Sloth (Sinful Secrets #1) (63 page)

She scoops up Olive, stroking her hair. She reaches around Ol and, with her brows drawn tightly together, MC signs, “Are you okay?” Her eyes widen, to emphasize her surprise. “Do you need anything?”

I shake my head. “Go away,” I sign back. My daughter’s green eyes meet mine, and I give her an unsteady smile. “It’s okay Ollie, Mommy’s sad, but I’ll feel better soon,” I fudge. “Go play with Aunt MC.”

My four-year-old nods knowingly. “I love you Mommy.”

I feel a flash of mom guilt as MC carries Olive off, but it’s lost quickly in the typhoon of grief roaring through my soul. I drop my head down to my pillow and give into total hysterics.

Outside my window, waves crawl up a long, deserted shore. The sky looms low over the sea. A bird caws. Frantic. Like I feel.

I hold my pounding head and squeeze my pillow close. I miss him. I miss Kellan so much. I picture his face and sob so long and hard my stomach starts to churn. I drag myself into the shower and sob as I wash. I pull a swimsuit on, then flop down on my king-sized bed. I need to get out of the house. Instead I grab the nearest framed snapshot off my nightstand and grip it to my chest, as if that can ease my pain.

I hear my daughter’s gleeful scream echo down the hall… The sound of crashing waves floats in through the half-cracked balcony door. It’s a perfect summer afternoon. I have to stop. No use in grieving my old pains… Those losses… Terrible.

The more I tell myself to stop, the less I can. I curl over on my side, weeping helplessly. So tired…

The door creaks open and I tense. I drag a deep breath into my lungs and brace myself for Olive’s big green eyes.

Instead, I hear my husband’s long, strong strides over the hardwood. His hands clasp my shoulders and he rolls me over onto my back.

“Cleo?”

His blue eyes are wide and startled. His perfect face is stretched out in alarm. “Did something happen? Lyon?” He bends down over me, kissing my throat lightly. “Don’t leave me guessing, baby…”

“Not Lyon.” I shake my head and wrap my arms around his shoulders—and his chin tilts up; he sees the letter. He lets his weight rest over me, then sinks down to the bed, holding my head against his strong chest as he reaches for the letter.

“Cleo…why would you…? Why read this? Why right now, when things are so good, baby?” He presses his cheek to mine. His skin is hot. He smells so good. Like…marijuana.

I sniff. “Where’d you come from?”

“Where do you think?” He gives me a gentle smile. “I got something you might like.”

He reaches behind him, fingers delving into the back pocket of his jeans. He holds a tiny swatch of fabric up for my examination.

“CC onesie. Got a shirt for Olive, too. I gave it to her. She said, ‘It’s just like Mommy’s!’”

I take the onesie, tucking it over my pregnant belly. Kellan stretches out beside me on the bed. He kisses my eyes and nose and finally….gently…my mouth.

“Now why would you do something like that? On a day I’m off with the new franchise, you read that without me?” He smooths my hair back. “You’re lucky I got business taken care of fast and raced home to my woman.”

I wipe my eyes. “Not lucky! Unlucky. No more leaving till the baby’s born. I mean it.”

Kellan chuckles. “You would think I leave you all the time.”

“You do.” I wrap my arms around his broad, strong shoulders. “That makes twice this pregnancy. No more. Say you won’t.”

“I won’t.” He takes the letter I just read and slides it in his back pocket. “I mean it, though. Why go back there right now, at such a happy time?”

“I want to be reminded of unhappy times. We were them too, remember. You wrote that to me, Kellan. Can you imagine? If I really had to read that?” Tears stream down my cheeks.

He strokes my hair over my shoulders. “No, love. I can’t imagine. Never have and never will. We haven’t had to.” His blue eyes are heavy on mine. His hand cradles my belly. “We are all four healthy. Here. Together. I’d say we’re pretty fucking happy, no?”

I wipe my eyes. “We are.”

“Do you know what day it is?”

“Of course.” I smile.

“Our anniversary. I want to celebrate….alone. What do you think?”

He’s already up, getting my soft, white cover up and my favorite flip-fop sandals. I watch him move around our bedroom, gathering a blanket…a bottle of water…and my favorite hair band.

He takes my hands and pulls me up off the mattress, smirking a little as I shift my hips to accommodate my growing belly. “Turn around. I’ll get your hair.”

I turn my head and feel his fingers sift through my locks.

