by Julie Bailes
To finish my performance, I climb to the very top and go into a flying ballerina, ending in a split drop. As the lights brighten, I flip my hair back and my heart jumps into my throat. Directly in front of me is my father, standing at the end of the stage grimacing. Fuck my life. Fuck it hard. Mortified that my father saw me in all my naked glory, I don’t worry about going out and collecting my tips. Instead, I dash backstage, lock myself in the restroom, and fight back the vomit threatening to expel.
“Piper, are you okay?” Gemma asks, tapping on the door. Unsure of how I feel, I don’t tell her yes or no.
“Do me a favor, Gem. Can you look inside my locker and bring me my bag, please?” Paul may not have been the father I dreamt he would be, but he still had a hand in creating me. His face, contorted with pain and disbelief, is stuck on replay in my mind. I have to get out of here before he finds me.
Tapping sounds on the door and I crack it open. “Here you go. I’ll be back once I finish my routine. Andrew text me earlier me to let me know he’s here and can’t wait to see me. Wish me luck,” she almost squeals. Snatching my bag from her hand, I slam the door and reach inside to pull out a pair of cotton shorts and a racer-back tank.
Once I’m dressed, I sling my bag over my shoulder and head for the door. Remembering the last time I went out back alone, I pause and consider finding one of the bouncers to escort me out. Without one of the guys, I risk running into Sailor and experiencing his wrath, again. Yet, if I stay, there’s a possibility my father will force his way backstage, and I can’t tolerate facing him—not tonight. Although I shouldn’t care how disappointed he is in me, I do. Why? I don’t have the slightest idea. He’s the reason I do what I do. He begged me to go to college, become a lawyer, and move to New York to join his firm, but I rejected his offer and became a high-class stripper just to piss him off. Four years later, I finally have his attention, but this is not the way I hoped to capture it.
Giggling sounds from behind me, along with a deep muffled male voice. Peeping around the corner, I see Gemma tongue-wrestling with Paul. Holy hell, this is not happening. Instead of darting out the back door, I step up and interrupt their tongue fuck fest. “What the fuck are you doing?” I heckle.
Disengaging themselves from one another, Gemma takes my father’s hand and drags him to where I’m standing. “Piper, meet Andrew. Andrew, this is Piper,” she greets, smiling ear-to-ear, completely ignoring my glowering and the steam I know is blowing from my ears.
“Andrew? See, this relationship is already on a road to destruction. You see, Gemma, this man, his name isn’t Andrew—lie number one,” I begin. Gemma’s smile quickly vanishes as she looks between my father and me.
“Piper,” Paul warns. “Don’t you ‘Piper’ me, Paul,” I spit.
“Okay, I’m confused,” Gemma speaks up, bamboozled by what she’s learning about her ‘soul mate’, ‘Andrew’.
“Allow me to enlighten you, Gem. You see, ‘Andrew’, whose real name is Paul, is my father,” I explain.
Gemma’s jaw hits the floor as she crumbles to the floor. My father, being the loving companion he’s lead Gemma to believe he is, squats down and scoops her into his arms. “Is it true?” she wails.
“It’s true,” he admits, covering her head with kisses. Instead of pulling away from Paul, she snuggles her head into his chest. Weak woman. This is exactly why I refuse to emotionally invest myself into anyone. Love never lasts, and people are never who they appear to be. Prime example, was my father pretending to be a man who is compassionate and capable of commitment. “And your name isn’t Andrew?” Gemma sobs into his shirt.
“No, baby, it isn’t. Andrew is my middle name,” he confesses.
All of a sudden, my anger subsides and I become sorrowful when I see the anguish etched across Gemma’s face. God help her, she honestly believes this thing between her and my father is love?
“What else have you lied to me about?” Gemma heaves. Lifting her face to his, he kisses her tear-streaked cheeks.
“Nothing, I promise. In my defense, I haven’t lied to you, Gemma. My colleagues refer to me as Andrew, and you never asked about my past. If you had asked me if I had any children, I would’ve told you,” he expresses, sparking hope in Gemma’s eyes. As much as I want to rip Paul’s throat out, none of this is Gemma’s fault.
