I’d been right when I told Paige I had a connection in Saginaw, then again in Detroit, and I let her know each and every time I made the change. In the itinerary, Lawson said there’d be a car waiting for me at the airport that would take me right to the venue. I was going on tonight and I couldn’t fucking wait.
Until I saw the guy standing just outside the baggage claim with a sign that read, “Obi Wan Coyote.” I shook my head and went up to him, but once I was in the car and we were on the way, I sent the guys a group text that just read, Assholes. To which I got a deluge of laughing emojis in return. When we arrived, one of the security guys said they’d get my bag to the bus and I was to go straight inside.
I headed for the dressing room to change before the show. The guys would’ve already done soundcheck, as we were only about half an hour to showtime. They’d cut it close with me. But first, I gave Paige a call. She answered on the second ring.
“So the last leg of the trip was safe?” she asked instead of saying hello.
I chuckled into the phone. “It was safe. I’m here.”
“Good.” Silence hung between us for far too long. “But you’re probably getting ready, right? You have to go?”
“Unfortunately, yes, and I don’t know when we’ll get done with everything. I don’t want to call you too late. You have to get up early for my mom.” Since we weren’t going to have time to do any talking as a band before the show I was assuming that we’d do it after. I also had no idea what Lawson had planned for after the show. Things had changed some since I left.
“Right. Yeah. Of course. So this is goodnight.”
“So this is goodnight.”
“Have a good show, Booker.” Then she hung up.
I sighed and shoved the phone back in my pocket, then pulled the door to the venue open. It was like coming home.
“Do my eyes deceive me?” Dixon said as soon as I’d walked into the dressing room. “Has the prodigal son returned?”
“Fuck all of you.” I headed toward the table, where someone had put the clothes. I didn’t know who’d picked out what, but some of mine were there, so I grabbed the first pair of jeans and shirt I came to.
“All right, what’s her name?” Ransom asked as I changed.
“Who?” I asked, even though I knew full well what he was talking about.
“Oh, don’t think you got it past us,” Cross said.
“What the fuck are you guys talking about?” I reiterated.
“Well… ” Dixon stepped forward with his hands folded together like he was praying, but they were pressed against his lips. “On our little video chat when we asked about coming back, I may have insinuated that you were staying because you were getting laid and also that you could get laid here. And what did you say?”
“It wasn’t the same,” Ransom and Cross said in sing-song voices at the same time.
I hated these guys. I mean… I loved them, but I hated them. That was how I knew this was the band I wanted to be in. We were like brothers and that meant we were a perfect fit.
“So… what’s her name?” Ransom repeated.
“All right.” I finished buttoning my pants and ran my hands through my hair, then I put those hands on my hips. “I went home because my mom who had a stroke two months ago caught pneumonia and wanted to see me.”
“And you stayed because… ” Dixon coaxed me to an answer.
I shrugged. “I wanted to make sure she was better.”
“OK, well,” Cross slapped his hands on the arms of the chair then stood up, “We have to go on stage right now, but don’t think this is the end of it.”
I shook my head but couldn’t help my smile as we left the room together.
“Hey,” Cross called to me in the hallway. Ransom and Dixon were a good bit ahead of us when he caught up to me. “Don’t let us get under your skin.”
“I’m not.”
“If you’ve found someone, though, you can tell us. Yeah, Dixon’s going to give you hell because that makes him the last single one among us, but you’ve never been into the girls and afterparties anyway. Oh, shit.” He stopped walking. I didn’t notice for several steps, but once I had, I turned toward him with confusion. He jogged up to me, looked around, and said, “Are you… not into girls? Totally fine and honestly none of my business, but if that’s why you don’t want to tell us, you can. We won’t care.”
I burst out in a loud laugh and clapped him on the back. “Her name is Paige. Yes, I like girls. I like that girl, in particular.”
“Oh, OK but either way… ” He smiled over at me as I shook my head.
We didn’t have any more time for chitchat. This show was about to happen. I grabbed my bass on the way up the stage stairs, threw it around my shoulder, and stepped out into the one thing I knew I was meant to do with my life.
Chapter Eighteen
Paige
The days flew by after Booker left to join the tour. We tried to talk once a day, but that didn’t always work out. Though we sent texts whenever we could. I was busy with Marina, stepping up her therapy like she asked now that the pneumonia had started to clear, and he was even busier. He’d said he was just trying to get back into the swing of things. Not to mention our schedules just didn’t match up. I woke early to work with his mom while he slept late. He was up into the wee hours of the morning while I went to bed when it was barely dark. The hours in a given day where we were both awake at the same time were few. Still, we made the best of it. Deep down, I was always waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Twelve days after he left, I went to take Marina her afternoon meds after she’d fallen asleep on the couch. I wanted to let her go right on sleeping, hell, she could even go back to napping once I finished, but I couldn’t let her medication run any later. I’d pushed them as far as I could and she had a lot of muscle and nerve pain that we needed to stay ahead of. She’d need another dose at night. If I let the afternoon ones go she wouldn’t get the night ones on time. Though she might’ve avoided some of that pain by not pushing herself so hard. There was no stopping her.