I look at him with hooded eyes. “I love it when you do that. Feels so good.”

“Is that right?”

He pulls his shirt over his head. Like always, it’s a struggle not to gawk at his bare chest. I watch his hips move as he kicks his shoes off…

I love the way he moves. I always have. By the time he’s got our beach bag slung over his bare shoulder, I’m smiling. He takes my hand and leads me out onto the porch…and down the sandy stairs, out toward a tiny wooden beach shack that is only ours.

We walk together, slowly first, and then with long, hungry strides. Kellan picks me up and twirls me, and the skirt around my bathing suit flips up.

I can’t stop laughing. He unlocks the door and I nip at his back.

He turns and sinks his teeth my neck. “Get in there…” He shoves me in front of him…but he won’t let me “get.” He scoops me up and lays me on the mattress. Parts my legs and crawls between them.

“For a woman who lives on the beach, I don’t think you’re quite wet enough, my Cleo baby… I can help.” He grins and tests me with his finger. Finds my sweet spot with his tongue. “My wife…”

I grip his shoulders. “Husband.”

“Always…”

THE END

Violent Things

(Chaos & Ruin Book 1)

**** Be advised, this is an unedited excerpt, and is subject to change. ****

Sloane

You can’t tell someone not to die just because it’s Christmas Eve. I should know. I’ve tried twice already and it hasn’t worked either time. St. Peter’s has been non-stop since I started my shift thirty-six hours ago, and it doesn’t look like things are going to quiet down any time soon.

Zeth is going to kill me. I was supposed to be home nearly twelve hours ago, but the gunshot wound, alcohol poisoning and the bar fight victims have kept on rolling in. Now, Mikey the intern and I are waiting on the tarmac outside the hospital for the second road traffic accident of the night and my body is humming. It’s close to midnight. I should be exhausted, but the adrenaline that’s helped me act fast and think quick on the trauma floor has me wired.

“You think it’ll stop snowing soon?” Mikey asks. “I’m supposed to drive out to Snoqualmie Pass after this. The roads are gonna be closed at this rate.”

“Hate to break it to you, buddy, but the roads are already closed.” I slap Mikey on the back, giving him my best consolatory look. I heard them read out the list of closures on the radio at the nurses’ station earlier in the night, waiting with baited breath to see if the access road up to my own house was still open. Thankfully it is. Unlucky for Mikey, though. He’s shit out of luck.

“Ahhh fuck, man. My whole family are up there already. I’m gonna be eating baked beans on toast for Christmas dinner to bemorrow. Alone.”

“Better get used to it. Being a doctor generally means you don’t get Christmas. Or Easter. Or Thanksgiving. Or your birthday. Basically we don’t get anything.”

“Perfect.” Mikey sulks while we wait, the big fat flakes of snow falling silently all around us. It’s like we’re trapped inside a snow globe; everything is so still. That is until I see the flashing lights of the ambulance rig tearing up the road toward us.

“Here we go. Incoming.” I glance over my shoulder just as Oliver Massey runs out of the building behind me, huge clouds of fog billowing on his breath. He’s pulling on a set of rubber gloves, squinting up the road, searching for the ambo.

“Sorry, the kid I was closing up crashed. Took a while to stabilize. What we got?”

“Two patients,” Mikey says. “Woman, early thirties, with potential spinal injury and severe blood loss. Also, one of the firefighters who responded to the call. He was sliding in through the passenger window of the car the other patient was trapped inside. The streetlight she hit fell down on top of the vehicle. He has a head injury, broken leg and possible internal bleed.

“Ah. Right, well I guess that explains the fire truck then,” Oliver says. Sure enough, there’s a fire truck bringing in the ambulance, full lights and sirens blaring out into the night. The two emergency service vehicles tear into the parking lot, the fire truck pulling up outside the unloading bay, while the ambo breaks right at the door.

Oliver and Mikey rush forward with a gurney while I hurry to talk to the female EMT who’s jumping down from the rig. “There should be another ambulance. Where’s our second patient?”

“On their way. The roads are crazy. We’re lucky we made it here in one piece.”

“Who have you got?”

“Alex Massey, lieutenant over at firehouse sixty-three. He was awake when we loaded him up, but he lost consciousness shortly after. He’s systolic. Blood pressure’s through the floor. We pushed dopamine en route.”

“Alright, we’d better move quickly then. We need to find out what’s going on inside.”

