Weight of the Badge: An Everyday Heroes World Novel (The Everyday Heroes World Book 21)

by T. R. Cupak

  “Kade,” Aaron, my nurse, says my name when he enters my room. “Here. Your mom said you wanted to brush your teeth. This packet of goodies should tide you over until she returns with your stuff.” He places a plastic bowl and a water container on my rolling table before situating it in front of me. Next to the water container, Aaron puts a cellophane-wrapped packet down, which contains a toothbrush, toothpaste, and floss.

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem. I’ll go grab your dinner.”

  I quickly move to pour a little bit of water into the bowl when excruciating pain shoots through my chest and down my left arm, causing me to drop the water container back onto the table. It tips onto its side, which not only creates a waterfall effect, soaking my bed and me but also takes my breath away, exacerbating the pain in my chest.

  “Son of a bitch,” I growl out past clenched teeth, realizing that sudden movements hurt like hell. Once I catch my breath, I proceed to press the call button for the nurse. Aaron is quick to respond. Upon noticing my mishap, he calls for another nurse to assist him, asking her to bring a gown and linens. Who knew something as simple as brushing my damn teeth would be this difficult?

  You can tell this isn’t the nurses’ first rodeo. They have me changed into a fresh hospital gown, and my bed linens swapped out for fresh ones in record time, with minimal movement on my behalf. Aaron asks his back-up if she would be so kind as to get my dinner while he helps me with the new water container and bowl so I can finish what I set out to do: brush my teeth.

  Someone I haven’t met yet, who’s wearing scrubs, returns with my dinner tray, and both Aaron and I thank her before she leaves. Neither nurse makes any comment on my clumsiness before leaving me to eat in peace. I turn on the television for the first time, needing some sort of background noise other than the machines to which I’m connected. I click through the channels until I find a show I can tolerate and proceed to eat my dinner.

  When I finish with what I will say is the most tasteless meal I’ve ever eaten, I call for Aaron one last time, letting him know I’m ready for my pain medication—the sooner, the better. It’s not long before he hands me a small paper cup with three pills inside, telling me to take them while he injects the morphine into my IV.

  “Would you like me to put in a request with Dr. Robinson for a hydromorphone dispenser? That way, you could control the dosage when you need pain medication?” the nurse asks.

  “No, thanks. I should be fine for a while.”

  Although I gave my answer right after the morphine injection, it’s not long after that my pain level spikes. It is now apparent the pain was still tolerable while the anesthesia was still in my system from surgery. At this moment, it’s clear the anesthesia has left my body.

  Buzzing for the nurse once more, I’m glad to see Aaron is still on duty. He gives me another dose of morphine and says he will contact the doctor about the patient-controlled analgesia. Within minutes after he takes my vitals one last time and leaves my room, my eyes begin to feel heavy, and I surrender to much-needed sleep.

  16

  BRITNEY

  It feels strange taking a shower in my brother’s hospital room bathroom, but I need one, and I’m not about to leave this place without any updates on Deacon. Not giving a damn what my hair looks like, I pile it on top of my head in a wet, messy bun. Before leaving the bathroom, I pull the off-the-shoulder sweatshirt that matches my yoga pants on over my head. While digging through my bag, I notice two flasks in the side pocket with a note from Sydnee telling me it’s five o’clock somewhere with a smiley face. It’s obvious she thought I would get my bag sooner than later. That woman is a nut, but she’s my nut, and I love her like a sister.

  Upon exiting the bathroom, the first thing I notice is my father standing on the far side of Deacon’s bed. Mom is still sitting in the chair beside my brother, holding his hand, but this time she’s talking to him. Deacon is finally awake.

  “Hey, big bro. How’s the head feelin’?” I ask as I approach the bed.

  “It hurts.” His answer is short, and he avoids making eye contact with me. Deacon’s response is anything but a typical reaction from him. My brother always has more than two words to say, and he usually makes eye contact with whoever he’s speaking to.

