Burn (L.A. Untamed #2)

by Ruth Clampett

  I vaguely hear gasps around the room.

  “Jesus,” Bobo chants. “He’s her husband?”

  “Yes,” I wail. “You gotta save him.”

  “We’re doing our best, McNeill,” Scott replies breathlessly. “Heading down, ten-four,” he says into the radio.

  There’s a rumbling voice which breaks through my daze. “Someone get her out of here!”

  “Don’t you fucking dare,” I growl, warning all of them.

  I’m running my hands through Mikey’s hair over and over and chanting commands to him. I’m the only one he ever really listened to, so I’m making sure he’s going to hear me loud and clear.

  “Fight, Mikey! Fight!” I cry out as he’s lifted to be evacuated. Right before they carry him out I look up through glazed eyes and my gaze connects with Joe. He’s staring at me like I’m a stranger, and a deranged one at that. It’s all too much being in Mikey’s bedroom with my lover trying to save him. I blink several times and reach out to the bedpost to steady myself. When I look up again Joe has turned away as they carry Mikey out of the room. I rush up behind them. “Hurry! Hurry!”

  They ignore me, being well-trained to stay focused and not drawn into the drama of freaked out family members. I’m now one of them, on the outside looking in.

  The tunnel of boxes and furniture we rush past have new meaning now that I realize that Mikey tried to fit our entire house into this small, bleak apartment. All the things he loved so much, tumbled together like a discount chain’s sorry warehouse. Our life together once had meaning and now it’s just a cardboard jungle of lost dreams.

  When the ambulance with Mikey, the attendant, Scott, and Joe pulls away the sirens ring in my ears as I retch into the gutter, my dinner coming up violently mixed with my tears and snot. When I’m done Jim hands me a towel and bottle, so I can rinse out my mouth and wipe my face. I nod with gratitude.

  “Damn shame,” I hear Bobo say to Jim.

  I silently follow them onto the truck with my head down.

  We’re almost to the station when I turn to Jim. “Can you drop me off at the hospital? I don’t think I can drive right now.”

  He glances nervously over at Bobo. “Sure thing, Trisha.”

  “Thank you,” I whisper as I close my eyes and focus, praying for Mikey the rest of the ride.

  “When was the last time you talked to him?” Jim asks as we pull out of the station driveway in his SUV.

  My brain is so numb I can’t even remember. When? When? I left him that message recently, but he never responded. Then I recall my birthday and Mikey showing up with my favorite flowers and the awkward and angry scene that followed. “It was weeks ago. I should’ve realized that something was up. He wasn’t getting back to anyone and he’s normally really on top of stuff.”

  “Weird,” he says, probably just trying to be conciliatory.

  “He told me that he didn’t want a divorce.”

  “Damn, that’s messed up. What did he expect, considering?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know. Apparently he was conflicted.”

  “Shit like this ain’t always black and white,” Jim murmurs.

  I nod silently.

  We’re almost to the hospital when I realize that I can’t be alone. I call my brother, Paul, and he assures me he’s on his way.

  Jim hesitates when he drops me off at Providence Saint Joseph’s entrance. “You okay, McNeill? I can wait with you ’til your brother gets here.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate it but you should get back to the station. I’ll be okay.”

  Since I’m in my gear I play it professional as I approach the admissions desk so I’m directed right back into emergency. I’m about to pass through the doors when Joe approaches from the other side. He puts his hand on my shoulder and pulls me aside.

  His expression is troubled, and his face haggard. “About back at the scene . . . I’m sorry about snapping at you.”

  “Don’t be. You were doing your job, Joe. It was necessary.”

  His shoulders soften a little, sagging down.

  “What’s happening now?” I ask, nodding toward the ER.

  “They just finished pumping his stomach, and he’s still sedated. He was breathing faintly before we intubated him, so I imagine his brain is okay.”

  I shudder. “Thank God.”

  He nods and looks down at me with a concerned expression. “How are you doing?”

