by Lane Hart
Isobel adjusts her grip on the neck of her guitar, and a moment later begins strumming “American Girl”. As she settles into the rhythm, she begins to sing the familiar lyrics while I sit and stare at her, mesmerized.
“Who else do you like?” she smiles at me as she finishes the song with a flourish a few minutes later.
“I…Isobel, that was awesome,” I tell her. “Another singer I like? Man, I don’t know, maybe Bruce Springsteen?” I stammer. I’m struck speechless when she immediately launches into another song, “Born to Run”. I stare at her slack-jawed, still unable to find any words when she finishes the song.
“How do you do that?” I finally manage to ask her. “How do you just know the chords and lyrics off the top of your head?” I ask her in total awe. I knew she was talented after seeing her on stage, but now she’s blowing my mind.
Lifting one of her shoulders and letting it fall, she says, “Music comes as naturally to me as breathing.”
“Then why not make a career out of it, Iz?” I ask.
“Because no one sucks the soul out of music more than record labels. Musicians are squeezed for every penny so that the greedy corporate assholes can get richer. I want more freedom, not less, even if I do love to sing and play.”
“I, ah, I guess that makes sense,” I tell her. Isobel refuses to be tied down by anything or anyone. And here I am, trying to do just that to her.
“I play in the bars I want and don’t ask for a dime,” she says. “I do it because I want to and I enjoy it, not to try and profit off of something I love.”
“I get it,” I say honestly. Slipping my hand up underneath the back of her shirt, I lean over to kiss her cheek and then move my lips down to her neck, over her ear. “Will you play something else for me?” I ask.
“Any requests?” she asks as she shivers.
“Lady’s choice,” I reply, nipping at her neck with my teeth before I move away.
“Well, in that case,” she says as she starts to strum the tune. It’s not a song I recognize right away, although the lyrics start out a little harsh. When she gets to the chorus of Jewell’s “Who Will Save Your Soul” the hairs on my arms stand up, and not in the same way as they did the first time I heard Isobel singing on stage. No, this time, the song is too accusatory because I’ve been lying to her and I feel wretched for it.
Isobel was wrong. Sometimes songs can make a person feel worse than they already felt, not better.
I’m so lost in my own thoughts, drowning in my sea of guilt, that I don’t even notice the back door is open until there’s a round of applause and even a few whistles when Isobel stops playing.
“She’s a nurse, she cooks, and she sings like an angel?” Dalton says. “You better put a ring on her finger and lock that shit down now, Sax,” he adds, reaching down to slap my shoulder.
“Thank you, boys,” Isobel says when she stands up with her guitar still slung over her shoulder to turn around and take a bow.
“Do you know any nineties bands, Alice in Chains or Pearl Jam?” Abe asks.
Shaking myself out of my own dark thoughts, I tell the guys, “She’s like a human jukebox. Name a song and she can play it.”
“No way,” Maddox says. “How about playing some Skynyrd?”
For the next hour, Isobel gives the Savage Kings their own private concert. And just one look at all their faces and I can see exactly what she means about music relaxing people. Everyone’s been tense and on edge since the bombings yesterday and while we wait for Cooper to get better. Then, Isobel worked her magic on them once again, this time with music instead of food, and there’s an entire shift in the mood around the house for the rest of the night.
She’s so fucking amazing, practically glowing with warmth and goodness. And I’m an asshole; because to save the Kings, I’m going to have to snuff out some of that light.
Chapter Eighteen
Sax
By morning, Cooper’s temperature is higher, not lower, so we call a group meeting in the kitchen.
“We’re gonna have to get him a hospital strength antibiotic,” Isobel tells us. “A tetanus shot wouldn’t hurt either since we don’t know if he’s had one in the past ten years. There was a lot of random debris lodged in his wounds.”
“Where do we get those kinds of things? A pharmacy?” Torin asks.
“We can’t get either from a pharmacy without a prescription or taking him there for the shot,” Isobel says. “A local hospital is our best bet. They’re busier with more staff running around, so it will be easier to steal from them than a pharmacy.”
