He chuckles. “If you guys can’t find a way to avoid the eighteen-month incarceration, I might stay. That doesn’t mean I have to put up with stupid people. I just finished a job and flew directly to this forsaken place, and the guy tried sending me to a shelter because I don’t look the part. How are you supposed to look when you come into this hotel?”
“Less bloody,” I offer. “You look like you should be at a hospital. Do you need medical attention?”
He looks at his arm that’s wrapped with a piece of cloth that is bloody.
“I was going to look for Skittles and see if she can patch me up,” he says.
“What does she do for a living?”
It guts me that he knows more about her than I do. From what I gathered during the meeting, she travels, and she might practice medicine. I’m not sure about her specialty, though. Maybe pediatrics … but she travels. I want to know more—actually, everything—about her.
He grins. “I can’t tell you.”
“Why did she come from the jungle?”
“Fuck if I know, but even if I knew, it’s none of your business,” he answers.
“How about the kidnapping shit she said?”
“Dude, you’re going to have to talk to her,” he insists.
“You were involved. It’s your story, too,” I retort.
“Classified,” he answers and smirks. “Listen, Skittles is under my protection. You already hurt her a lot so stay away from her. Do you understand me?”
“Is that a warning?”
He nods and walks away. I follow right behind him.
“What do you want, Hayes?” He asks, heading toward the exit.
“You need medical attention,” I insist.
“Mr. Aldridge,” Nick, the guy at the front desk, calls.
We both stop and turn around. “Yeah?”
“Are we expecting more … people like them?” He looks at Vance in disgust.
“Do something, or I’ll do it, and it won’t be pretty,” Vance says with a warning look.
“Take the day off. We’ll talk tomorrow about your attitude, Nick,” I say, hoping I’m doing this correctly.
There’s no way we can function without Nick. He’s the manager—and, apparently, the only person William trusted in this town. That should be a red flag. If he’s anything like my father, he might be just another asshole. Still, I don’t know how to run a hotel. Henry does, but he might be packing his bag right now and flying out of here without even batting an eyelash.
“But I’m the manager,” he protests.
“You tried to kick two of the owners out of the place because of their looks,” I respond. “Either you change the way you treat our guests, or you’re out.”
Before I can say anything, Blaire walks into the hotel carrying a hiking backpack. I had no idea she was outside—or that she hikes.
“Your blood or someone else’s?” she asks and then I realize that she’s unwrapping Vance’s arm. “This doesn’t look good at all.”
“A bullet grazed me,” he answers, flinching, as Blaire touches him lightly.
“Let’s go to my room. I’m going to have to do more than clean the wound,” she says. “I went to the car for my medical kit.”
As we walk by the front desk, she looks at Nick and says, “Find me rubbing alcohol. Do you guys have a clinic in town?”
Nick shakes his head. “The doctor’s office is on Main Street, but he only works Tuesdays and Thursdays. He’s retiring. There’s one in Happy Springs.”
“It’s not that bad,” I tell Blaire. “I’m sure we can fix him.”
Actually, I should say: I hope we can fix him, if not we can rush him to Portland. Honestly, it’s hard to tell since I don’t know how much blood he lost. I don’t think we have the equipment to do a blood transfusion. Fuck, I don’t even know if any of us share the same blood type.
“Well, send over lots of clean towels and chicken soup. Two chicken soups, please. I’m hungry, too,” she requests.
Nick looks at me and I say, “You heard the lady. Also send a gallon of orange juice, vanilla ice cream, whip cream, chocolate sprinkles, and strawberries, too.”
“That’s not part of the menu,” he tells me.
“Find everything and send it upstairs now, if you want to keep your job.”
Then, I catch up with Blaire and Vance who are about to board the elevator. I have so many questions for her, and we need to fix my brother.
Ten
Hayes
“What were you doing? It’s time to retire and do something else. We worry about you,” Blaire talks to the guy who happens to be a foot taller than her as if he is a little kid.
Who exactly is this ‘we’ she speaks about? Are they friends?
“Someone has to do it. It might as well be me,” he answers, as we walk out of the elevator and toward her suite.
She’s right across from the one Henry, Pierce, and I are occupying for the time being. Yesterday when we arrived, we went to the old house because there was no point in using a room at The Lodge. Except, the place is a dump. We have to hire someone to renovate it if we plan to occupy it soon. Thirty days might not be enough time to make it comfortable enough for all of us.
I don’t even know how many people are going to stay there. We have eight rooms. Henry said that if he had to move, his assistant would have to come along. Arden needs his own room, too. Pierce is going to have to share with his estranged wife. I don’t care if they kill each other during their stay.
That takes care of one of us, right?
“Help him take a shower,” Blaire orders.
“The wound?”
“I don’t think it is deep enough that he lost too much blood, but just cleaning around the area won’t be enough. I want him to shower before we stitch him. Where were you, Vance?”
“Classified,” he answers her question.
She rolls her eyes and grunts. “Ugh, did you at least call your mom?”