  “Not so good. I’m feeling really shitty . . . like why did I have to be such a bitch to him? If I’d known he was so frail—”

  “But you didn’t know,” Joe points out.

  “Still . . .”

  Joe seems pissed and folds his arms over his chest. “What about what he did to you, Trish?”

  My head drops and I shrug. “I know. I haven’t forgotten.”

  “I haven’t either,” he says.

  I don’t want to think about all that right now so I focus back on the situation. “Once he’s stable, do you think he’ll be going to a psych ward?”

  “Probably, at least for a few days. They have to evaluate him first.”

  I jam my hands in my back pockets. “You should get back to the station.”

  “I don’t want to leave you here. He’s in good hands, Trish. Come back with me. You need to be around friends right now.”

  I shake my head. “I can’t leave him here alone.”

  Joe studies at me, his eyes clouded with concern. “What about you? This has been a fucking nightmare.”

  Straightening up. I square my shoulders back. “Joe,” I say in a tone that warns him to let it go. He can say whatever he wants, I’m not leaving Mikey here alone.

  He glances over my shoulder and squints and I turn to see Paul walking toward us.

  “You called your brother?” Joe asks with a frown.

  “He said he’d stay with me.”

  “I see,” Joe mutters, sounding hurt, like he should be the one.

  “I knew you had to get back to work.”

  Paul steps up to us and slides his arm over my shoulder and pulls me against him, then reaches out to shake hands with Joe. He looks pale, his hair uncombed and wild. He must’ve gotten out of bed to come here.

  “How’s he doing?” he asks.

  “He’s stable,” answers Joe. He rubs his chin roughly and studies me one last time before looking up at Paul. “Well, now that I know Trish is in good hands, I’m heading back to the station.”

  I step close enough to him to give him a hug. When his arms tighten around me, it’s the first warmth I’ve physically felt since everything unraveled after seeing Mikey and my doomed wedding picture.

  “Thank you, Joe,” I whisper.

  He silently nods, tips his head to Paul, and then walks out the door. He doesn’t look back and I watch him as he descends until he fades into the darkness of the moonless night.

  After I check in at the nurse’s station I rejoin Paul. He glances around and then gestures toward the waiting area. I follow him and we take a seat on the side of the room as far from the droning television as possible. I couldn’t give a damn about the evening news. My life is dramatic enough.

  “I made Elle stay home. She wanted to come,” Paul says as he squeezes my shoulder. “She’s worried about you.”

  “I’m okay. It’s Mikey I’m worried about.”

  “Oh, so are we, Trish. I mean, holy hell. I never would’ve expected this from him. He’s full of jacked-up surprises lately.”

  I nod, and lean forward with my face in my hands and my elbows on my knees. “I can’t help but feel like this is my fault. He could never handle it when I was angry with him, and I’ve had nothing but rage since our marriage blasted apart.”

  “But you’ve had every right to be furious. He lied and cheated on you.”

  I take a sharp breath at his brutally frank words. “Yet, he keeps saying he wants us to try again. What’s going on in that head of his?”

  “Being sexually attracted to men, an
d being okay with being gay, are two different things,” Paul remarks, as he rubs the back of his neck, a heavy sadness in his eyes.

  My brother is a compassionate person and I’ve never appreciated that quality in him more than tonight.

  Maybe it’s because I’m focused on Joe now, or maybe the passing of time has enabled me to look at things differently, but I can think about Mikey’s confusion with perspective, like from a distance.

  I look down at the faint mark of lighter skin from where my wedding band used to be. “I can imagine that coming out wouldn’t have been easy for him. We never talked about it, but his dad was very conservative and probably wouldn’t have accepted him if he was openly gay. Mikey always seemed scared of disappointing him.”

  “It was just about a year ago that he passed away, right?”

  I nod. “Heart attack. Now that I think of it, there was a shifting in Mikey after his dad’s death. He seemed a little lighter.”

  “Maybe all of that led to this.”

