitney never knowing how much he loved her. Never again, he decided, and leaned over with his good hand to interlace his fingers with Mick’s.
“I love you.” The words came out a bit more gruffly than he’d intended, but they were out.
Mick grinned. “I know you do.” He pecked Eddie’s cheek. “I love you, too.”
“Well, don’t get all mushy on me,” Eddie said with a little growl. He wasn’t big on public displays of affection.
Mick snorted and rolled his eyes. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Eddie chuckled softly and settled back against his chair. His anxiety for Whitney had lowered substantially. She wasn’t out of the woods yet, but he had reason to hope she soon would be. Mick’s assessment of the situation calmed him. He trusted in Mick’s professional judgment.
Eddie inhaled deeply and enjoyed the sensation of Mick’s fingers against his. He leaned his head against the headrest and let his eyes close. For the first time in almost a week, Eddie was surrounded by the two people who owned his heart. It wasn’t as nice as sharing a bed, of course.
But it was close enough.
* * * *
Whitney struggled against a weird blanket of confusion. She hovered in a dreamlike state, half awake yet still half asleep. Her eyelids fluttered. Every blinking movement scratched her dry eyes. Bright light burned her retinas when she finally opened her eyes fully. She winced and closed them again.
As the fog lifted, Whitney became aware of a dull, deep ache in her chest. The annoying beep of a machine drilled into her eardrums. There was a strange low hissing sound, too.
And something in her throat.
Panic gripped her belly. Her eyes flew open as she raised her hand to slap at her face. She encountered a strange tugging sensation along her elbow and looked at her arm. An IV line ran from the crook of her elbow, over the rail of a bed, and up to a pole. Wild and afraid and still confused, she glanced around the room. The thing in her throat hurt and made her gag. She wanted it out. Now.
“Whitney,” Mick’s calming voice filtered through the fear. “Don’t do that. Just relax.”
Her gaze whipped to the left side of the bed where he sat. Slowly, Mick rose from the chair next to her bed. He brushed hair from her face and smiled down at her. “We’re weaning you off the ventilator, sweetheart. I know it’s uncomfortable, but it won’t be much longer. Maybe an hour or so.” He kissed her forehead. “You’re doing so well, honey.”
She tried to swallow but gagged again. Her eyes watered. That panicky feeling punched her gut. She didn’t know if she could last another hour.
Mick placed his cheek against hers and stroked her face. His lips hovered near her ear. “I’m right here, Whitney. Breathe deep throu
gh your nose. Relax your throat.”
Even in the frustration of that moment, Whitney thought of how terribly tawdry that sounded. Mick must have recognized it too because he chuckled. “Sounds like something Eddie would say, huh?”
Whitney would have laughed, but that damn tube down her throat made it impossible. She clutched Mick’s shoulder, her fingers curling in the blue fabric of his scrubs as she held on for dear life and prayed the doctors would decide to remove the tube soon.
Mick talked in that soothing voice of his. He told her about coworkers who had come to visit and the plants Eddie had taken home and repotted for her. He gave her the latest gossip from her favorite bloggers and the rundown on the missed episode of her vampire show. Somehow she made it through the ventilator weaning, and just when she thought she wouldn’t make it another minute, a new doctor entered the room with a young woman in tow.
The doctor smiled and introduced himself. “I’m Dr. Penkala. This is Terri, the floor’s respiratory tech. You’re doing beautifully, Miss Montcrief. The ventilator hasn’t kicked in once to breathe for you, so we’re going to pull this tube, okay?”
Near desperation, Whitney nodded. Mick stepped aside to let Terri squeeze in beside the bed. She punched some keys on the ventilator’s screen and started unhooking tubes. Whitney closed her eyes, not really wanting to see any more of this than necessary, and waited. There was an odd sensation in her throat as if something had deflated.
A few seconds later, Dr. Penkala instructed her to breathe deep and then cough as the tube was removed. Someone put a pillow against her chest as if to brace her. Whitney did as told and coughed as the tube slithered out of her poor, abused throat. Discomfort was an understatement. She gagged and nearly puked as the tube came free. Inhaling deeply, Whitney felt that strange ache in her chest.
Dr. Penkala stuck the business end of his stethoscope in his ears and leaned forward to listen to her chest. She glanced down for the first time and saw the ugly incision mostly covered by the ugly hospital gown. Her gaze shot to Mick’s face. She hoped her eyes telegraphed how upset she was. What the fuck is this?
“Don’t try to talk just yet,” Mick said and rubbed her arm. “Your vocal chords have been through a lot. Let them rest.”
Whitney nodded and made a drinking motion. Mick glanced at Dr. Penkala who shrugged. “You know the drill, Mick.” He gestured to Whitney. “I’ll let you fill her in on the surgeries and recovery. I’ll come back later and answer any questions you have, Whitney.”
Again she bobbed her head. Without being able to speak, there wasn’t much else to do. The doctor smiled and left the room. Terri dragged the unplugged ventilator behind her as she exited, leaving Mick and Whitney alone.
He poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the nearby stand and held it to her lips. “Small sips. We don’t want you to choke or vomit, okay? You have to take it nice and easy the next few days.”
She took tiny drinks and let the water roll around in her parched mouth before swallowing very carefully. Her throat burned. Maybe this drinking thing wasn’t such a good idea.
Mick set aside the cup and sat on the edge of her bed. He took her hand in his and petted her in a comforting motion. “You’ve been in the hospital for five days. Three in ICU and yesterday morning we brought you down here to the cardiac step-down unit. If everything goes well, you’ll be out of here in another day, and then you’ll head to one of the private rooms for a week or so.”