“Okay, I’ll go,” I volunteer.
“No, Sax,” she objects. “You won’t know where or how to get in the medicine machines. I did an internship at the hospital and I can blend in.”
We all stare silently at her, likely thinking the same thing – she won’t blend in.
“I’ll dye my hair back to brown and throw on some scrubs. Trust me, guys, I can do this.”
“Fine, but I’m going with you,” I tell her.
“Okay, if you insist,” she agrees. “If someone can get me the hair dye and scrubs, we can go tonight. Hospital ERs get flooded on the weekends when doctor offices are closed, especially after dark when people start drinking and doing idiotic shit.”
“I’ll go get both of those things for you right now,” Cedric volunteers. Probably because he knows we would likely send him out anyway since he’s a prospect.
And sure enough, a few hours later, Isobel comes out of the bathroom looking so…normal. I can’t believe how differently she looks with her hair back to its natural color, or at least a hair color found in nature. She’s now the innocent girl her father so desperately wants her to be.
“I prefer the blue hair,” I tell her as I pick up a silky strand hanging beside her face and let it slide through my fingers.
“Good, because it’s going back to turquoise and purple as soon as we get this done,” she promises.
Despite how natural she looks, I realize that this girl isn’t the real Isobel. She once told her father that the hair and leather dress were a costume, a way to hide the fact that she’s the governor’s daughter. Now I know she was lying. Her wild hair and lifestyle are who she really is, who she wants to be. And I don’t want to be the one to ask her to change for her father. But I have to try. There’s too much on the line.
Besides, Isobel only needs to go back to her normal life for a few months.
Or so I tell myself before I remember something the governor said to me the first day we met when he came to my cell.
He has presidential ambitions.
He doesn’t need Isobel to fit into his mold for a few months. I bet he’s going to try and force her to be someone she’s not for years.
Chapter Nineteen
Isobel
“I’ll stay nearby and create a distraction in case someone catches you,” Sax promises me after he kills the engine on his bike right outside the crowded ER parking lot. First, we had to make a quick stop at his boat to feed his cat, which was pretty freaking sweet.
“Just be patient,” I tell him. “First, I’ll need to snatch someone’s employee access card, and then I’ll have to watch nurses open the machines here a few times before I give it a try.”
“Okay,” he agrees. “Be careful, and good luck,” he adds before giving me a quick kiss on the lips. “I’ll be in the waiting room. If you get into trouble, I’ll raise a ruckus while you get out.”
Ever since this afternoon when I dyed my hair, Sax has been acting off. I give him one more quick kiss, then walk briskly into the main entrance near the emergency room. Whatever is bugging him will have to wait, and I force myself to put it out of my mind as I walk through check-in and down the corridors into the bowels of the hospital.
The trick to doing anything shady, as I’ve learned through trial and error, is to always move confidently and act like you belong. The emergency room is wild and rocking tonight, with a cacophony of groans, shrieks, and raise
d voices echoing down the halls as I scan doorways, looking for one particular sign. Doctors in white coats and all sorts of nurses, aides, and staff in scrubs swirl past me as I roam, soon stumbling upon a back hall with the exact door I needed.
“On-Call Room,” I whisper. “Bingo!” I add as I lean on the wall just outside the door, doing my best to paste a worried expression on my face. While the hallway is clear, I surreptitiously attempt to open the door, but it’s locked, as I expected. There’s a small number pad over the handle, but I leave it alone for now. Only a few moments later I hear footsteps approaching, and when a man in a white coat appears around the corner reading a tablet, I quickly move to intercept him.
“Dr. Nelson!” I call out as I read his nametag. “Thank goodness you came along,” I gush with my most charming smile. “I’m a new intern, and this is my first rotation on the ER, and for the life of me I can’t remember the code to the lounge. I left my ID in there earlier…” I trail off with a helpless wide-eyed gaze, pleading for his assistance.