“Marina.” I gave her a gentle shake to wake her. “It’s time for some medication.” Then I waited, but she didn’t move. “Marina.” Still nothing. “Fuck.”
I rolled her over onto her back. The area around her lips was blue, so I immediately checked her pulse. She had one, but her heart was racing. I hopped up, ran to the kitchen, where we kept my little medical bag, and pulled my phone out of my back pocket as I moved.
“911. What’s your emergency?” the dispatcher answered.
“This is Paige Wilson, home nurse for Marina Coyote.” I hit the speaker phone button and set the phone on the arm of the couch so I could do my work. Then I gave a rundown to the dispatcher. That I needed an ambulance. Patient was breathing but unresponsive with a rapid heart rate and low blood pressure. History of stroke, seizure, and still being treated for pneumonia. We had to get to the hospital immediately.
When the dispatcher told me paramedics were on their way and offered to stay on the line until help arrive, I declined. I was trained for this. I’d worked in an ER before. With the right equipment, I could’ve taken care of everything.
“Joe!” I called out, then I heard something drop from somewhere else in the house. “Joe!”
Heavy footsteps thudded up the stairs from the basement.
Joe froze in the doorway. His eyes frantically took in the scene and a look of sheer horror replace the confusion that had been there. His eyes widened to a horrific size and his mouth fell open. His chest rose and fell quicker than it had been before he shot himself into the room. “Oh my god. What happened?”
“I’m not sure. Give her some room though,” I said to stop him from crowding her. He could hold her hand but needed to give her space to breathe but I’d feel better once the ambulance got here with oxygen. Given her coloring, her pulse oxygen had to be low.
Sirens wailed in the air around the house then everything happened at once. The p
aramedics came in. They got Marina hooked up to the oxygen and started an IV, then loaded her onto the stretcher as I gave them every medically relevant detail about her that I could. While they were getting her secure inside the ambulance, I quickly ran to my room, threw on the first shoes I could find, and grabbed my purse after dropping my phone inside. They were just ready to shut the back door and get on the road to the hospital when I got back outside.
“Joe.” I pulled him back a little. “Only one of us can go in the ambulance. They don’t always allow even that. What do you want to do?”
As Joe glanced from me to his wife and back again, I realized how much Booker looked like him. A younger version, of course, but the resemblance was almost uncanny.
“You go with her,” he said.
I nodded and ran for the ambulance. Joe didn’t tell me to go because he was heartless or didn’t love his wife. I knew every single medical detail anyone could possibly know about Marina Coyote. I’d been taking care of her for almost two months and she’d been my only patient. On the way to the hospital I answered every question in detail, gave them a list of her medications, checked on her the same way they did.
Joe jogged into the ER right behind us but stayed back, out of the way, while the doctors and nurses did their work. It was hard for me not to jump in, but I’d just get in the way. This team knew each other’s moves. That was how it worked in the ER. The nurses knew what the doctors would want without them having to ask for it. Me being in the middle of that wouldn’t help anyone. Joe was much better at hanging back and waiting than I was. He’d done this with her already when she’d had the stroke and again with the pneumonia.
“We have to run some tests,” one of the nurses said as she approached. “It might be better for you to go to the waiting room. Get some coffee.”
“Tests?” I asked.
“Your mother needs a spinal tap and that can be hard to watch,” she answered.
“I’m her home nurse,” I corrected her. The very tall, dark-haired woman’s eyes widened in surprise.
“We’ll come get you as soon as we know something.” Then she went back to work on Marina.
“Joe,” I said softly. “Let’s go get some coffee. Like she said, this can be hard to watch.”
He nodded absently and let me lead him away. When we got to the waiting room, I went to the vending machine and slid the dollars into the slot for two coffees. It’d likely taste disgusting, but it was meant to keep families busy.
Joe took the cup and thanked me, though he winced when he took the first sip. Yup. Gross waiting-room coffee.
I stepped out into the hallway with my coffee and used my free hand to dig my phone out of my purse and select Booker’s name. It rang six times before going to voicemail.
“Booker, it’s Paige. Give me a call as soon as you can.” Then I ended the call. Just for good measure I sent the same message via text. I just had to get the OK to tell him what was going on before he called me back. As a girlfriend, I felt obligated to let him know but as a medical professional, I was bound to confidentiality. Though Marina once gave me permission to tell him everything, that was before so I’d double check on that. Joe had the authority to make medical decisions if she couldn’t so he could give me that go ahead. I just had to get back and ask.
When I checked the time, I tried to remember what he’d told me about his schedule. Early afternoon… soundcheck? He’d call back.
It only took a minute to get back to Joe in the waiting room. I dropped into the chair beside him and watched as he rubbed some of the tension out of his forehead.
“Joe, I’m wondering what you’d like me to tell Booker.” I said softly, partly to ensure that we’d remain out of earshot of others waiting for their families.
He turned to look at me and asked, “What do you mean?”
