Southern Heat by Natasha Madison

Chapter 9

Quinn

I walk out of the room with my heart in my throat. My hands shake, and the anger and rage roar through me. If I would have stayed in the room, I don’t know what I would have done or said. Neither of which would have boded well for anyone. I run my hands through my hair and then hold them behind my head.

Walking down the hall before and seeing her shaking like a leaf while she threw up was as if someone was pushing me to the edge of a cliff.

I tried to reel it in as I rubbed her back. I couldn’t tell her that she was going to be okay; I didn’t trust any words to come out of my mouth, so I kept silent beside her as Shirley made sure she was okay. It was going as well as it could have gone, but then I saw that her whole fucking leg was bruised. Not just one spot, either. Her whole fucking upper leg was bruised a dark purple. It screamed at me that this wasn’t just one punch that created that. I closed my eyes, trying not to see it, but it was the only thing I saw in my mind.

I had to walk out of the room because I thought I was going to be sick in the middle of the hallway. Knowing someone put their hands on her, I felt this rage soar through me, and I had no idea what the fuck was going on inside me. All I wanted to do was push the hair back from her face, just stare into her eyes, and hold her face in my palms. I wanted to take her in my arms and promise her that she would never be hurt again. I wanted to tell her that I would die before I let someone else put their hands on her. Then hearing that she had a broken clavicle and just fought through the pain? Well, that was the push I needed to go over the edge.

I put my hands on the nurses’ desk and look up at the ceiling, trying to calm myself. I make the mistake of looking over my shoulder at her as she looks down at her lap, probably unsure as to what the fuck happened.

"Well, that was smooth," Shirley says. Coming out, she shakes her head and gives me the biggest glare ever. "Idiot." I can’t even say anything to that because she is right. I have no idea what’s come over me, but I’m in uncharted territory, so I have no idea how to act. "I’m going to get her a sling for her arm." She turns and walks down the hall while the doctor comes out with his pecan pie in his hand.

"She’ll be fine,” he says. “It’s a common injury."

"Really? How many adults do you know that come in with a broken clavicle?" I ask, my eyes staring straight at him.

"A lot more than you think,” he says, and I tilt my head to the side, not believing him for even a second. "It could happen riding a bike or playing sports." He tries to sugarcoat things. "Car accidents."

"Or from being almost beaten to death," I add, and he doesn’t correct me. "How long will it take to heal?"

"Usually, it takes six to eight weeks to heal in adults. With her arm in a sling, she won’t be in much pain,” he says. “I’ll check in with her later." He turns to walk away, and I start to take a step into the room when I see Shirley coming back.

"How about you calm down a touch and then come in?" she says. “This might hurt, and she might not show it in front of you."

I nod at her as she walks in, and I hear her talking, the phone in my back pocket buzzing. Looking at it, I see it’s my uncle Jacob. “Hello,” I say, my eyes never leaving from looking into the window at Shirley explaining to Willow what she is going to be doing.

"Quinn,” he says. “I’m with the guys. You are on speakerphone."

"Okay,” I say, confused. I step down the hall, looking into the room where Chelsea was and see it’s empty. The hospital bed sits ready for the next patient. I turn back as I slowly walk back to Willow’s room.

"I hate to do this to you," he says, and I’m already annoyed. I don’t even ask him what guys he has there. Is he with my father, or is he with his men at the station? Either way, I couldn't care less.

"I’m going to be honest," I start to say. “It’s not a good time,” I say instead of saying what I want to say, which is I don’t want to hear it.

"Well, sorry, but we are running out of time at this point,” he says, and I stand straight. "We need to come in and interview her.”

"No," I say right away. “Fuck no." My voice goes low as I hiss it out.

"We’ve given her more time than anyone else,” he says, and I close my eyes. "We haven’t even placed an officer outside of her room."

I ignore that last point. “She literally woke up yesterday,” I say. “Less than twenty-four hours ago. She was in a coma for four days. When would you have asked her questions exactly?"

"And we should have had someone there get a statement." His voice comes in. “But we gave her some time because of you." His voice trails off, and I know that he’s bent many rules because of me being by Willow’s side.

"Well, you aren’t coming today,” I say, my voice a touch louder. “She just got results back, and her clavicle is broken." My voice trails off with that statement.