  As selfish as it may sound, I need our parents to leave. I need time alone with my brother. He needs validation that he was simply doing his job regardless of the outcome. I want him to know that I love him, that I am proud of him, that I would never judge him, and I will stand by his side, no matter what. Deacon is my brother, my best friend. He needs help understanding that whatever guilt or regret that he’s feeling is normal and that he’s not alone in this. He will never be alone.

  “Hey, Dad,” I greet my father with a forced smile. My mind is preoccupied with Deacon, and smiling seems to hurt my face at the moment. “Is everything being handled at work, or do you need me to go in?” I ask the question because it’s what I would have done if we weren’t in this family crisis mode.

  “Everything is fine at work. We’re all keeping busy, and that is okay with me. You have nothing to worry about at the office, sweetheart.” Relief washes over me. Even if he’d said things were chaos, I’d feel bad, but I would still tell him I can’t leave the hospital. Luckily for me, that isn’t something I have to do.

  “Okay, Dad. It’s late. Is the doctor still coming?” I ask no one in particular.

  “The doctor is waiting for Deacon to wake up. They called him about thirty minutes ago.”

  “That makes sense. Dad, why don’t you take Mom home so she can get some decent food and rest for a bit?”

  “I’ve been trying, daughter. She won’t budge.” Of course, she won’t. Her son is in the hospital with no official diagnosis. And I was just thinking to myself that I wouldn’t leave if they asked me to.

  Glancing over at Deacon, his eyes stay fixed on the ceiling. He’s awake, but it’s like he’s checked himself out of the conversation going on around him.

  “Mom, please go with Dad. I beg of you. If anything, the psychiatrist will be here shortly, and Deacon will be with them for an hour or so. I’ll call you if anything changes. I promise.” My mother shifts her stares between my dad and me, contemplating what she should do. I see her struggle, and I usually wouldn’t push it, but I need this time with Deacon—with no one else around to hear our conversation.

  “Listen to your daughter.” My dad gives his wife a warm smile, hoping to coax her into listening to our request.

  “Will you check on Kade while your brother is with the doctor?” Mom’s bloodshot, puffy eyes focus on me.

  “Of course. And I will text you an update as soon as I have one. Now please, go home. I’ve got this.”

  My mother releases Deacon’s hand, and reluctantly stands from her chair. There’s no hiding her disappointment with having to leave, even if it’s only for an hour or two. She wants to be here to understand what’s happening in her son’s head. We all want to understand, but I think I will get a hell of a lot further than any doctor. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.

  Deacon’s eyes haven’t left the ceiling since I came out of the bathroom. He didn’t even budge when both parents leaned in to kiss his forehead before heading home. Taking a seat in the chair that my mom has dubbed hers, I grab my brother’s hand and wait. I want to see if he’ll acknowledge me in any way, with a squeeze of the hand, eye contact, anything at all.

  Precisely fifteen minutes tick by from the time I began watching the third hand on the wall clock pass the twelve for the nine-hundredth time, and I still haven’t received any response from Deacon.

  “D, at least look at me, please.” I keep my voice soft and steady. I fear that if I speak any louder, he will go back to repeating those awful words. Slowly, he turns his head to face me, and the look in his eyes scares the hell out of me. Vacancy. Nothingness. It’s like looking into a black hole. “Hey there,” I respond with a smile, hoping to bring him back from
the darkness. In return, he resumes his previous head position and continues to stare up at the ceiling.

  Everything inside me hurts. Not being able to get through to Deacon is breaking my heart. He’s the strong one. He’s the rock in the family. He’s the hero. He’s my big brother, and I can’t fucking reach him. All I want to do is shake him and scream at him until he snaps out of this isolated state of mind he’s trapped himself in.

  “Deacon, I know you can hear me, so please listen. I’m begging you to listen to me. I know you’re torturing yourself, but you don’t deserve this. Talk to me. Yell at me. Cry. Be angry—anything except this, this distant silence you’re doing. I’m here for you. I love you. Please, let me help you.” As I squeeze his hand to drive home my desperation, I feel the tears sliding down my cheeks, but I don’t move to wipe them. “D, please,” I beg, closing my eyes and bring his hand to my lips to kiss it gently.