“You aren’t the first, and you won’t be the last,” Dr. Nelson smiles at me, obviously smitten. “Heck, I had to write the codes down on my forearm for two weeks for all the doors in this place.” Walking over to the door, he punches a code into the pad, and cracks the door for me. “Shhh!” he mimes with a finger to his lips as he uses his foot to prop open the door. “Don’t wake the others or there will be hell to pay. Good luck, doctor…?”
“Wrigley,” I volunteer in a whisper. “Thank you so much, Dr. Nelson. I’ll see you around later, I’m sure!” I duck into the on-call room and quickly shut the door behind me, just in case my new friend had any ideas about following me.
Glancing around, I can see several figures curled up in the bunks in the shadows of the room. Interns are always run into the ground, so I breathe a small sigh of relief as I move deeper into the room. I know everyone in here could probably sleep through the apocalypse, so I’m not too worried about anyone noticing me. It only takes me one lap around the room to spot what I need. One of the interns is lying flat on her back, arm over her eyes, snoring softly with her ID clipped perfectly to the breast of her scrubs. With one deft movement, I lift it free, not even interrupting her breathing. If the rest of my plan holds up, I will be out of here before my victim ever wakes.
I ease back out of the on-call room with my newfound ID clipped to my scrubs, then dash back through the hallways towards the emergency room. I’m lucky that I don’t need to steal any ‘hard’ drugs, as the issues Cooper is having should only require antibiotics. Once I’m near the emergency room, I quickly locate a supply closet and use the ID badge to swipe my way inside.
Inside, I grab a clean pair of navy-blue scrubs that are folded and stacked just inside the door, not even looking to see what size they are. I don’t need them to wear, but to hide the rest of my contraband. I quickly wrap up two IV kits as well as a bag of saline and electrolytes. Once I’ve secured the bundle under my arm, I leave the closet and head into the ER’s patient exam rooms.
I pause briefly outside each room to scan the patient’s charts, picking up each one and reading over it brazenly, as though I’m their treating physician. None of the nurses hustling through the ER stop to even glance at me; and in only a few minutes, I’ve found the room that I need.
“How are you doing, Mr. Wilkinson?” I ask as I walk into the room of an elderly gentleman who, according to his chart, is presenting tonight for suspicion of pneumonia.
“Doctor?” Mr. Wilkinson wheezes. “Thought you were just in here a moment ago. I must have nodded off there for a bit. I’m holding up all right, still just waiting for a room to open up. Looks like I’ll be staying a few days.”
“Well, we’re going to take excellent care of you, sir,” I reassure him as I check the medications on his IV pole. One bag of antibiotics is already flowing into him, but the nurses were good enough to prep a second bag of Zithromax and leave it hanging on standby on the pole. “Everything looks good here,” I add for the patient as I quickly add the secondary bag to my stash. “But if you need anything at all, don’t hesitate to call the nurse, okay?”
“Thanks again, doctor,” Mr. Wilkinson says as he shifts to a more comfortable position in the bed. With a small sigh of relief, I leave the room, trying unsuccessfully to squash the spike of guilt I feel at stealing the antibiotic from that poor old man. I have no doubt that it will be chalked up to a simple error and replaced, but I still can’t help feeling ashamed. Consoling myself with the knowledge that I’m doing this to help Cooper, I rejoin the crowd of people in the emergency room waiting area. I spot Sax immediately; and once I give him a small nod, he stands up and moves towards the exit doors.
While I’m in the midst of the crowd milling near the check-in desk, I drop the ID card I had pilfered, and then duck through the sliding doors that seem to be perpetually stuck open with all of the people crowding inside.
“You have any problems?” Sax asks me once we’re a safe distance away in the parking lot.
“No, thankfully they’re so busy that no one even glanced twice at me. God, that was nerve-wracking, though. I haven’t stolen anything since I was a teenager and nabbed a candy bar from the gas station. Now I remember why I never added ‘stealing’ to my bucket list. I never want to do that again!”