Reaching down, I place my hand on Gemma’s shoulder. “I think you need to tell him,” I encourage. Her eyes bulge from their sockets, and color drains her face.
“Tell me what?” Paul questions. Gemma shakes her head frantically. Nodding, I urge her to tell him about the pregnancy. “Tell me, princess,” Paul urges.
I cringe when he refers to Gemma the same as he did me earlier this afternoon.
Bowing her head, she mumbles, “I’m pregnant.” Paul gasps, drops his head and his body goes limp. Placing my hand on Paul’s shoulder, I lean down and whisper, “Congratulations, Daddy.” Then, I give him a that-a-boy slap on the back and leave to go out to the bar.
Twelve
Ryder
When the crowd clears from the club, I see my beautiful girl sitting at the bar talking with Zane, the bartender. With her arms resting on top of the bar, she’s leans in and giggles while Zane speaks into her ear. Right away, I’m consumed with jealousy. As I begin to make my way over to Piper, my phone rings for the tenth time this evening. Hastily, I swipe the screen and answer the damn call. “What, Cassianna?” I snap.
“It’s about time you answered my call. What if something had happened to me, huh?” As soon as I open my mouth to tear Cassie a new asshole, I snap it shut when I see Zane’s hand rubbing up and down Piper’s arm. My jealousy instantly turns into pure rage. Immediately disconnecting the call, I storm over to the bar.
“Get your goddamn hands off her,” I growl, causing Zane to jump back at least five feet. Taking Piper by the arm, I remove her from the stool and she stumbles. Wrapping my arms around Piper’s waist, I hold her up against my side. “Zane, come here,” I call.
“Yes, sir,” he stammers, nervously popping his knuckles. “How much has she had to drink?”
He shrugs. “I can’t tell you exactly how much, because Taylor was serving her before he left, but she’s taken back at least five shots of Balkan vodka from me,” he reports.
As Zane talks, Piper pushes her tiny fist into my stomach, trying to escape my grip. “Fucking stop, right now,” I demand, clutching her tighter. “What’s the proof on that?” Picking the Balkan from the shelf, he passes it to me and points to the print on the bottom of the bottle.
“It’s superior strength and triple distilled,” Zane points out. “I see that. And, it’s 176 proof.” Fuck, she’s wasted.
Handing the bottle back to Zane, I turn my attention to my drunken fighter. “Have you eaten anything tonight?”
Rising onto her tiptoes, she cocks her head and gazes into my eyes. “No, sir. Have you eaten today?” she mimics, slurring her words and tapping the tip of my nose with her finger.
“Zane, hand me two bottles of cold water.” Taking the water from his hands, I remove the top and place the bottle at Piper’s lips. “Drink, now,” I say beside her ear, my voice low and threatening. However, she’s too drunk to give a shit about my warning. Snatching the bottle from my hand, she lifts it to her mouth.
“Drink, now,” she mocks, huskily. As much as I want to show my disapproval of her behavior, I can’t help but smile.
When she is finished drinking the water, I take her by the hand to lead her out to my car, but she pulls away. “Piper,” I glare. Shrugging, she turns away and goes back to the bar. “Belleza, either you follow me out willingly, or so help me God, if I have to carry you out against your will, there will be repercussions,” I announce.
Ignoring me, she props her leg and slides onto the stool I removed her from moments ago. Now, her drunkenness is no longer cute. It’s annoying.
Striding over, I bend slightly and toss her over my shoulder. She tries to wiggle her way loose
as I carry her across the club out into the parking lot. “You can’t just sling me over your shoulder like I’m some piece-of-shit Raggedy Ann doll. Put me down.” she shrills, pounding her fists into my back.
Landing a vigorous slap to her ass, she yelps. “Keep it up, baby, because I’m counting every strike. Believe me, you will reap every damn one of them as soon as you’re sober.” She stops struggling, and when I think she’s given up, she bites into the middle of my back. A pinching pang shoots up my spine, and I almost drop her head first onto the asphalt.
