by Juli Valenti
So it was nights like these the nurses of St. Agnes Hospital cherished. They were blissful, a time to relax for a while, listening to the soft strains of Billie Holiday piped through the overhead speakers at the nurses desk while writing patient charts she was behind on. Luckily, or not, the peace came to a crashing halt.
Distracted by her thoughts and work, Sarah jumped as the emergency line rang. After a deep breath, she lifted the handle and answered.
“Emergency, trauma bay two.” Her words were short, clipped, and to the point. There was no need to introduce herself or to even greet whomever was on the other line. In truth, emergency phone skills had been a difficult transition for her, having been taught to always be polite, but the truth was it wasn’t an issue between manners or not. More, it was a necessity of time and the care not to waste it.
“En route. Male, thirties, multiple gunshot wounds - chest, abdomen, leg. Unsure incident time. ETA four minutes.”
Nodding into the dead phone line, she switched to the intercom and relayed the information before jumping to her feet and hurrying to the room closest to the entry doors. After each patient was discharged, supplies were laid back out, stocked, and the room sterilized, but each patient case was different. In this case, she knew an X-ray tech would be bringing up a portable machine, and, as standard with chest injuries, she prepped the defibrillator.
Almost on queue, two of her coworkers entered, joining her in final preparation as the technician arrived. The attending physician was next, looking expectantly from her to the room, and back to the door.
“About forty seconds,” she answered Dr. Saroya before he could ask. She’d been working as the charge nurse of the trauma unit since she’d transferred almost two years ago, and knew the doctor well enough to know the questions he may have. As she opened her mouth to repeat the information given to her by the EMT, the sound of the sliding doors sounded, along with the clatter of gurney wheels on the tile floor.
Pulling gloves on, she stood at the ready, off to the side, and waited as the paramedics brought the man in. They relayed information to everyone in the room regarding his condition, the fact that his heart had stopped twice on the way and they’d luckily resuscitated him, though Sarah was barely listening. He was wearing leather. Not pants or a haphazard jacket, but a cut - a cut hanging in tatters off the side of the stretcher. Her heart dropped through her stomach, and her head swam, as the air in the room warmed.
Sarah knew she should be helping in the transfer of the patient, but she hung back, allowing the other girls to grasp the board and push as the EMT’s pulled him onto the sterile bed. Instead she took him in, though she couldn’t get much from her visual inspection; from where she was standing she couldn’t make out any distinguishing features. He was definitely male, and large, but that was the most she could gather through the dirt and blood covering his body. Hell, she couldn’t even determine his skin color - dark, black dirt or mud had mixed with the blood from his wounds, leaving him looking almost unreal.
Who was he? Did she know him? Was he in Hells Redemption?
Luke. The image of her missing boyfriend sprang into her mind, his smile bright and his laughter contagious. She’d still been unable to reach him since she’d been arrested and subsequently released. It was driving her crazy.
“Sarah.”
She turned to Dr. Saroya, who raised an eyebrow, but she shook her head in answer, and waved the personal images away as fast as she could. If the man laying near lifeless before them was the Sergeant in Arms, the man she’d grown so fond of, she’d deal with it later. Right now, she had a job to do, and God help her if she failed.
Her eyes burned as she passed another scalpel to Dr. Truncatti, the cardiac surgeon who’d been on call. The bullet wound to the leg was minor, doing little damage and barely penetrating the skin. Their patient also been fortunate that the shot to his abdomen had cleared straight through him and hadn’t hit anything vital. The one to the man’s chest, however, was more serious. According to the X-ray, a round was dangerously close to his heart, only a fraction away, though it had miraculously missed his lung - which was probably the main reason he was still alive. And, because of the damage, their surgery was not an easy one.
Glancing at the clock behind the doctor’s head, she noted they’d been working for over four hours, meticulously evaluating each movement as they tried to reach the shell threatening his life. That explained the grittiness behind her contacts, and that no matter how many times she blinked her eyes never found relief. It also explained the growing ache in her spine and arms, though she refused to give up or allow a stand-by nurse to relieve her. No, she’d go for as long as Dr. Truncatti had her hands in the patient’s chest cavity.
After he’d arrived and she’d allowed the coldness of indifference seep into her, the one that allowed her to work on human beings without seeing them as “real” people, they’d gotten to work quickly. Each member in their trauma team had taken their places, from exchanging IV medications to monitoring heart and oxygen rates. They’d also removed the remnants of clothing from his body, though none were able to locate a wallet or any sort of identifying markers.
Sarah had finally been able to get a glimpse of the man’s skin tone - and he wasn’t Lukas. His skin was the wrong shade of tan, and his family crest tattoo was missing from his shoulder. Of course, she’d registered this only slightly. At that point she’d been in too deep, too involved and focused on saving his life to feel the relief she knew would hit her later. And, still, she wasn’t sure who he was. He could be someone she knew, someone she’d shared a laugh with, or eaten dinner with on one of the many times she’d been to the clubhouse, which was why she refused to budge now.
“Almost...” Dr. Truncatti sounded, her voice loud amongst the hushed room. “Ladies and gents, we’ve got ourselves a shell casing.”
The team cheered as the surgeon held up the remnants of the bullet, though the sound quieted as fast as it had come. While they had certainly gained a small victory, their work was nowhere near finished. They still had to close their patient back up, painstakingly attaching the muscles and nerves acting as a protectant around the heart.