  I shrug. “Maybe.” I feel a sharp sting at the idea that Mikey may have chosen to be with men much earlier if his dad weren’t in the picture. Was I always just a beard?

  “So how’s Joe taking all of this?” Paul asks.

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s obvious he’s in love with you, and now here you are, focused on your ex’s well-being. That can’t be easy for him.”

  My eyebrows knit together as I try to imagine how I’d feel in Joe’s shoes. I’d feel like an outsider, that’s what. I kind of regret not asking him to stay.

  “I hope he can understand why I need to be here.”

  Paul gives me a hard look. “I’m going to be straight with you, Trish. You’re dealing with a really complicated situation here considering that Mike is unstable. You and he weren’t even talking before last night, and the divorce had the potential of getting really ugly . . . and now you’re trying to take care of him.”

  He shakes his head. “You’re in a new relationship. If this was Elle and her ex I wouldn’t want her here, and I sure as hell wouldn’t want her helping her unstable ex like some friggin’ Florence Nightingale. Take heed, Sis. Pay attention to your future, because Joe’s your future, and Mikey’s your complicated past.”

  “I’ll try, Paul. I promise, I’ll try.”

  We’ve been sitting for about a couple of hours, nursing our Styrofoam cups of lukewarm coffee laced with Amaretto Coffee Mate and watching some late night show when one of the ER doctors approaches us.

  “Mrs. Castallani?”

  “Yes,” I say, standing. No point correcting her about my surname at this point.

  “Your husband’s conscious. Are you ready to see him?”

  I smooth down the wrinkles in my uniform slacks. “Yes, thank you.”

  I look over at Paul but he gestures for me to go ahead. “I’ll wait here for you.”

  The attendant pulls back the suspended curtain, and I still for a moment adjusting to the image of Mikey, looking frail and defeated, hooked up to a plethora of beeping monitors. He blinks several times as if he can’t believe I’m here.

  “Patricia,” he barely whispers, and my breath catches to hear him call me what he did when we first met.

  I force a smile on my face, even though I don’t have the energy to smile. “Hey you. What the hell were you doing, scaring us like that?”

  His gaze drops down and he tries to lick his parched lips. “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m sorry too,” I say with the most gentle tone I can muster.

  He tries to clear his voice, but it still sounds like it’s been rubbed with sandpaper. “I’ve just been so sad and I didn’t want to be sad anymore.”

  “Well, dude, you know I’m not going to put up with that.” I shake my head at him.

  His eyes brighten the tiniest bit. “No, I suppose you won’t.”

  “Did you know our station would be the one to respond?”

  His eyes cloud with confusion. “Who reported it? I was wondering why I wasn’t dead.”

  I feel a surge of everything from acute irritation to relief. “That’s not funny, Mikey. You almost did die. What the hell?”

  “Would you have been sorry if I’d died?”

  “Would you stop with this shit! Of course I would’ve been sorry . . . gutted. Do you really think I’m that heartless?”

  He closes his eyes for a few seconds, and when he opens them he looks exhausted. “No, I just thought that I didn’t matter anymore.”

  “You matter, you big lug.”

  He gives me a half-smile. He always used to laugh when I called him that. “And you care?”

  I narrow my eyes and give him a stern look. “Of course I do.”

  He closes his eyes again, this time for about a minute, and just when I think he’s asleep, he opens his eyes half-mast. “I’m so tired, and so damn sore. Everything hurts.” He weakly runs his hand up his neck and tries to swallow.

  I walk over by the side of his bed. “I’m tired too, Mikey. I‘m going to go crash now that I know you’re going to be all right. I’ll be back in the morning, okay?” I reach over and smooth out his hair, then rest my hand on his cold forehead.

  “Promise?” he whispers.

  “Yes. I promise.”

  Chapter 19: The Return of Sasquatch

  A really strong woman accepts the war she went through and is ennobled by her scars. ~ Carly Simon

  The next morning I feel like shit . . . like a truck ran over me, backed up, ran over me again, and repeated several times more. As I fire up the coffeemaker I wonder what in the hell I’m going to do.

