Back To You (Sweet, Safe, & Sexy AF Romances Book 2)

by Elena M. Reyes

  The only thing I’ve been able to keep as part of my promise is the daily email I send each day. Just a few short lines that share a dirty fantasy that I plan to make a reality as soon as I’m back on U.S. soil. A new one each day, and I also assure her that I’m okay.

  “Hey, Nick.” Evan pokes his head into my temporary office. We’re set up at a local hospital half an hour away from the eruption site. It’s one of the largest in San Miguel and close enough that emergency personnel can get survivors to us quickly.

  “What’s up?” I ask, cracking my neck to work out a bit of the mounting tension. I’m on hour number ten of my shift and only have a short nap under my belt more than five hours ago. I’m tired, with several patients already seen for minor injuries and burns on their body.

  This is an all hands on deck and your specialty doesn’t count. We are seeing everything from broken bones to deep wounds from being crushed in the earthquake that followed.

  “Rescue team two just phoned and we have five new admits coming in. A family that was found trapped inside their home, one of them being an eight month old.”

  Being a doctor, you learn to detach yourself and focus on what’s important. Devoid of emotions in situations like this helps you think clearly. You place your trust on rationality and the years of training, not a gut reaction that sometimes hinders more than it helps.

  Logic and knowledge save lives.

  “Are they all stable?” I’m already getting up and grabbing my stethoscope. The ambulance port is on the next floor down, and we can only reach them by stairs at the moment.

  “All stable except a woman in her early twenties.” His face is serious, and the dark bruises under his eyes speak of his exhaustion. That, and he hasn’t been the same since we left. I know his concern for Crystal is eating at him. “She’s unconscious but had been complaining of lower abdominal pain before losing consciousness. From what we know, a piece of the ceiling fell on her. All others are fine, but they need to be checked for ash inhalation and one has a small gash on the forehead.”

  Looking down at the picture of Mila on my phone, I sigh and put the device away in my back pocket. This is going to be a long night, and I have a feeling the Skype date I was hoping for is no longer in the cards.

  Eight hours later I leave the hospital and head for the housing unit provided by the organization. I’m bunking with Evan on this trip; he’s already there and should be sleeping.

  The driver taking me back zips through the road with care. We’re lucky that while the city is covered in soot, the hospital’s able to remain open with minimal structural damage. Most of the destruction—the heaviest center of activity—went in the opposite direction of where we’re set up.

  However, because some roads are closed, we must take a route that cuts through an outer section of town that was hit by a small earthquake. It borders a housing district with colonial-style homes and a few businesses.

  We’re twenty minutes from the hospital when the driver stops the car and gets out. There’s shouting, people surround the sidewalk and part of the street, while the sobs of a woman carry through the mass of bodies working together.

  All around the building, rescuers work to pull off whatever rubble they can. A pickup truck with some kind of towing mechanism waits to get in and take out the larger pieces of wall.

  And at the center of all that stood Evan speaking to a man with an EMT vest.

  Exiting the idling car, I run toward him. “What’s going on?”

  He turns toward me, the look on his face grim. “We have a male, mid-forties, and trapped. The wall fell over as he was ushering his family out. He’s conscious, but barely.”

  Nodding, I turn to look at the paramedic. “What can we do?”

  “Right now, we need to get him out while being careful with the structure around him. Another collapse could be fatal.”

  “How long has he been trapped?” Evan asks. I can see the wheels turning in his head. His thoughts mirror my own: we need to get him out and checked immediately. We have no idea on the state of his vitals or if he’s breathing without difficulty.

  “Three hours.”

  “Fuck.” My curse encompasses what we all think. Without another word, we turn and head back to the area. This is a dire situation, and standing here talking isn’t going to do a damn thing.

  At once, Evan and I join the others and begin to pull off any piece of rock and concrete we can. My muscles strain and exhaustion looms around the edges, but the adrenaline coursing through my veins pushes me to take another step. To continue.