Opening my car door, I place her into the passenger seat and buckle her up. Taking her chin between my fingers, I make sure she’s alert and looking me in the eyes. “Give and you will receive, yes? You’ve given me twelve hits and one bite, mi amor. Do you care to add more?”
Silent, her eyes roam my face. “Ryder,” she whispers.
“Yes, beauty?”
“I’m going to be sick,” she groans.
Releasing her chin, I unbuckle the belt and help her out of the car. With one of my arms around her, I use the other to hold her hair away from her face. She places her hands on her knees and dry heaves for several minutes. I need to get something into her stomach or induce vomiting. Since I have no desire to ram my fingers down her throat, I decide a small, hot meal will help soak up the alcohol.
Reaching for the extra water I shoved into my back pocket, I take it out and remove the top with my teeth. “Here. Take small sips,” I urge, putting the water under her face. Helping her to stand, I place my hand on top of hers and lift the bottle for her. “We need to get some food in you,” I say, helping her back inside the car.
“No. I don’t want to eat anything,” she moans.
“I didn’t ask you if you wanted to, beauty. You eating is not up for debate. Now, sit back and close your eyes.” Closing her door, I run back inside DD and alert Dean that Piper is with me and we’re leaving. He gives me a disapproving frown, and I give him the finger.
Several minutes later, I pull into the drive-thru of a local burger place and order Piper a plain burger and a large soda water to help calm her stomach. When the bag of food is handed to me, I pull into a parking space and shut the engine off. Piper is knocked out. Removing the burger from the bag, I open the wrapper and wave it under her nose. She doesn’t budge. “Belleza, open your eyes and eat,” I coax, turning on the interior lights. “Piper, look at me.” I reach out to cup her face, and feel her skin is unnaturally cool.
Taking her face between my hands, I turn her face to me and see her lips have a blue tinge. Fuck. “Piper, goddammit, you open your eyes for me,” I panic. Turning back into my seat, I start my car, back out of the parking space, and drive 100mph to Mount Sinai emergency room. Weaving in and out of traffic, and running two stoplights, blue lights shine in my rearview mirror. I don’t consider slowing down and pulling over, not even for a second. Instead, I flip on my hazard lights and speed up when I hear gurgling from Piper. Two cop cars and five minutes later, we pull up to the emergency room door.
Opening my door, I exit at a supernatural speed. “Sir, get back inside your car and place your hands onto the steering wheel,” the officer orders, pointing the barrel of his handgun in my direction. He can take his orders and gun, and shove them up his ass. He will have to unload every bullet into me before I let Piper sit out here for another second. “I apologize, officer, but I’m not getting back into this car. You can follow me inside and arrest me there, but I’m getting my girl some help,” I grunt, opening the passenger door and scooping Piper into my arms.
Dashing into the waiting room, I bypass the check-in desk and go straight for the door that leads back into the triage area, only to turn around because the damn thing is locked; just my luck that no one is sitting at the counter. Looking up, I see a sign that says sign-in and have a seat. What type of sick joke is this? This is an emergency room, for fuck’s sake. I skim the area for a nurse, doctor, or paramedic, anyone who appears to have medical training. The doors open and in walk the officers from outside. One of them talks into a device attached to his shirt, and the other rushes to me. “Listen, I don’t want any trouble, but I have to get her help. She’s unresponsive, cold, and her lips are getting darker by the minute. Please, help me find someone to help her,” I implore, drowning in anxiety.
One officer nods, and the other bellows, “Code blue!”
No more than a second after the officer shouts, several employees rush out, and a man in scrubs removes Piper from my arms. While a man, I assume a physician, listens to Piper’s heart and lungs, a nurse drills me for information. “Sir, can you tell us what happened? How long has she been unconscious?” Hell, I didn’t even know she was unconscious. I thought she was sleeping. Speechless, I shrug. One of the staff pushes a hospital bed into the waiting area, and they work together to lift my lifeless beauty onto the mattress.
As they begin to roll her away, I follow behind. When we get down the hall, I lose grip of the railing as they make a swift left turn. One of the nurses swipes her badge and double doors open. Piper begins to convulse and vomit leaks from her mouth. The ER staff’s brief pace increases, as does mine. Suddenly, one of the nurses flattens her hand against my chest, causing me to stumble as I try to prevent myself from tumbling over her.