  Opening my eyes, I look back to my brother’s face; only this time, his eyes are screwed shut as tears trickle down through the stubble on his face.

  “Knock, knock,” a female voice comes from behind me. Turning my head, I see a nurse approaching with a cart. “I’m Jenny. I’ll be Mr. Winslow’s nurse today.”

  “Hi. I’m Britney, Deacon’s sister.”

  “How’s the patient doing?”

  Glancing back to my brother, I see he’s focused on the ceiling once again.

  “Awake.” That’s the best I can give her since he’s shutting everyone out. My phone chimes, notifying me of a text message. My dad wants to let me know that my mom fell asleep during the car ride home, so he’s letting her nap for a couple of hours. He asked me to text him with any updates on Deacon and Kade.

  The nurse takes Deacon’s vitals and asks him if he has a headache or any other post-concussion systems. He shakes his head no even though he’s told me it hurts, but I choose not to interfere. Just as the nurse turns to leave, someone walks in with a tray of food.

  “Try to get him to eat something. Dr. Harrison should be here in an hour,” Nurse Jenny informs me.

  “I’ll try, but I won’t promise anything.” She nods her understanding and leaves, closing the door behind her.

  “D, do you want to use the bathroom before you eat?” I know I’m talking to a brick wall at this point, but I’m not giving up on my brother.

  My cell phone chimes again, and this time it’s Sydnee asking me for updates. I fill her in the best I can. She told me to have a drink and just be here for my brother. She then tells me she’ll bring me real food when she gets off work and not to argue. I know it would be pointless anyway. If anything, Syd will force-feed me if she deems it necessary.

  Deacon is still unresponsive, so I grab the remote to his bed and raise the back to bring him to a sitting position. Now his focus is on the wall before him instead of the ceiling, but at least this way, I can try to get him to eat or drink something.

  “Here.” I hold up the soda can and lift the straw to his lips. “Take a sip, please.” Shockingly, he obliges. I feel like I just took one step in the right direction. I press on and switch the soda for the bowl of oatmeal. Scooping a small bit of the hot cereal onto a spoon, I bring the pint-sized bite to his mouth. He opens, and my heart soars. Now I’m getting somewhere. After alternating bites of the oatmeal, soda, and some water, I feel better that he at least ate half the bowl of food and drank all of the ginger ale and an entire reusable bottle of water.

  “Did the food help?” I ask, hoping he will talk to me now, but instead, he shrugs his shoulders and returns his focus to the wall. Baby steps. Taking it upon myself, I turn on the television, and I’m now kicking my ass for doing so. As my bad luck would have it, the first thing that pops up is a news update about the shooting. Fuck my life. I fumble with the remote to turn off the television when Deacon snatches the remote from my hand, turning the volume up.

  “We have confirmation that Jesus Hernandez, a Mexican cartel affiliate who was reported to be in critical condition following a shootout a couple of days ago, has since been moved from Saint Luke’s Hospital to the prison hospital, where he will remain until he recovers. Once Hernandez is well enough, he will then begin the arraignment process.

  The two underage girls found at the residence with Hernandez are currently in child protective custody. Both girls identified their kidnappers from mugshots and confirmed they were taken with the intent to be sold into prostitution.

  At this time, we have no further updates on the status of Kade Beaumont, the police officer shot by Jesus Hernandez.”

  I take a deep breath in, thankful that no mention was made of the innocent casualties. But my relief is cut short when Deacon jumps out of bed as if it were on fire, and heads straight to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. The noise makes me jump.

  Running to the door, I try the handle, and when that doesn’t work, I start banging on the door, begging my brother to open it. The last time he went into that bathroom, he came out fucked up. I’m not ready for another episode.

  “D, let me in, please. Don’t make me call security to bust down this fucking door.” I hear pounding and then something break, so I turn and run out to the nurse’s station, yelling at them to get someone in here to open the bathroom door. I know my brother is hurting psychologically, and I’m praying to any God that will listen that he’s not doing something stupid.