  For the next two hours every person here works tirelessly, using every available body to remove the rubble. We’re blessed that no one else was hurt and the surrounding structure stays in place.

  He’s beyond lucky that his injuries are minimal. From the quick examination we give him, we know he has a broken arm and bruised ribs. The impact to the face did manage to break a few teeth and his lip will need stitches, but that seems to be the worst without an X-ray to pinpoint any other possible issues.

  Evan made quick work of sending a message to the hospital and our team on the clock. They’re waiting with a hospital bed made available for him, something else the family is beyond thankful for.

  It’s about three in the morning when we all call it quits and begin to head home. We’re walking down from the mound of broken concrete when it happens…

  Dogs in the area begin to bark, and the floor beneath our feet moves—shakes with force.

  Sirens go off in the distance right before what sounds like a massive explosion illuminates the sky. There’s no disguising what we see. The volcano’s eruption lights up the sky, a high cloud of oranges and reds that causes the few of us still standing here to pause.

  Nature is beautiful and deceiving.

  We’re miles away but can see everything as if we are standing before that mountain.

  “We need to get the fuck out of here!” someone yells out and we move, rationality seeping back in as we scramble toward the car. The ground rumbles, and the sound of crumbling buildings is loud all around us. Walls break and windows shatter.

  Another shift, and a crash comes from behind me.

  Pain sears my shoulder, and then I’m on the ground. There’s blood. I can feel the trickles as they fall from my fingertips and onto a concrete block with a piece of rebar sticking from the edge. Both have splashes of red on them.

  “Son of a bitch,” I grit out, the open wound burning.

  “Evan, move!” It’s a shout seconds before another substantial portion of wall falls. My head turns, and the movement causes a sharp pain to cross my temples. It throbs, and my vision is a bit hazy. However, I still catch the moment he’s knocked unconscious and his leg is pinned beneath the debris. “We need to get him and get the fuck out. Everyone, lift up on the count of three.”

  I stand to help and wobble, and more blood pours. Take three steps, and my knees wobble.

  Someone grabs my arm and I look over; it’s another EMT, and there’s concern on his face. “Get to the car, Nick. You’re injured and can’t—” Another explosion, larger this time, and from the peak we see a bit of lava roll down the side.

  “Three!” The others work together, and Evan is carried between three men. They’re rushing, while I try to gather my bearings. Time slows around me, and I try to take another step on my own.

  My foot slips on some gravel, and I’m pulled up by the arm—held up as we make our way down to the car. The sky slowly begins to rain soot, and breathing is bothersome. We’re coughing, dirty, and now wearing my blood. Evan is in the bed of a truck while I manage to crawl into the car.

  I’m losing a battle with my consciousness; my eyes are heavy and body coiling in pain.

  Everything around me blurs as we rush back to the hospital and away from the disaster. Everything dims except one thought:

  My Mila.

  How much I love her. Miss her. My promise to always come back to her.

 
thirteen

  “Baby, where are you,” I whisper, my worry palpable while my hands shake. It’s been more than thirty-six hours since I last heard from Nicholas. Thirty-six hours that feel like an eternity.

  Too long.

  Gripping my cell phone tight, I pace the room up and down while my ears are trained on the television playing in the background. I’m taking mental notes on the anchor’s latest update.

  Twenty-four-hour live coverage since the last explosion and the ground shook. San Miguel is in shambles—the city in total chaos while on the ground near the city’s center rescuers work tirelessly to save those trapped by rubble.

  Another eruption. Another earthquake. Another minute without hearing from my love that he is okay.

  I can’t even bring myself to think of the others. The ones that aren’t lucky enough to take another breath on this earth.

  What if something…

  I can’t think like that. He’s just preoccupied with so much work that he missed our date by mistake. While it worries me, the silence that follows the missed Skype doesn’t have to mean anything more than that. That time flew by him.