“I will once I have a decent meal and some sleep. I don’t want to lie to her because I don’t want to listen to her lecturing me about my job. You’ve done plenty for her.”
Helping him into the shower is easy. “Do you have any clothes?” I ask, looking at the pile of rags he dropped.
“Nope,” he answers, as I put his bloody clothes in a laundry bag.
“Blaire, can you ask Mills if he has a spare change of clothing for Vance, please?” I request.
“I don’t have his number,” she yells from the bedroom.
“Use my phone,” I say, walking to where she sits and handing it over.
“What’s your passcode?” She looks at me sternly.
I sigh. “One-zero-zero-nine,” I answer, hoping she doesn’t think much of it.
No such luck, because once she unlocks it, she looks up at me, and I can see the sadness in her eyes. Her birthday.
“Hey, can you text Henry about Nick, too,” I ask her while she’s typing.
“What about Nick—the jerk manager?”
I explain the deal with him, while walking back to the bathroom. “Just tell him we need someone to cover for him today—and to train him tomorrow. I’m going to keep an eye on my brother.”
“You can leave,” Vance orders when I enter the bathroom. “I’ve been in worse shape.”
“Is that your only injury?” I ask, looking closer. He’s still bleeding, but as Blaire said, it’s not a deep wound, and I doubt he lost too much blood. “Your shirt was bloody too.”
“Yeah, that was someone else’s,” he states.
“Let me guess. Classified.”
He chuckles. “You’re getting the hang of it. So, what are you up to other than being a fancy doctor?”
“There’s not much to say,” I answer.
“The lawyer said you’re not married, but what about an ex-wife, children, or at least a dog?”
“No. And you?”
“Mom wishes,” he answers.
“If she’s anything li
ke mine, she’s already been trying to find you a wife.”
“Not yet. She’s told me that it’s okay if I’m gay,” he says with a chuckle. “She loves me no matter what.”
“Are you?” I ask casually.
“I’m bi, but I keep that to myself because of the general. He’s a traditional man,” he answers, and I can’t imagine what it’d be like to have a general as a grandfather. “He still believes in the ‘don’t ask don’t tell rule.’ And no, I don’t have a significant other.”
It doesn’t take long for him to finish his shower. When I go into the living area, Blaire gives me a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. She already has a pile of towels, a plastic container and rubbing alcohol on top of the coffee table.
“Do you have needles and—”
“I’m always prepared,” she interrupts me, opening a plastic container. “Room service should be here soon. Henry will take care of your reckless decisions.”
“Is that what he said?”
“Something like that. He needs a chill pill and to get laid,” she says. “Make sure that Vance only puts pants on. After I treat him and cover the wound, he can put on his t-shirt.”
Vance dresses; he looks paler than he was earlier. Blaire gives him a hand towel to bite on and starts cleaning the wound. I wash my hands, sterilize them with alcohol and open the kit that has everything I could need for surgery, well, except anesthesia.
“You’re prepared,” I admit, grabbing the needle and thread.
“Almost. I didn’t go home to replenish it. Hence, I don’t have local anesthesia,” she states when Vance groans. “Sorry, Van.”
“What is it that you do again?”
“I work for a non-profit that is similar to Doctors Without Borders. We distribute food, clean water, medicines, and whatever they need. We help the communities we visit as much as we can.”
“Communities in the heart of the jungle,” I guess.
“Some of them are there,” she confirms, watching me close the wound. “Wow, that’s a good technique. You have to teach me.”
“Any time,” I offer. “So where are you going after this is over?”
“It depends how long I have to stick around,” she answers. “I might have to cancel the next mission because it’s hard to get doctors to donate their time on such short notice. I can’t afford their salary.”
“If you need money, I’ll wire you some,” Vance speaks.
She laughs. “Don’t tempt me. We could use some money. That’s really why I came. My wish list and projects are immense, and we don’t have enough equity to fund them. I only receive so much from Carter’s trust fund every year.”
“Can you withdraw all the funds at once? I can,” Vance asks, giving her a curious glare. “I mean, you have two billion dollars at your disposal.”
Blaire glares at me. “No. Some people made sure I didn’t have access to it because, God forbid, I would enjoy the money.”
“It was William’s idea,” I defend myself, poorly, because I supported him and Henry who were upset about Carter’s marriage to Blaire, and that she became the beneficiary of the trust fund after he died.
“You supported them,” she says, her voice carrying some anger.
“You married my brother,” I match her tone.
“You fucking married my brother,” I repeat resentfully. “You were mine.”
“First of all, I was single when I accepted Carter’s proposal. You dumped me because you wanted to be free to date while living in Baltimore,” she reminds me.
And I flinch because there’s some truth behind it. It wasn’t so I could date, but rather so she could date and be sure that I was the one. To ensure she wouldn’t be tied down to me and then regret our relationship. Also, what if I couldn’t be faithful to her—like my father. That’s the only example I have of a long-distance relationship, and I saw how much it hurt my mother.
Are you done making excuses? I ask myself. You did it because you were a coward. Still, she married my fucking brother.
“So, you married my brother to get back at me,” I conclude.