“I can’t tell him about Marina being in the hospital or what they tell us without permission. It’s all part of the confidentiality you get with medical professionals. Now, Marina wanted me to tell him everything before but I need your permission to tell him what’s happening now. I don’t want to share anything you don’t want me to.”
Joe watched me as I assumed he considered what Marina would want. I truly hoped he wouldn’t let his own feelings cloud his judgement. Joe was still somewhat of a mystery to me. I got the feeling he loved his son but was so hard on Booker and Booker’s choices. Like he loved Booker but didn’t love the life he’d decided to live. Honestly, it was none of my business either way.
Finally Joe nodded and said, “Marina would want you to tell him whatever you know. She’d want him to be in the loop.”
“OK,” I agreed. “I’ll take care of it when he calls back. Unless you… ”
“No,” he cut me off. “You go ahead. We don’t have the best communication skills. It’d be better if you explain things.”
“I’ll take care of it,” I said again just moments before the doctor came out to talk to us. He sat in the chair kitty-corner to Joe and spoke to him but glanced at me often.
“What we know is that there’s an infection of some kind,” he said. “Since she just had pneumonia, there are several to be concerned about, specifically bacteremia.”
I nodded because that was where my mind had briefly gone back at the house. I’d seen it time and time again in the rehab center.
“We’re waiting on some bloodwork and results of the tap, but we’re admitting her to the ICU to get her blood pressure up and starting her on some heavy antibiotics to get in front of this thing. Any questions?”
Joe shook his head, so the doctor left. I thought Joe probably did have questions, but since I’d come on to work for them, he relied on me to answer them in plain English.
“Explain,” he said, a crinkle of fear around his eyes.
Joe was a big, strong man, but I knew the idea of losing his wife scared the hell out him. They weren’t old enough to have to deal with this stuff. Only in their very early fifties. Most couples didn’t worry about strokes and hospitalizations until much later in life. Sure, things happened at every age but it hadn’t become part of their lives until Marina’s stroke.
“Bacteremia is an infection in her blood from the pneumonia,” I said.
“I thought you said the pneumonia was gone.”
I nodded. “It is. Her lungs sounded great, but sometimes the infection can move to another area, then to the blood.”
“So she could die?”
I hated that question, but it was my job to answer it. “Yes. That’s a possibility, but let’s not jump to worst-case scenario. They’re going to have her on massive broad-spectrum antibiotics until they pinpoint the infection exactly to cover all her bases and protect her heart.”
“The infection could move to her heart?”
“They’re going to do their best to prevent that from happening,” I said. Joe’s jaw tensed, but he remained stoic. To a lot of people on the outside, Booker included probably, Joe was a hardass. But I’d seen him in more private moments with his wife and she was his world. I’d never prayed a day in my life because given how I’d grown up, I’d never seen the point. But right then I prayed like hell that the doctors got in front of whatever was going on.
I also couldn’t help but blame myself. If I hadn’t been distracted by Booker, I would’ve caught it earlier. But I shook those thoughts out of my head. They wouldn’t do anybody any good the only time my attention had been diverted had been on my days off. This wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.
“How about we go up to the ICU and make sure she gets settled?” I asked him next. He nodded. so I took his almost untouched cup of coffee from him and dropped both of ours into the trash.
Chapter Nineteen
Booker
In the days I’d been back out on the road my one regret was that I hadn’t had much of a chance to talk to Paige. Not the way I would’ve liked to. We’d figure it out, but the transition was tough. She got up early; I got up late. Today
wasn’t going to be any different. After soundcheck, Lawson had interview after interview scheduled for us now that I was permanent. Apparently he wanted to capitalize on the moment to ensure the world, or more accurately and labels who were paying attention to us, that we were here to stay. Stable and ready to play.
Though none of us were looking forward to the press time, we’d do whatever we had to which meant doing whatever Lawson told us to. And for right now, that meant finishing the soundcheck.
Suddenly, Cross stopped banging on his drums. Ransom and I followed him by stopping our playing. Then Cross leaned into his mic and asked, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
I had to look around to see whom he was talking to. I’d zoned out as I played, so it could’ve been me or any of us. But he was staring at Ransom.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ransom said into his own mic. The smirk on my face said he knew exactly what Cross was talking about and I was suddenly annoyed with myself that I hadn’t been listening.
Those two had been friends the longest out of all of them and they gave each other the most shit. Dixon glanced over at me and shook his head. I shrugged because I had no idea what was happening.
“Your new lyrics are the worst,” Cross called out, this time not using his mic. Female giggles filled the air, which meant Indie and Bellamy were nearby and whatever was happening probably had something to do with them.
“My lyrics are amazing,” Ransom said, turning toward the rest of us.
“The lyric is hit the walls,” Dixon said. “Not lick my balls.”
I snorted. Kind of sorry I’d missed that.
“It’s called improvising,” Ransom countered.
“It’s called you being an asshole,”
“Bellamy,” Ransom called out. His girlfriend stepped in from the shadows with her eyebrows raised. “Which is better? My way or theirs?”
Booker (Courting Chaos Book 3) Page 10