  He’s never gone so long without reaching me, and I know it in my heart that he will. Has to.

  Fuck, I’d take an email or courier pigeon at this point.

  Again, I press the green button and bring it up to my ear. “Come on, babe. Please pick up.” It rings four times, and then nothing. Not even the ability to leave a voicemail is present.

  His inbox is full, and that’s a huge reason for concern. If something wasn’t wrong, why would it be filled to capacity?

  He’s okay and is busy saving lives. My Doctor Champ. It’s my mantra. The hope I cling to even though there’s a gut instinct that tells me otherwise.

  Stopping in front of the living room windows, I call again. I’ve lost track of just how many times I’ve done this. “Come on—” There’s a click and then some static on the other end. My heart races and palms sweat as a lump forms in my throat, rendering me mute.

  I can’t talk, but God do I listen—make out a man speaking in rapid Spanish throwing out Nick’s name and then the words sangre and herida are my focal point. Blood and wound.

  Please, Lord. Don’t let him be hurt. Maybe he’s asking my Champ for help, telling him what is going on so that he’s aware.

  “Nick,” I manage to choke out, but get no response. At least, not from the man I love more than anything in this life. More chatter comes through the line, a lot of cursing in Spanish, and then it goes dead.

  I hit redial, but not even a single ring. This time, it goes straight to that godforsaken automated response telling me his inbox is full.

  “Son of a bitch,” I cry out, tossing the phone on the couch in exasperation. Anger and fear coarse through my body, and I’m like a lost child. No idea on how to react.

  I want to cry. Break something.

  However, this won’t help, and the last thing we need is for me to injure myself.

  Getting answers is my priority, and for that, I must keep my focus. Find out where he is, and if the man is safe and sound, choke him for scaring easily ten years off my lifespan.

  Suddenly the phone rings and I dive for it, hitting my small toe on the corner of the coffee table. I’m stumbling in pain, almost dropping the phone, but before it meets the hardwood floor, I catch it and hit the green button. “Hello? Nick?”

  “No. It’s me.” Crissy sniffs, and at once I am choking down my pain. She’s freaking out, and I don’t blame her. I’m scared out of my own mind.

  But then a thought hits me:

  Are these tears because she has news? Something bad happened?

  My knees give out and I sit back, bringing my knees up to my chest. “Have you heard anything? Has Evan called?”

  “No.” Another sniff. “God, Mimi, this is driving me insane. Makes me wish that—” she trails off.

  “What? You wish what?” I ask much harsher than I intend. Because if she means that we never met them, I’ll kick her butt myself. Nicholas—my love for him—is worth it all.

  “Evan offered me his sister’s phone number, but I never wrote—”

  “Yes!” I yell out, hopping up from my seat and wobbling with my throbbing toe into my kitchen. To the first drawer in on the left side of our island. “How could I forget, Crystal?”

  “Spit it out already, Mimi. Just tell me,” she growls, annoyed by my sudden squeals of joy. Crystal doesn’t understand what this means. That we now have a line of communication.

  “I have his parents’ telephone number. Nick gave me a way to contact them before he left in case of an emergency…wrote it down himself.” Placing my hand over the small notebook, I take in a few deep breaths and center myself.

  “Christ,” she breathes out, and I can almost literally feel some of the tension drain from her. “Give me twenty to get there. I have to be there when you call.”

  The call disconnects after that, and I wait. And wait…

  Make coffee.

  Load the dryer.

  Reach my ten thousand steps for the day on my Fitbit before she arrives. Her car is barely parked when she clambers out and rushes up the steps to my front door.

  Before it connects, though, I pry it open, almost causing her to stumble. “Ass,” she grumbles, and I laugh, ignoring the disgruntled look and the hand on the casing holding her up.

  Instead, I roll my eyes while flipping her off. “Hurry up, chica. I’m nervous and excited—need some answers pronto.”