“I’m sorry I had to ask you to help with this,” Sax says as we reach his motorcycle. “I can’t tell you how much this means to me and to my crew. We might have put a lot of people in danger if Cooper had to be admitted. You’ve done something good here, even though I know it must not feel like it. I can’t believe how smooth you were in there; you were in and out in under thirty minutes.”
“Come on, Captain, point this ship towards the shore,” I quip as I get my helmet on and secure my bundle in his saddlebags. I’m more pleased by his compliment than I care to concede, and I can admit to myself that it feels good to be truly helping someone again. “We’ll see if this was worth it once Cooper starts to recover.”
Chapter Twenty
Isobel
My footsteps halt when I walk into the bedroom and find Cooper sitting up on the edge of the mattress. “Oh my God. You’re wide awake!” I say in surprise.
“What?” he shouts at me, obviously unable to hear the volume of his own voice. Reaching up slowly, like his arms are heavy, he scratches the back of his matted bed head and asks, “Who the hell are you?” Before I can try to answer, he drops his arm back to his side and says, “Actually, I don’t care. Just tell me where I can take a piss.”
Grabbing his elbow, I turn his arm over and sigh helplessly as I see where he has pulled out the IV I inserted last night. “Well, the good news is that you at least got all the fluids in your veins before you ripped everything out,” I tell him. He doesn’t respond, so I help him to his feet and guide him out of the room to the bathroom in the hallway.
As soon as he shuts himself inside, I yell, “Guys! Cooper’s awake!” even though some are probably still sleeping.
Half-naked bikers appear from every doorway within seconds, completely surrounding me before they filter into the room Cooper’s been sleeping in.
“Where is he?” Torin asks.
“Bathroom,” I reply with a nod of my head toward the only closed door.
“How’s his temperature today?” Sax asks.
“Don’t know. He was up and out of bed before I could check it. But I touched his arm, and he didn’t feel warm. The fact that he’s up is a good sign, and now may be the best time to get some pen and paper to tell him about his hearing.”
“Good idea,” Chase agrees. “Anyone have any paper or a pen?”
“I do,” I say, and then I hurry back into our room to fish my bucket list notebook and pen out of my bag. Flipping to a blank page when I return to the hallway, I ask the guys, “Should I start by telling him that there was an explosion and your eardrums blew so he may not be able to hear us?”
“That works,” Torin agrees. “Then w
e’ll go from there.”
The toilet flushes, sink comes on, and then a few minutes later the bathroom door opens. Cooper physically startles when he sees everyone gathered around because he didn’t hear us talking in the hallway.
“What are you all doing here?” he asks.
“Let’s get him back to bed before we get into the details,” I suggest.
“Huh?” Cooper shouts as War and Torin grab his elbows and steer him back into the room. “What’s going on?” he asks. “Why won’t anyone fucking answer me!” he shouts after he flops back down on the bed.
I offer him the notebook and then point to the words I wrote in it when we were in the hallway.
“Yeah, I remember the explosion,” he says. “Who did it?”
The guys shrug their shoulders in the universal gesture for no idea, so that doesn’t need to be written down.
“Shit, my eardrums are fucked. Is that why there’s whooshing and ringing in them?” Cooper asks.
I nod, and then take back the notebook to write down that we need to take him to an audiologist now that he’s feeling better before turning it around to show to him.
“Fine,” he mutters after reading it. “Anything to make this stop – Wait, Jenna?” he asks, his pale, bluish-silver eyes widening in panic as he looks around the room.
For this response, I hand the notebook to Torin, the guy in charge. I feel like this is something he should ‘hear’ from one of his brothers.
As soon as Torin hands him the book with the words he wrote down on the page, Cooper groans and shakes his head as the notebook falls from his hands. “No! No, God, no!” he exclaims as his palms scrub down his face. “She has a kid…what about her kid?”
“Oh fuck,” someone mutters since none of them apparently knew that bit of information.
“We need to get a name and address for her family,” Torin says aloud as he picks up the notebook to probably write the same thing.