"What?" he whispers.

"Yeah," I say. “She was fighting through the pain and not saying anything, but I guess the nurse saw it, and she just got the results."

"Okay, fine," he huffs. “We’ll be there tomorrow afternoon. That is the longest I can stretch it. There are lots of loose ends to this investigation, and we hope she can help us."

"Yeah," I say, looking into the room at her, knowing that she holds many answers. "Okay, I’ll text you tomorrow morning to set up a time.” I finally give in.

“Hang in there,” Jacob says. “It’s almost over.”

I disconnect the call. “Or it’s just beginning,” I mumble to myself. Putting the phone back in my back pocket, I rub my face with my hands as I watch Shirley talk to Willow.

I watch as Shirley explains something to her. Willow looks at Shirley and smiles softly at her, and she is breathtakingly beautiful. Shirley bends Willow’s arm, putting it in the bottom part of the sling. Willow winces just a bit when she sits up in the bed so Shirley can slip it around the bottom of her chest. Willow slowly puts her back against the bed and listens to whatever Shirley tells her. She leans her head back against the pillow. Her eyes close just for a second, and then she fights to open them again.

You can see that she is fighting the sleep that will take her soon. I just stand here and watch. Shirley takes the containers off the bed, putting them back into the brown bag, but keeping out the blueberry one. She stays in the room, not leaving her side until she falls asleep.

She walks out of the room, coming to my side in front of the window that looks in. “I guess it was too much excitement for her,” she says, looking at her watch. “It’s the longest she’s been up.” I nod, looking at her chest rising and falling. “She’s out for a couple of hours. I just gave her another dose of pain medication.”

“How much pain was she in?” I look over at Shirley. “And she didn’t say anything?” I watch her face as she talks, seeing if she’ll hide anything from me.

“Everyone has their own threshold for pain,” she says matter-of-factly. “We all handle it differently.” She stands in front of me, her eyes not giving away anything. I turn back and watch Willow. “Why don’t you take off for a couple of hours?” I side-eye her. “It might be what you need. Get out of here and get a good night’s sleep. She isn’t going anywhere,” she says, and I just shake my head.

“That woman”—she points at Willow—“has been through more than we will ever know. More than she will ever admit to anyone.” She swallows down the lump in her throat. “I want you to keep that in mind when you talk to her.” I ignore the beating of my own heart, and the way my stomach sinks at her words.

“They need to come and get an official statement from her tomorrow afternoon,” I say, and she shakes her head.

“That is going to be interesting,” she says. “Will you be in the room?”

“What do you think?” I cross my arms over my chest.

“I don’t think that is a good idea,” she answers honestly. I just look over at her. “I don’t know you, Quinn,” she starts, looking at me over her glasses that sit on the tip of her nose, “but from what I can tell, I don’t think you can listen to her story without losing your shit.” I almost roll my eyes at her. “Think about that before tomorrow. She is going to need someone on her side.” She takes a deep breath. “And I don’t think anyone has ever been on her side.”

I don’t answer because she turns around and walks away from me to the nurses’ desk. She sits there and writes in the folder. I walk back into the room and go to sit in the chair beside Willow’s bed. Shirley’s words replay in my head. “And I don’t think anyone has ever been on her side.”

I watch her sleep, and she whimpers. I scoot forward and hold her hand in mine, the casted arm in the sling. Her eyes open halfway. “I’m here,” I tell her as she blinks, trying to stay awake.

“Does it hurt?” I whisper.

She licks her lips. “Not really.” She closes her eyes.

“I’m sorry about before,” I say, not sure if she is awake or not. “I should have held your hand while you went through all of that.” Her eyes flutter open just for a second before closing again.

Her eyes open again. “You don’t have to be sorry,” she says softly. “You didn’t do anything to hurt me.” Her voice trails off, and then she closes them again, this time not opening them as she slips back to sleep.

“Tomorrow is going to be tough,” I say when the sun goes down, the hallway gets dark, and she still hasn’t woken up. I put her small hand in mine as I trail my finger on the top of her hand. “But I’m going to be here,” I say. She mumbles as her fingers twitch in my hand. “I’m going to be here, and I’m going to be by your side.”