Southern Heat by Natasha Madison

Chapter 3

Quinn

"It’s been eight hours." I look over at the nurse who just stares at me. I’ve been coming to the desk every thirty minutes, and they’ve said the same thing over and over again. Two other nurses avoid my eyes as I stand here.

"And like I told you before,” she says, looking at me. “As soon as we know something, we are going to let you know." She looks down at the chart in front of her.

Turning around, I run my hands through my hair and go back to the empty waiting room. It’s been like this the whole night. Black chairs are set around the room with two vending machines. Two tables in the room hold newspapers that look like they’ve been thrown on them. The television is on, but there is no sound. I look out the window, seeing the sun has come up. The big window faces the parking lot with just a couple of cars parked there.

I watch the sun move up and replace the moon. The only thing in my head is the look of her eyes when she opened them and looked at me. I saw the look of horror. I saw the look of fear. I saw the look of a woman who was one step away from letting go.

"There he is." I turn and see my mother and father walk in with a tray of coffees. “We brought you coffee.”

The second I got to the hospital, Mom was running to be with my aunt Savannah as my cousin Chelsea was being rushed into surgery. Slowly, the room filled up with everyone we could think to call, but then just as slowly, the room started to empty when the news came that Chelsea was out of surgery and waking up. Ethan had wanted to stay, but I forced him out of here when I looked over to see Emily holding their baby girl in her arms. The only ones who stayed with me were my parents.

We watched the seconds turn into minutes and then the minutes turn into hours. I finally kicked them out of here four hours ago. My mother didn’t want to leave me, but my father dragged her out of here.

"Any news?" My mother sets the tray down and gives me a hug.

"Nothing,” I say, shaking my head and grabbing the cup of hot coffee from the brown takeout container. I take a sip, ignoring the burning right down to my stomach.

Sitting down, I look down at my feet. I’m still wearing the black outfit from when I found her. The only thing I took off was the bulletproof vest.

“Honey," my mother says, and I look over at her. She wrings her hands together, and I know she is nervous about what she is going to say. "What are you doing here?"

"Darlin’," my father says. My parents met when my mother was running from her ex. She is from the city, and he is from the country. Watching them together is like watching oil and water mix.

"Don’t you darlin’ me, cowboy,” she says, folding her arms over her chest. "I’m just asking the question everyone else is too afraid to ask." She turns and looks at me. “What the hell are you doing here?"

"Mom," I say, taking another sip of my coffee. “What do you expect me to do, just leave her here alone?" I ask. She opens her mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. “We don’t even know who the fuck she is, let alone how to contact a family member to wait for her. Dying alone." I shake my head, trying to swallow down the lump in my throat. The same lump that has been there since she opened her eyes and looked at me. “No one deserves that, Mom."

She puts her hand on mine. “But you don’t even know if she is a good person."

I look up at my father. “She has a point there. She was in the cabin." He runs his hands through his blond hair. They say I look exactly like him, but I’m a touch taller than he is.

"Under a fucking bed, beaten almost to death,” I say, sitting up. “I doubt she would be in there fighting for her life if they were working together. What if she has parents out there looking for her?" I ask my mother. “What if a mother, just like you, is sitting down in her living room waiting for the phone to ring? What if it was Harlow?"

"I get the picture, Quinn," my mother says, wiping a tear away from her face.

"Did anyone contact the missing persons?" I look over at my father, knowing that if anyone can find out who she is, it would be him.

"I contacted a couple of friends of mine and put some feelers out there." He puts his hands on his hips. “But no one fitting her description has been reported as missing."

I shake my head. “I don’t know what her story is, but something inside me tells me she has nothing to do with this."

"Or maybe you are too close to it to see what is right in front of you," my father says. Ever since I can remember, he has never been the one to sugarcoat things. He looks at things from both sides and sees the good and the bad in everyone. In his field, I guess he has to, and most times, we are butting heads about things. It’s why I didn’t follow in his footsteps. It’s why instead of going into computers, I stuck to the farm life.

"Or maybe, just maybe she was held there and not given a choice," I counter, and my father just stares at me.

"Guys," my mother says, trying to calm us both down. "It’s not the time or the place for this."

My father and I share a look, and I know that this conversation is far from over.

I’m about to say something else when I see the doctor coming out. His scrubs are full of blood as he looks down with a defeated expression.

"You need to rein it in," my father says, “I know that look, Quinn. You need to realize both of you are on the same side."

He talks to the nurse at the station, and she points over at us. "Oh my God," my mother says, slipping her hand into mine. Her nervousness is felt all the way to my bones. Her hand trembles in mine as she squeezes it tightly.

"Are you with Jane Doe?" the doctor asks us. I can’t even say anything because my mouth is so dry. I watch him, wondering if he is going to tell us the worst-case news. Will he tell us that the woman I held in my arms died? Just the thought sends my heart into overdrive.

"She’s alive." He cuts right to it. “Barely." My legs shake. “She coded three times." I release my mother’s hand as I put my hand to my stomach. The pressure feels like an elephant is sitting on my chest.

"What is wrong with her?" my mother asks.

"What isn’t wrong with her?" He shakes his head. “She had a massive head injury. I’ve never seen anything so bad. I stopped the bleeding there, but that is just the beginning. To be honest, I don’t know how she’s still alive." I open my mouth in shock. “The next forty-eight hours are going to be crucial for her. Even if she survives this, we still don’t know the extent of her brain injuries."