His fingers skimmed her cheek. “Whitney, do you remember the bank robbery? The shooting?” When she nodded, he continued. “You were hit three times. Eddie arrived on scene after the first SWAT team breached the bank. He rode with you all the way to the hospital and made sure you were brought here. Do you remember that?”
She experienced blurry flashbacks. Eddie kneeling at her side. Eddie pushing hard on her oozing belly wound. Eddie holding her hand and begging her to stay awake. Eddie terrified but strong.
Whitney nodded again, and Mick told her about the extent of her injuries and the surgery required. Allison, the cardio goddess as he called her, had saved her battered right lung, but he’d had to take her spleen and repair some other damage in her belly.
“Your uterine artery was nicked, and we had to take your right ovary, Whitney.” The quiver of horror stabbing her belly must have shown on her face because he quickly added, “The surgery was very successful, and I took my time. I had one of my colleagues, a highly respected OB/GYN, come into the OR for a consult. She is positive you’ll heal very well and be able to have children.”
Relief flooded her system. For a second there, she’d imagined the very worst outcome. Considering she’d taken three bullets, Whitney figured she’d come out of this okay. She still had both of her lungs, one ovary, and her uterus. Who needed a spleen anyway, right?
She touched her sore chest. In a strained whisper, she asked, “How long?”
“Before it heals? Six to eight weeks is what we tell people. You’ll be able to return to work part-time around then. Full time by twelve weeks, I’d guess. No heavy lifting or overexertion, obviously.” Before she could protest, he held up his hand. “And, yes, Eddie already talked to Delilah. We know you’ll probably have to miss the fall shows in New York and Paris, but that’s just tough, sweetheart. Besides, Delilah agrees your focus should be on your health. It’s not as if there won’t be more shows in the spring.”
Whitney pouted. She didn’t like the thought of everyone else making decisions for her. Yes, she’d been shot, but she wasn’t an invalid. Her gaze drifted down the hospital bed. Well. Mostly.
“Don’t look like that, Whit. We’re just trying to make this easier for you. We don’t want you stressing about anything.” Mick checked his watch. “I really need to get back down to the ER. Eddie will be here when he gets off shift.” He bent down and kissed her forehead. “You’ll get some more pain meds soon and likely fall right back asleep. Enjoy the rest while you can.”
Mick stood up and unwound the call button from the rail. He moved it close to her hand. “Punch this button to call for a nurse. This one works the TV if you get bored.” He pressed a lingering kiss to her forehead. “I love you.”
She closed her eyes as the warmth of his words settled over her. “I love you, too.”
Mick pulled back and gazed down into her eyes. “I’m so glad you’re awake.”
Whitney touched his cheek and smiled weakly. She watched him leave, his reluctance clear as he hesitated in the doorway. He waved before disappearing from sight. Whitney stared at the empty doorway for a while as she tried to wrap her mind around everything Mick had told her. The realization of just how close she’d come to death sent a chill down her spine.
But she couldn’t focus on that. She had to think about getting better, about getting out of this bed and out of the hospital, about getting back to work and back into the arms of the two men she loved so desperately.
But first, she thought sleepily, a much-needed nap.
Whitney woke some time later. Her gaze flitted to the windows. The blinds were still open, but it was dark outside. A rustle to her right caught her attention. She glanced over and found Eddie rising from his chair. He set aside a magazine, probably one filled with football players and bikini-clad models. His happy smile sent a swarm of butterflies through her belly.
He gently eased onto the bed and interlaced his fingers with hers. Her gaze fell to his hand, and she gasped. There were splotches of purple and yellow over his knuckles. “Your hand,” she croaked in shock.
Eddie glanced at it and shrugged. “It’s nothing, Whitney.” She gave him the look, and he laughed. “Really. It’s nothing.”
She sighed, realizing he wasn’t going to tell her what person or wall he’d punched. She touched his face. He looked so tired. Knowing Eddie, he’d probably worried the whole time she was unconscious. “You’re going to give yourself an ulcer.”
He made a so-what face. “You’re worth it.”
His
jaw clenched and unclenched a few times. Stunned, Whitney realized he was about to cry. “Eddie,” she whispered and caressed his cheek.
He swallowed hard and turned his face so his lips were against her palm. He sucked in a shuddery breath and said, “Whitney, I love you so much.” He exhaled loudly. “When I saw you there, bleeding on the floor, I couldn’t stop thinking about how stupid I’d been. I freaked out when you panicked and almost let you die without telling you how I feel.”
Eddie shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “I need to be more like Mick, I guess. I need to, you know, communicate and all that crap.”
Whitney snorted. “Something like that.”
He chuckled and then sobered almost instantly. “I hate that it took something so drastic, so…terrible to make me realize how badly I’d fucked things up.”
“Well, I’m not exactly blameless in all this, you know?” Whitney spoke softly so as not to aggravate her still-irritated throat. “I was all crazy emotional and panicked and then closed both of you out.” She smiled as her head moved side to side. “Poor Mick! He tried so hard to play referee, but we’re both so hardheaded.”
“Probably why he loves us,” Eddie said with a laugh. Then a bit more serious, he added, “I am so glad you’re going to be okay. I really thought…I worried…”
When he couldn’t find the right words, Whitney squeezed his hand and smiled reassuringly. “I know. I thought the same thing.” Then smiling, she added, “Just remember I said I love you first.”
He frowned. “When?”
“At the bank.”
His jaw clenched and relaxed as if he was trying hard not to get emotional. “When you were dying on the floor, I saw your lips working but couldn’t make out the words.” He gulped. “I had no idea.”
Clearly needing to change the subject to something less heavy, Eddie cleared his throat and inhaled. “Mick had to go home tonight. The hospital wants him sleeping at home so they can be sure he’s well-rested.” Eddie rolled his eyes. “Because I’m sure he’s sleeping so well all alone in the house.”