Better with Ben (How to Tame a Heartbreaker Book 3) (3 page)

"Is she alive?"

The paramedic shook her head sadly.

Taylor's face contorted with tears, and she heard at least two people speak at the same time. Gina said, "It's okay, Tay, you did a good thing," and the paramedic said, "We're taking her in to look at this arm. Tell Detective James she'll be at Sacred Heart."

"He's not gonna be happy with that," said a plain-clothes officer that was standing nearby. Taylor knew he was a cop by the badge that was clipped on his belt.

"She's got a broken arm," the paramedic said in a stern voice. Then she gave Taylor a sly wink the cop couldn't see. "Her friend already told you everything that happened. She just stumbled upon it. Detective James can come see her at the hospital, but we're bringing her in."

Taylor was glad to hear that she was going to a hospital. Hopefully, they could find out why her heart wasn't working right. They loaded the stretcher into an ambulance and took her away in it. She could see Gina's worried face as they were closing the ambulance door and she tried through the haze to give her friend a reassuring smile.

Chapter 3

Taylor's arm was indeed broken. The X-ray showed a hairline fracture near her wrist. It was eight o'clock in the evening and she'd been in the hospital for hours being monitored and questioned.

The first few hours were an epic whirlwind. She'd never had an anxiety attack before, and was completely freaking amazed at how something that was supposedly psychiatric had symptoms that were
so very
physical.

The psychiatric doctor who'd come in to evaluate her was currently in her room. It was the second time he'd come in. He wanted to come back after the police were done with their questioning to make sure Taylor was holding up okay.

"But I literally couldn't keep myself from passing out," Taylor said. It was something she'd remarked on several times during their previous conversation, but it was still hard for her to believe that everything she'd been feeling was only a result of panic.

Prior to today, she thought she was immune to panic. Cool as a cucumber.

The doctor smiled. "These types of attacks produce physical symptoms that are very real," he said, "and they're actually quite common."

Taylor shook her head and let out a disapproving sound. "I'm not trying to have that happen to me on a regular basis," she said. "Since it happened once, does that mean that it's gonna happen again?" She gestured to her chest with a hand. "Because even right now I'm feeling a little… you know…"

Dr. Harlow smiled reassuringly. "It's common to feel that it'll happen again," he said. "Did you do okay when the police came in?"

"A few times I felt like I was on the verge of losing it, but I told myself it was all in my head, and even if I
did
have a heart attack, I was right here in the hospital where they could put me back together."

He smiled and made a note on his clipboard.

"I was so scared that if I got all worked up they'd think I had something to do with it, so I told myself I had no other option but to fake it."

He wore a sweet expression that Taylor found relief in. She took a deep breath, hoping her lungs could hold oxygen.

"I'm really encouraged that you were able to reason with yourself when you felt the symptoms starting." He stared at her with concern. "Is there anything else you'd like to talk about? I'd like you to see someone for a little while once you leave the hospital, but is there anything else you'd like to get off your chest while you're here with me?"

"Are you saying I
have
to see someone or it's just an option?" she asked. "Is there something wrong with me?"

He smiled and shook his head, and Taylor tried to get a look at the clipboard he was holding.

"Of course not," he said. "You handled everything beautifully. I just wanted you to know you have options once you're out of here. Don't be surprised if you have a little trouble digesting everything."

Taylor glanced at the clipboard again. "You can't tell anyone things we talked about, can you? Because the police made a special point of saying they're not gonna release my name."

He shook his head earnestly. "Definitely not, Taylor. That's why I'm the only one from the hospital who's interviewed you. We're sensitive to our patients in situations like these. I assure you everything is classified."

"Is the person who did this gonna try to hurt me? You know, for finding her? Will he try to find out who did it?" The thought had been tormenting her ever since the panic attack was over. She'd already mentioned it to him once, but the fear was so consuming that she just had to run it past him again. 

"Fears like this are expected in your situation," he said. "But I can assure you that you're information is classified."

"Yeah, but what about all the people who know I'm the one who found it? People at the restaurant, and the paramedic, and all the cops, and you? I mean, if someone asks enough questions, they can find out anything."

"The perpetrator knew it was going to be found when he or she left it in such an obvious place," he said.

She shot him a confused look because she'd never considered that. Her expression turned circumspect as she put a hand on her chest. "Is it normal for it to start up like this when I get to thinking about stuff I'm scared of?" she asked.

He wore a patient half-smile "Taylor, I know you said you didn't want me to write you a prescription, but I'd be happy to go ahead and give you one just in case you get home and find that it wasn't as easy as you hoped."

She thought about it, but really hesitated to get started on some kind of medication she'd have to take forever. "I just need you to tell me that it's normal for it to start up again like this." She concentrated on the feeling she was having—the feeling that her heart couldn't adequately pump blood.

"It's normal," he said.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to control her heart rate by sheer will. She was reasonably sure that she could control the panic symptoms as long as she was certain that they were just psychological and she wasn't
actually
in danger of stopping her own heart with her thoughts. "Will that medicine help me in the middle of an attack?" she asked. "Like if I have one I can't control?"

"Yes. But technically a sugar pill would help you in the middle of an attack if you
think
it's helping."

Taylor just couldn't fathom that the very real physical stuff she was feeling was a result of something in her brain. For the last however many hours she'd gone back and forth between worrying about the dead girl and worrying about her own body. She was worrying constantly, which was a feeling she wasn't accustomed to. She learned at a very early age to stay away from the news, and basically lived her life in a drama-free bubble. She was the kind of person who tried to see the positive in every situation. She was the one people came to when they needed a pep talk. Taylor did not usually succumb being bummed, and the hours-long stretch of heaviness left her feeling exhausted and hopeless.