  “Amen.” Chrissy follows me into the kitchen and pours herself a cup of coffee. She has a mug here and a bottle of French Vanilla creamer that only she uses. I like mine with coconut anything. Taking both, she sips and points at my phone. “Call.”

  “I’m going.” Opening the notebook to the first page, I finger his handwriting at the very top. My heart warms when I see what looks more like chicken scratch than cursive. How anyone can understand this amazes me. Another thing I love about him. To be honest, it’s endearing to see the hot mess he can be when writing.

  Some are blessed with legible penmanship, but he’s not one.

  His mother’s information is there and in bold…

  Caroline Adams

  Work-

  Cell-

  Home-

  Email-

  “I’m nervous,” I say after a few minutes of just staring at the grouping of numbers. “What if—”

  “Babe…” Chrissy interrupts, coming to stand beside me, bumping her shoulder with mine “…the sooner we know, the faster we can act. No matter what, we will face this and get them home as soon as possible.”

  “Together?”

  “Always.”

  Taking in a deep breath, I let it out slowly. “All right, let’s get this over with.” Dialing the number for her cell, I place the phone between us on the countertop and wait. It rings a few times, and just when I think she won’t pick up, there’s an audible click…

  “Hello?” There’s so much noise around her, sounds like a million and one voices responding at once. “Hello? Who’s this?”

  “H-hi, is this Mrs. Caroline Adams?”

  “This is she.” A male voice asks who’s calling, but she doesn’t reply. Instead, she moves a little away from whatever hustle and bustle she’s in the middle of. In the distance I hear a flight being called and that boarding is now available. Are they leaving the country to see him? “May I ask who’s calling?”

  “Hi, my name is Mila and—”

  “Nick’s Mila?” No surprise or doubt about who I am. Nicholas spoke about me to them, and I can’t stop the goofy grin from forming on my face.

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, thank God!” There’s rustling on the phone and her voice becomes muted, as if she’s holding the phone to her chest. “Richard, it’s Mila.”

  “Woman, give me the phone.”

  “No, I’m talking to her.”

  “Sweetheart, this changes things, and I need you to work
your magic. Please, add one more—”

  Crystal and I just look at each other. They’re bickering is cute, and any other time I would giggle, but right now I want answers.

  “Excuse me, sir?”

  “Mila,” he breathes out, and I can almost make out the smile. “My Nick’s Mila?”

  “Yes, and I am so sorry to bother you, but I’m worried about him. He hasn’t contacted me in almost two days and I—”

  “It’s okay…more than okay to call us at any time and for anything. You have no idea how much this will mean to my son.”

  “Is he okay?”

  “We had no way of contacting you. Caroline lost your contact information.” His father and I speak in unison.

  “It’s okay. All I need is to know that he’s busy and not hurt. That’s all I care about.” Maybe it’s rude to cut him off, but I’m close to my breaking point. My emotions are out of control. On a roller coaster that takes me high and then drops me low. He stays quiet for another minute and that sinking feeling is back, causing my throat to become tight. “Please…I need to know.”

  Richard sighs, and it’s a heavy sound. “He’s alive but unconscious.”

  “Oh God,” I whimper out, tears falling from my eyes. “What happened?”

  “He and Evan—”

  “Evan too?” Crissy chokes out, and I feel her pain.

  “Crystal, I presume?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good, this makes it easier. I know this is hard, but I need you girls to focus on something. Can you do that?”

  “Yes,” we manage to get out, our finger intertwined—clutching the other’s.

  “They are alive, and their injuries aren’t life threatening. Both suffered from a head injury—gashes which did need stitches, but they are under the best care possible at a hospital an hour away from San Miguel. From what the doctors have told me, they are stable, and vitals look great.”

  Caroline’s voice carries over the line, and all we can make out is we’ll take four seats and for tonight.

  “How fast can you girls get to the airport?” Richard asks suddenly.