  It’s not long before security is in his room and opening the door to the bathroom. Blood is everywhere, and my brother sits in the corner of the shower, knees pulled to his chest, and he’s crying—hard. I think I heard a security guard tell the nurse to get the doctor, but I’m not listening to him. My focus is on Deacon and the urgency to get to him. Pushing my way past the large body, I walk across the glass-covered floor and climb into the shower with Deacon. Grabbing his head, I force him to look at me, and that’s when I see the large gash on his forehead.

  “Get the doctor now!” I yell.

  “He’s on his way, miss,” the security guard responds.

  “D, what did you do?” My brother unfolds from his protective state and grabs me in his arms, squeezing me tightly as he continues to cry. I secure him in my embrace and repeatedly whisper that I’m here for him and that I love him.

  “Miss, the doctor is here.”

  “Let him in. I’m not leaving my brother.”

  “It’s not safe with all of the glass. Please try to get your brother to come out.”

  “He’s barefoot. I’m not letting him walk across the glass,” I snap back. The security guard mumbles something to someone outside of the bathroom. Within a minute or two, he’s making a layered path of towels so I can get Deacon out of the bathroom without cutting open his feet too.

  I’m not thinking with all of my wits, but I do as the security guard asks because Deacon needs his cut stitched up. We emerge from the bathroom slowly, and what happens next, happens quickly. A security guard yanks me away from my brother, while Deacon is tackled to the ground by an assisting guard.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I shout. “He has a concussion.”

  Adrenaline is pumping through my veins while I struggle, trying to get back to my brother. He’s calling my name, but they won’t release me. I keep repeating that I’m still here. Once they have him back in his bed, the nurse rushes over and shoots him up with something that immediately calms his erratic behavior. She then looks at me like I’m next, and that’s when I stop fighting to break loose.

  “I’m fine. I just want to be with my brother.”

  The doctor walks back in once the commotion has settled and tells the large man who has me in his grips to release me, and he complies. “Thank you,” I say to the doctor as I rush to my brother’s side. “I’m right here, D. I didn’t go anywhere.” I reach for his hand, and that’s when I notice that they cuffed him to his bed. It’s not worth asking them to remove the restraints considering what just unfolded, so I rest my hand on top of my brother’s.

  “I’m Dr. Ha
rrison, the psychiatrist.” Dr. Harrison is a lanky man with kind eyes and silver hair. He doesn’t fit the description of a psychiatric ward doctor, as I’ve seen in the horror movies. “Jenny, could you please call Plastics for Mr. Winslow’s laceration?”

  “Of course, Doctor.” Nurse Jenny leaves and returns promptly with everything she needs to clean and bandage Deacon’s head while we wait for the plastic surgeon to come to stitch him up. She’s quick to dress his wound and assures me that the doctor who will be stitching the cut is excellent, and there should be minimal scarring.

  “Doctor, I’m Britney Winslow, Deacon’s sister,” I finally respond as I reach out to shake the doctor’s hand.

  “Miss Winslow, without talking to your brother, I can tell you he’s not in his right mind. I would like to have him brought up to my ward where I can keep an eye on him, and once he’s ready, I would like to help him navigate through the trauma.”

  “Can I stay with him if you take him up there?”

  “I’m afraid not. But you will be allowed to visit your brother in a few days.”

  A few days. That isn’t going to work for my parents or me. We want Deacon to know we’re here for him, that we didn’t leave him.

  “Can you wait until my parents get back? I’ll call my dad now,” I plead.

  “I’m sorry, but that’s not possible. I assure you Deacon is in good hands.” The doctor uses a tone that is meant to keep me calm, but I find no comfort in his words.

  “Deacon, they are taking you upstairs to help you. I will come to see you the second they allow me to. I’m not abandoning you,” I choke out past the lump in my throat. “I love you, big brother. I promise I’ll be here waiting to see you, okay?” He’s so high on whatever the nurse gave him that I don’t think he’s heard a word I said. “Doctor, please call me the second I can be with my brother. He needs me.”