“You’re so arrogant,” she complains. “The world doesn’t revolve around you—and when I said yes, I didn’t even think about you.”
“Fucker,” Vance mumbles through the towel.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to squeeze hard,” I apologize.
“It was never about you. I did it because your parents were torturing him,” she answers, and her voice resonates through the room. “He was done. It was over. Do you have any idea what it’s like to go through chemotherapy and radiation? It’s painful, and when there’s no hope, what’s the point to live through such a horrible experience.”
“They were trying to save him.”
“Do not defend them because you weren’t there. You don’t know Carter’s side of the story. He was terminal. There was no way to save him,” she fires back with an anger that’s very ‘un-Blaire’ of her. She’s usually calm and sweet, even when things are rough. “They wanted to extend his life for a few more months—a year, if possible. He wanted quality over quantity. He had just a few months, and he wanted to enjoy them the best he could, but your father said he was mentally incapable of taking care of himself and was filing to become his guardian. I’m pretty sure it was your mother’s idea. Never seen two people who can barely stand each other work so well together to destroy someone’s soul.”
“That’s why you married Carter?” Vance asked.
She nods. “Yeah, he tried to call his big brother, but he was too busy in London. His semester abroad was more important than Carter.”
Her words remind me of how much I fucked up and failed my brother—and, apparently, her, too.
“I didn’t know how bad it was. Mom said he’d be okay. That I should—”
“Look, I don’t care about what happened then. I did what I could for my best friend. Once I married him, I became his next of kin. The one who could make decisions for him. Your parents had no say anymore. He was free to live his last days the best way he could—and he did.
“While he was sick, I was reliving my own illness. All those years going in and out of the hospital, not knowing if the treatment would work. If I would make it to my next birthday. I made it, but I wasn’t living my best life. It wasn’t about the money, but when we realized that the trust would go to me, we made plans.
“Med school wasn’t important anymore. I could spend a few more years in school to become a pediatrician or find a way to treat children by changing my career path. The latter sounded better, because my cancer can always come back—or I can choke while eating. You never know when it’s going to be over.
“When I told Carter about my idea, he encouraged me to use his money. He was happy to know that something good would come out of his trust. He called it his legacy. That’s why it’s called Carter’s Kids Foundation. It could help if I could just take whatever I need whenever I need it, but … I make it work.”
Working for that non-profit sounded badass. Founding it is admirable. I have a high regard for her even more now. Thinking about what she’s doing and how I could help her feels like fresh air. An infusion of vitamins—even a new life. I’ve spent years working on setting bones and becoming one of the best orthopedic surgeons in the world. My waiting list is long, but really, I don’t help as many people as I could—not the way she does.
The guilt that she can’t access Carter’s money angers me, and it’s in part my fault. I have to do something to fix it.
“So, you’ve been managing for the past twelve years with what little you can access?” I ask, as I finish the last stitch and feel like a complete asshole.
“More like nine, I had to finish college and… Yeah, that’s what I do,” she says, covering Vance’s wound with gauze and medical tape. “You can’t get this wet for a week. Let’s try to meet, so I can take out the stitches.”
“Yes, doctor,” he says mockingly.
Looking inside her raggedy hiking bac
kpack, she produces an orange bottle. Takes out two pills and gives him a bottle of water. “Swallow them.”
“I don’t need pain meds,” Vance protests.
“Good thing I’m giving you antibiotics because I never carry pain medication,” she tells him. “We want to prevent an infection. As we were just told, they don’t have a clinic in town to treat you if you go into septic shock.”
I take the bottle and see what she is giving him. Keflex, it’s a stronger antibiotic than amoxicillin, but she only has six pills, and he needs a lot more than that.
“You don’t have enough for ten days,” I inform her.
“There has to be a pharmacy in this town,” she says. “If not, I’ll call my assistant, so she can send them over.”
“You’re upset because the family practice is closed and they don’t have a clinic, aren’t you?”
“Well, yeah. The only doctor works twice a week. You’re in a small town, but this hotel is designed to receive at least two hundred families at a time. What if they have an accident or…?”
“There’s a clinic in Happy Springs.”
“That’s beside the point,” she says. “Hypothetically, what’ll happen if you send a head trauma to that clinic because there aren’t any services here? You already lost at least thirty minutes or more while you transport them there. If you need to move them to Portland, that’s another two hours. What do you think will happen to the patient?”
“I get it. I didn’t design the town,” I say almost apologetically. “Do you want me to build you a clinic?”
She huffs, and before I can say anything more, there’s a knock on the door.
“Room service,” the person on the other side of the door says.
When I open the door, it’s Nick with the food we requested.
“Thank you,” I say.
“Mr. Aldridge and his assistant are taking over the front desk,” he says. “I’ll report tomorrow at nine, if that’s okay with you?”
“I’ll pay good money to see Henry in charge,” Vance says, yawning.
“Eat your soup and drink your juice,” Blaire says, pushing the cart closer to him. “Then take a nap. You don’t look well. When was the last time you slept?”
Loved You Once Page 8