"When can I see her?" I ask, and he looks down.

"It’s supposed to be family only,” he says, but he must see that no matter what he says, I’m not leaving here.

"Considering we are calling her Jane Doe and the fact no one else is here," my father says, “I’m going to go out on a limb and say we’re the only family she has right now."

He nods his head. “Only one of you can go in."

"Thank you,” I say, watching him turn around and walk away.

"Jesus," my mother says, walking to one of the chairs with shaky hands. “Quinn." She looks at me. “This is …" She blinks away tears, putting her hand on the top of her head. Her own blue eyes are becoming a shade darker. "You can’t do this." She looks at me and then at my father. “Cowboy,” she says his nickname softly, and he just looks down.

"Mom," I say, and she holds up her trembling hand.

"You are going to sit by her bedside, and you don’t even know her name. You don’t even know her story,” she says.

“I don’t know what to say,” I tell my mother honestly. “There is just something in me that can’t just leave her here alone.” Even if I tried to explain it, I don’t think I would be able to. How do you explain that something inside me can’t leave her? How do you explain that everything in your body yells at you to stay?

“She might die in there, and God knows how this will affect you.” She uses the back of her hand to dab away her tears. “You always have this need to save things.” She comes to me, putting her hand on my cheek. “Sometimes, you just need to watch instead of jumping all in.”

“If you guys want to help.” I look at her, then at my father. “Find out who she is."

"We’re working on it," my father says. “But there was nothing in that cabin."

"What about the black bag?" I ask him about the bag I had in my hand when I first spotted her under the bed.

"Nothing in there but clothes and a locket," he says. “No wallet, no nothing."

"How can one person be so off the radar?" My mother looks at my father. “There has to be something in the system."

"Did we get her fingerprints?" I ask my father, and he shakes his head.

"There are so many prints in that cabin," he says, and I close my eyes. “It’ll be a while before we get anything concrete.”

"Well, then get me something, and I’ll get them, and we can run them through the system." I point at where the blue doors are.

"What are you talking about?" My mother rises. “This woman is going to be fighting for her life. I will not let you go in there and do that."

"How else are we going to find out?" My father puts his hands on his hips.

"We’ll find out when she wakes up and you ask her," my mother says. “You need to go home and shower." She looks at me, and I shake my head.

"I’m not leaving,” I say.

"You have her blood on your hands,” she says, and I look down at my hands. I hadn’t even noticed.

"I’ll wash up." I look at her.

"You can’t go in there right now, and I promise I will stay here the whole time,” she says, and she holds her hand up to my cheek. “My sweet boy. She’s going to wake up alone and afraid and probably in a lot of pain. The last thing she’ll want to see is you dressed all in black with her blood on you."

I look over at my father. “Give me your keys." I hold out my hand, and he’s about to hand me the keys when the nurse enters.

"Mr. Barnes," she calls my name and smiles at me. “You can come with me." She turns on her white hospital shoes and doesn’t even look back to see if I’m following her.

I look over at my mother, who has tears in her eyes. “I don’t want to leave you here,” she says.

"I’ll text you if I need you,” I say and hug her. I slip my arms around her waist, and she looks up and kisses my cheek.

"You always were the one to help the wounded,” she says, and then I look at my father.

"I’ll let you know when she wakes up,” I say, not thinking about the alternative.

I turn, following the nurse down the beige hallway right past the nurses’ station that I went to earlier.

She presses the silver button on the wall, and the two blue doors open. Walking in, I feel it’s a whole different space. All I hear is the beeping from the machines. Even the overhead light is dim on this side of the hospital.

A nurses’ station sits in the middle of the huge room with a whiteboard behind them. Each room has a name except for one that has Jane on it. Her column is empty like a blank canvas.

Each room has a window that looks out to the nurses’ station. She pushes open the door to the room, and I think I’m ready for what is to greet me.

But.

I. Was. Wrong.

I stop in the middle of the entrance as I look at her in the bed. The sound of the machine beeping beside her echoes in the room.

She lies in the middle of the bed, wearing a white and blue hospital gown. One hand rests at her side with a gray button on her finger, while the other arm is in a cast up to her elbow. "She’s stable," the nurse tells me, and I don’t even turn my head away from the woman in the bed. Her face is as white as before but cleaned. One of her eyes is still swollen shut.

I take a step forward and stand next to her bed, a white bandage is around her head. A tube down her throat helps her breathe, and the only thing I can watch is her chest rising and falling. “Is she in pain?" I ask the nurse.

"No,” she says, and I see the IV in her arm. “We are giving her morphine every four hours." I sit in the chair beside her bed. My eyes go to one of the machines with green lines on it. “I’ll leave you alone. If you need me." I look over at her. “My name is Deborah."

I don’t say anything to her because I don’t trust my voice not to break. Instead, I nod at her, and she walks out of the room. I have never had to sit by someone’s bed and watch them fight to live. I have never had the pull that I have to this woman who I know nothing about.

My hand moves to take hers in mine. Her icy hand sits in my big warm one. “I’m here,” I say softly, and I hope she can hear me. “You’re safe. I promise you.”