Oliver and Mikey are already rushing the gurney with the injured fire fighter into St. Peter’s. Oliver’s face is ashen, white as a sheet. “I’m gonna need you to scrub in on this one, Sloane,” he tells me.

“I can’t, I’m point on trauma tonight. I need to oversee the emergency—”

“Sloane, you’re fucking scrubbing in. I need you. I need you.”

“Olly—”

“It’s my brother, Sloane. It’s my fucking brother.”

***

I get Dr. Tarney to take over Trauma for me and I do scrub in. There’s no way Oliver should be operating on his own brother—it goes against every rule the hospital has—but there’s no stopping him. By the time the chief knows Alex Massey is in need of medical attention, he’s already receiving it.

We’re fighting to find the source of Alex’s extensive internal bleeding when the chief storms into the OR, a surgical mask covering her face. “Dr. Massey? Dr. Massey, you need to step away from that patient right now,” she says calmly.

Oliver’s working like a man possessed, though. There’s no way he’s going to do that. “I’m afraid things are a little critical in here right now, Chief. You’ll have to excuse me if I decline.”

“Dr. Massey, I’m already scrubbed. I can take over from you. You need to leave. Now.”

Oliver glances up at me, asking me a silent question—do I have his back? I nod. Some doctors would fall apart in situations like this, but not Olly. He’s galvanized, working methodically. He’s not showing any signs of being emotionally compromised. If he were, I’d be the first person to agree with the Chief. As it stands, I say, “He’s got this, Chief. Dr. Massey’s currently stemming an aortic bleed. If he lets go—”

“I can catch it. Oliver. I’m serious. This is not how we work.”

Oliver frowns, still entirely focused on his work. “Are you the best cardiothoracic surgeon in this hospital?” His voice is totally steady.

The chief doesn’t say anything.

“Because the last time I checked, you were the best pediatric surgeon in this hospital and I’d just been promoted to the head of my department. Which just so happens to be cardiothoracics.”

“Oliver.”

“I have this under control, Chief. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to concentrate on not letting my brother’s heart tear itself apart.”

The chief gives me a stern look—I’m still not forgiven for the crazy shit I was caught up in a couple of months ago, and aligning myself with a disobedient Oliver won’t have helped matters. “Fine,” she snaps. “But I’ll be watching every single move you make.” The chief huffs out an exasperated breath and backs out of the room, hitting the exit button with her elbow in order to keep the room sterile.

Oliver looks up at me once she’s gone. “Thank you.”

“Just save him, okay. I’m gonna be working extra shifts in the VD clinic to make up for this.” I must be out of my mind. Don’t rock the boat: that’s what I tell myself every time I step foot through the hospital doors, and what is it I end up doing? Rocking the goddamn boat. Nearly capsizing the goddamn boat.

“Is she up there?” Oliver asks, his eyes darting upward to the observation gallery.

I look up in time to see the chief fling open the door to the glass box above us. The surgical mask is gone, which allows me to see her whole facial expression—how truly furious she is. She glowers at me as she sits down next to…as she sits down next to Zeth.

“Fuck.” I whisper it under my breath. What the hell is he doing here?

“Ahhh shit. Sloane, something’s not right. I thought I’d stemmed the flow, but there’s more blood now. It’s not coming from the heart. We need to find it.”

Zeth is forgotten. The observation gallery may as well not exist as I fix every last ounce of concentration on the problem at hand. Oliver and I keep our heads down as we both work in unison, part of a well-oiled machine, as we try to find the source of Alex’s bleeding.

It turns out to be a perforation in his lower intestine. Not a usual cause for so much blood, especially seeping into the chest cavity, but the damage is severe.

We resect a good portion of Alex’s lower bowel, scrambling to save every millimeter we can. Alex is a firefighter. I don’t know him, but I can guarantee he won’t want a colostomy bag.

Hours slip by. We manage to preserve enough bowel to avoid having to install a stoma right away, but only time will tell on that front. If Alex develops an infection and the tissue doesn’t heal, we may have to revisit that idea.

Oliver is swaying on his feet by the time we close his brother. I’m fine, clear-headed and alert, until we stitch Alex up and let the nurses take over. Exhaustion hits me in brick wall to the face as soon as my responsibility to my patient is over, though. I feel drunk as Oliver and I strip off our surgical gloves, masks and gowns and throw them in the HAZMAT bins.