"Taylor, I'm gonna go ahead and leave this with you," he said. He scribbled down a few words on a notepad and tore off the top sheet. It was a prescription for whatever drug was supposed to help with anxiety. "I think they're planning on keeping you overnight, but I might not get to speak with you again before you're discharged, so I'll also leave the name of a person you can see if you have a hard time controlling the symptoms, or if you just want to talk."

"I think I'll just try to work through it on my own. I'm really not the type who goes to a therapist," she said.

"I know, but I'm leaving you the information just in case. If I didn't, they'd tell me I wasn't doing my job."

"Are you sure they're making me spend the night? Why? My arm's fine, ortho's already been in here. They said I'll just need to wear the cast for four weeks."

"I'm not positive about them wanting to keep you. I was going to recommend it, but if you don't want to—" he cut off, sort of waiting to see Taylor's reaction.

"I think I'd rather go home," she said. "I guess I just feel like the longer I stay here…" She shrugged. "I don't know. It just feels like a reporter is gonna walk in any second with a camera in my face and ask for an interview. I think I just want to get home and act like none of this ever happened."

"I can promise you that no one will be coming in to interview you, but I also understand wanting to get back to your normal routine." He paused and shrugged with a little smirk. "And if
ortho's
been here and
they
say you're good to go, then…"

She smiled back at him, loving the fact that he was smart enough to know that the last thing she wanted at that moment was to be treated like she was fragile.

"Are they gonna tell me when they find out something about the girl?"

"What is it you want to know?"

Taylor wanted to know when they caught the guy and if he said anything about wanting to hunt down the girl who found the body, but the doctor's question made her ask herself if there was anything else she wanted to know about the girl. She wondered if the police already knew anything about her, and if so, did she really want the information?

"I don't think I really want to know anything other than making sure they catch whoever did it."

"I'm sure they'll assign you a case worker to answer any questions you might have," he said. "They probably listed someone you can contact on the paperwork they left with you."

Dr. Harlow pointed to the bedside table at a handful of papers the detective left with her. Then he looked at Taylor. They were silent for a few seconds. "You'll be fine," he said. "You're a strong one." He put the papers on the food tray that was positioned near the head of her bed. "Here's some more paperwork for you," he said, smiling. He used a fingertip to tap the small rectangular pieces on top. "This is the prescription and the number of the doctor I was telling you about. And you should know that everything would be confidential."

"Thank you," Taylor said with an air of finality that made the doctor think she might just hop up and start putting her shoes on.

"I'm not sure when they'll be ready to discharge you," he said.

"I think I can just leave whenever I want to," Taylor said, looking down at her attire. Surely, if she were officially a hospital patient she'd be wearing a hospital gown, which she wasn't. "I don't think I'm even technically
checked-in
," she said. "They just put me in a private room since the police needed to question me."

There was an IV bag at her bedside, the end of it securely fastened to her right arm. Her left arm was in a cast and sling. He smiled sardonically at her situation. "I think you're officially checked in," he said.

She held up the arm with the IV. "They just gave me this because I threw up a lot and they thought I might be dehydrated."

He smiled at her stubbornness, knowing it would serve her well in forgetting everything she'd seen. "Do you have a ride home?" he asked.

She'd totally forgotten about a ride. She was so out of it during the panic attack that the ambulance ride seemed like a distant memory. She needed to check her phone but hesitated to drag the IV across the room. "Would you mind handing me that bag?" she asked the doctor.

He crossed to the oversized windowsill where the nurse had stashed Taylor's purse. She had no idea how she even
had
her purse in the first place. She wondered if Gina or Bonnie had given it to the paramedic on their way to the hospital. What a freaking blur. Dr. Harlow put Taylor's bag next to her and left the room saying it had been a pleasure meeting her even though the circumstances had been unfortunate.

Once alone, she dug in her bag until she came up with her phone. She had a few calls and texts from Bonnie and Gina. One of the more recent ones from Gina said that she was in one of the hospital's waiting rooms and would stay there until she heard from Taylor.

Taylor immediately called her friend.

"Heyyy," Gina said when she answered.

"Hey, are you at Sacred Heart?"

"Yeah, I've been here for two hours."

"Well just come to my room. I think I'm about to get discharged."

Gina laughed. "That's easier said than done. I've been trying to go to your room. They're being sketchy about whether or not you're even staying here."

Taylor glanced at the paperwork the shrink had left on her tray. She thumbed through it until she found something with the hospital's name on it. "Yeah, Sacred Heart," she said. "I'm glad they were being sketchy, though. They told me everything would be classified." She paused. "I'll call a nurse in here to tell them to let you come to my room and call you back with my room number."

"Okay," Gina said.

"Hey, Gina, thanks for coming."

Gina sighed. "Of course."

The nurse informed Taylor that they wanted her to finish the IV drip before she went running out of there. Her room was on ground level since she was in one of the few truly private rooms in the emergency room area.

Gina cracked up at the fact that she'd passed right by Taylor's room a couple of hours earlier when she first got there and had gone to use the restroom. "I've been sitting out there getting coughed on for two hours and you were right
here
?" she said laughing as she entered the room.

"I can't believe you came," Taylor said.

"I wouldn't even think of
not
being here. I knew you wouldn't call your mom, and Bonnie and I were the only two who really knew what happened—"

Taylor's mom lived in Nashville, but she would have taken a taxi before she called her. It wasn't that Taylor didn't love her mom—because she did. But she was poor, socially rough around the edges (to put it mildly), and would have shown up with Taylor's four younger siblings. Calling her mom hadn't even crossed her mind.

"That cook knew what happened," Taylor said, calling Gina back to the present.

Gina could tell by the worried tone of Taylor's voice that she was scared of anyone knowing what happened. "They caught the guy," Gina said. "Well, he turned himself in, but I guess that's the same thing."