Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 57099 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57099 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 285(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
I paced to the window, looking out over the parking lot and street beneath us. The stormy sky outside reflected my mood.
“Knight,” Ada said softly, motioning me over to where she stood by Brynn’s bed. “Come sit down. You’re making everyone nervous with the pacing.”
I gave a petulant grunt but obeyed, dropping into the chair beside Lavender. She immediately reached for my hand, her fingers cool against my skin. I traced my thumb across her knuckles, feeling the delicate bones beneath. For all her newfound strength, she was still so much smaller than me, her frame deceptively fragile looking.
“It’ll be OK,” she whispered, though whether she was reassuring me or herself, I couldn’t tell. Maybe both.
A nurse came in to check Brynn’s vitals, her eyes widening slightly at the collection of roughened, tattooed guys occupying every corner of the room. To her credit, she recovered quickly, moving efficiently around us to do her job.
“How’s she doing?” I asked, my voice rougher than I intended.
The nurse glanced up from the Computer on Wheels where she updated the chart. “Her blood pressure’s still elevated, but stable. Dr. Patel left orders to start the prep for dialysis if necessary, but we’re hoping that won’t be needed. Either way, she shouldn’t eat or drink after midnight. The guess is she will have surgery of some kind either tomorrow or the next day, depending on…” She trailed off, looking uncomfortable and more than a little frustrated. “Depending on what happens at Dr. Patel’s meeting with the transplant board this afternoon, she will either have the dialysis shunt inserted tomorrow or the transplant will take place the next day.” She looked pointedly at my bandaged hand. “Would you like me to take a look at that?”
I shook my head. “It’s fine.”
“Regardless, I’ll bring you some bandages and peroxide. If you happen to use them to clean your hand before it gets infected, then gangrenous, then rots off, so much the better.” She gave me a bright smile.
Jag shifted from his position against the wall, his voice startling everyone since he’d been silent since our return. “Let her clean it, Knight. Last thing Brynn needs is you getting an infection before surgery.”
The logic was so sound I quickly apologized and extended my hand. Once cleaned and bandaged, I apologized again. “Thanks. I appreciate you being thoughtful enough not to ask what the hell I did,” I muttered when she finished.
She gave me a gentle smile. “Honey, I know the news you guys got today. To my way of thinking, if you didn’t come back from that meeting with busted knuckles, I’d probably think the committee might be right. They’re dead wrong and everyone here knows it. So, no matter what you did to bust up your knuckles, ain’t my business. I’m a nurse.” She gripped my shoulder briefly before slipping from the room, leaving us to our vigil once more.
Knuckles had taken up position by the door, looking more like a bodyguard than a visitor. Hannah and Lavender continued their quiet conversation, with Ada occasionally joining in. Jag remained silent, but his presence was oddly comforting, a solid, unwavering force in a situation spiraling beyond our control.
Knuckles’ phone buzzed and received a text and nodded to himself. “Lana’s in the parking lot on her way up. Apparently, regardless of what I try to tell Hannah, it’s possible to pick up time by going really fast.” His sarcastic tone also had an undertone of humor.
Ten minutes later, I heard the sharp, decisive clicking of a woman’s pumps on the tile as she moved with purpose down the hallway. The sound grew louder, more distinct, until it stopped directly outside Brynn’s door.
Knuckles moved aside and Lana Thompson strode into the room exactly as she’d promised. Her charcoal suit was impeccably tailored, her red hair pulled back in a severe knot at the nape of her neck. She carried a leather briefcase that looked like it cost more than my first motorcycle, and her gaze scanned the room with laser precision, taking in every detail before landing on me.
“Knight,” she said, her voice carrying that particular blend of authority and compassion that had made her legendary in legal circles. “Let’s talk about saving your daughter.” She didn’t waste time with pleasantries, just nodded to Knuckles before turning her attention to me and Lavender. “I need everything,” she said, her voice crisp as a new hundred-dollar bill. “Medical records, committee objections, transplant protocols. And I need them now.” She wasn’t asking -- she was commanding, and I’d never been so grateful to have someone else take control of a situation that had been spiraling beyond my grasp.
Lavender was already on her feet, digging through the canvas tote she’d taken to carrying our medical paperwork in. “Here’s Brynn’s complete file,” she said, handing over a thick folder. “Knight’s donor workup is in there too, along with the transcript of the committee’s initial decision to deny the surgery.”