“What are you doing? I need to be with her,” I shout, watching Piper disappear behind another set of closed door.
“I understand you want to be with her, and you may, after we stabilize her. I’m sorry, sir, but we can’t allow you back. Let me guide you back out to the waiting room, and—”
“And nothing. I need to know she’s going to be okay,” I cut her off. “Sir, I can’t tell you if she’s going to be okay or not. What I can promise you is, we’re going to do everything we can to help her. In order to do that, I need you to tell me anything you can think of that may help us understand what’s happening to her,” she reasons.
Resting my hand on my hips, I bow my head and take in a few deep breaths. “I don’t know what is happening to her. All I know is she had a little too much to drink. She felt sick but didn’t actually spew. I was taking her to get some food, hoping that getting something in her stomach would help get her sober. I told her to close her eyes and rest, and apparently that was a huge mistake, because she hasn’t opened them since,” I recount, furious with myself for being worked up over this woman; this captivating, beautiful fucking woman I’ve known for such a short time. Yet, I feel like I’ve known her my entire life and I can’t endure the thought of her not existing. The thought alone makes it difficult for me to breathe.
“Thank you. I will document all of what you have told me and we will begin her work-up. She most likely has alcohol poisoning, is dehydrated, and needs an IV to flush out the toxins. If you will go over to the registrar, she’ll give you some paperwork to complete. We’ll update you on your wife’s status when she’s stable and we have all her tests back,” she notifies.
“I appreciate that, thank you.” I don’t bother correcting her and telling her Piper and I aren’t married. I simply shake her hand and go over to collect the forms they ask me fill out. I’ll be damned if I give them a reason to shun me, or keep Piper’s progress private.
***
Once I’ve finished explaining myself to the officers, they’re understanding and let me off with a warning. It’s rounding six in the morning and my eyelids feel like they’re cement filled. Hours have passed by, and I haven’t heard a single word about Piper’s status. I assume no news is good news. Standing from the chair I’ve been occupying for the past three hours, I stretch out my tight muscles and go in search of a coffee machine. Before I make it through the door that leads into the vending area, I hear someone call, “Mr. Ramirez.”
Swiftly tuning on my heels, I see the nurse I spoke with earlier holding the door that leads to the exam room wide open. “Follow me, please,” she smiles, taking us into a small room with only two stools and a small desk. “I’ve got good news for you,�
� she begins. “Piper is stable. Now, we took some blood and as suspected, her BAC—her blood alcohol concentration—was dangerously elevated. We performed a gastric irrigation, where we inserted a tube through her nose that reached into her stomach, to remove all gastric content. The excessive amount of alcohol your wife consumed caused her to become dehydrated, so we’ve inserted an IV and we’re pushing fluids.
“On arrival, her breathing was very shallow and her oxygen levels were low. In order to boost her levels and stabilize a normal breathing pattern, we’ve inserted a nasal cannula to distribute oxygen. In addition, she was a tad hypothermic, but nothing to worry about because we were able to get her body temperature back to normal by bundling her with heated blankets. We also got some images of her brain to rule out any permanent damage, and the results turned out normal. Lastly, even though there doesn’t seem to be evidence of a heart attack, the doctor ordered additional labs to check her cardiac enzymes, just to be safe,” she updates.
Since I discovered Piper wasn’t asleep, that she was unconscious, I’ve felt like a ton of bricks have been sitting on my chest. Now, hearing that my feisty beauty is going to be okay, the pressure is gone, and breathing is no longer a struggle. “Can I see her?” Listen to yourself, Ryder. Struggling to breathe, eager to hold Piper in my arms? Man the fuck up.
“Of course, you can. Before I take you to her, do you have any questions?”
“When will she be able to come home?” Shit, not come home—go home. “I mean, when can I take her home?” I blurt out.
“If her blood results come back within normal limits, it’s possible she will be discharged this afternoon,” she tells me, opening the door to where Piper lay sleeping. “If you need anything, there’s a button on the side of the bedrail; just push it and someone will be right in.”
I nod. “Thank you, very much.”