  I sit at the table nursing my first cup of java with my heavy head resting in my hands. After pouring myself the second cup I decide to call Jeanine. Like usual I have to go through the receptionist, her secretary, and her legal assistant before I get her.

  “Still haven’t heard from him, woman,” she offers, assuming I’m calling for an update on my divorce.

  “Yeah, well you won’t hear from him today either. He’s in the hospital on suicide watch.”

  She snaps her phone off speaker. “What the hell?”

  “He overdosed last night, Jeanine. Pills.” I blink back tears, surprised by my anguish. Why is it hitting me in full force now?

  “Mother of Jesus, how did you find out? Why didn’t you call me?”

  “It was late. We got the call at the station. I had no idea it was him until the guys had already intubated him.”

  “Oh, Trisha, that’s how you found out? On a call? I can’t believe it. What was he thinking?”

  “I don’t know. But now we know why he wasn’t responding to our calls.”

  “How is he physically?”

  “I think we got to him early enough that he’s going to be okay. They still have to test him for liver damage. As for his mindset, I just don’t know.”

  “What about Joe? How is he handling this?”

  I huff. “What about him? Why is everyone worried about Joe?”

  “Oh, don’t be pissed,” she warns me. “I’m worried about the whole lot of you. Well, so much for wrapping this divorce up quickly. If nothing else, he’s going to need your health insurance after this stunt. Emergency room visits and ambulance runs are bank breakers.”

  “Right,” I say, resenting having to even think about shit like health insurance.

  “You working today?” she asks.

  “No, I was at the hospital really late and I’m going to call Chief next. I’m going back to check on him this morning.”

  Jeanine doesn’t respond and the air is thick with all the things I’m sure she wants to say to me. I’ve got to give her credit, this is one of the only times I can remember that she’s held her tongue.

  “I just have to Jeanine. I’m a firefighter, and what do we do? We save people’s lives.”

  “I get it, my friend. I understand your instincts to save him, to fix him. You’re that good of a person. But just remember that you aren’t the one
who’s going to fix him.”

  “But if not me, who? His mom is afraid to leave her house.”

  Jeanine lets out a long-suffering sigh, laced with frustration. “You’re getting a free pass today. But if this keeps going on I’ll be all up in your business, woman. Do we have an understanding?”

  I sigh back. “Yes,” I agree, knowing that my understanding something and my following through are two different things.

  “Okay good. Then I’m heading to my meeting. I’ll check on you later.”

  I don’t set the phone down after we disconnect, but instead dial our captain.

  “Captain Handley,” he answers. I feel relieved to hear his gruff voice.

  “Chief, it’s McNeill. I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier—”

  “No worries Trisha. Joe filled me in. I’m damn sorry you’re dealing with this.”

  “Thanks. I think I’m still in shock.”

  “Of course. I see you’re off the next two days, I’m sure you’ll need that time. Just give me a call if you need more time after that.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “And is there anything else we can do? I called my friend who oversees the ER at Saint Jo’s to keep an eye out for him.”

  My heart swells. “I really appreciate that. I’m going to the hospital now. He needs help, and I want make sure the right decisions are being made. The thing is, I understand him better than anyone.”

  Or at least I thought I did.

  “Of course. Please let us know if you need anything, Trisha.”

  “Thank you, I will.”

  After I set the phone down my head feels so heavy, crammed full of thoughts and feelings, and I lean over and rest my cheek on the cool wood of the tabletop. I let out a long sigh. Things had been going good for me—better than good, thanks to Joe. And now Mikey’s cry for help has turned everything upside down again. I sigh once more knowing I have no idea what I’ll face when I return to the hospital.

  Maybe Mikey woke up with regret and a humble determination to get back on his feet. Maybe he’s gone off the edge and they’ve already transferred him to the psych ward to be monitored. As well as I thought I knew him, it’s weird realizing that I’m just not sure what to expect.