Two hours later, the site was closed, and Dr. Truncatti made quick work of stitching the abdomen wound as Sarah stitched the leg. As they dropped their hemostats and gauze, their eyes met, a doctor and her assisting nurse, a fleeting glimpse of relief passing between them, as well as appreciation from the surgeon. Sarah’s tenacity to stick with whatever task given to her was part of the reason she excelled at her job, and how she’d gotten the position she had at such a young age.
“We’re done. Sarah, go on and get out of here. You were already on shift for a good eight hours before he came in,” Dr. Truncatti said softly, peeling the latex gloves from her hands and tossing them in the trash as the others around them finished preparing the patient for transfer to ICU. “Another two for triage and prep, and now another ... almost seven.”
“We all work long hours, Doc. I’m good.”
“Bullshit, O’Fallen. Don’t pull that with me because we both know that dog won’t hunt. It’s one thing to pull a ten or twelve. But anything over fifteen can lay you out flat if you’re not careful. Go get some damned sleep.”
Sighing, Sarah knew she wasn’t going to win the discussion, and as she shrugged off the surgical gown and cap, tossing them into the bio-hazard bin near the door, she decided she didn’t want to. She was exhausted, every muscle and bone in her body aching. But you have charts to write up - you can’t go home, lady, her brain chimed in helpfully, but she shook her head. They could wait, or she could get one of the other nurses to help out. Plus she knew enough of Dr. Truncatti to know that she was one to dictate her own notes, leaving Sarah little work to do.
Decision made before leaving the operating room, she waved at the room with a small, proud grin. They’d done it - their patient had survived, and, as long as nothing went wrong, he would hopefully make it.
Moving slowly and in a trance, her legs took her to the nurses locker room. Usually she chose to shower in one of the small stalls after each shift, but this time around she decided against it. Instead, she threw on her ratty jacket, the one she reserved for days like these, grabbed her purse, and made her way out toward her car.
“About damned time you called it a night.”
Chapter Six
Sarah spun, heart racing as she turned to find the very man she’d feared had been seriously injured in her trauma bay only hours ago - the man she’d been desperately trying to reach for the last couple days. The relief she’d refused herself before, mixed with her worry for having been unable to reach him, flooded her with the force of a dam breaking, the water rushing in and almost drowning her. Immediately he was there, wrapping her in his arms and pulling her against him, regardless of the residual blood that tainted her pale violet scrubs.
“Shit, babe.” His so-familiar voice had morphed from cocky sarcasm to serious, concerned, in mere seconds, but she couldn’t speak, instead burying her face in his chest and breathing in the comforting leather of his cut. She closed her eyes tightly, forcing back the exhausted tears that tried to escape her. Taking a deep breath, she pulled away slightly and ran her hands over him, her fingers tracing each patch where they were sewn into the material of his vest. She never thought she’d be so grateful to see a worn MC vest, but, damn, it was so much better than the shredded remains of her patient’s.
After long moments, she let herself meet his worried face, his forehead creased and his eyes hooded. His lips were pulled downward, and while she could see a list of questions moving across his expression, he remained silent, his arms around her waist as he waited for some sort of an explanation.
Finally, she took in a large gulp of air, and spoke. “Sorry ... it’s been a rough shift. Patient came in with gunshot wounds ... thought it was you.”
“Oh babe, it wasn’t me.”
Sarah shook her head. “I know that now. But I haven’t been able to reach you. I’ve called and called and texted after everything went to hell ... and you just disappeared. Then this patient came in and I knew about an hour or so in he wasn’t you ... but there for a few terrifying minutes, I thought it was. And then I had to push all that away, all the fear and horror that you could be in such bad shape and I was going to have to work on you and pray I could keep you alive or I couldn’t do my job,” she told him, knowing she was rambling but unable to stop herself as her hands gripped his biceps tightly, keeping him in place.
“Sarah, shh. It’s okay. I’m alive, I’m well, and you did what you had to so you can continue to save lives,” he said, his eyes moving from hers to her knuckles, which were turning white from her hold on him. “Why did you think it was me, babe?”
An unwanted and unwelcome tear trailed from her eye and she released him to wipe it away. “He had a cut ... an MC vest ... It was torn to bits, but it was there.”
Fallen’s face hardened as he took in the new piece of information from her, but in a flash it was gone as he clearly decided to let it go for the moment. Instead, he pulled her tightly against him once more. His hands moved to her face, cradling her chin, and he kissed her softly, gently, as though she may break under his palms.
“I love that you worry about me, but don’t, okay?” he murmured against her lips and she nodded, though she didn’t mean it. She was always going to worry about him, and they both knew it. He grazed his lips across hers once more and took a step back. “You look fucking beat though ... You were down for a ten hour today, right? And you worked,” he glanced at his watch, “almost eighteen?”
“Seventeen.”
“Come on, babe. You can ride with me; I don’t want you driving like this. Do you want me to take you to the clubhouse to crash with me, or to the B&B?”
“Wait ... where the hell have you been?” she asked, frustration rushing to the forefront of her mind. She pushed him farther away from her so she could take in his handsome face, ire filling her. He looked as he always did, the same gorgeous Lukas peering back at her, but the skin under his eyes was dark. He hadn’t been sleeping, either. For a moment she felt bad for demanding answers, usually content to give him space and let him be, but worry and anxiety mixed with the drama of the past couple days were too much. She needed answers, and she didn’t want to wait for them anymore.
“I’ve called. I’ve texted. I got arrested - I spent the night in jail with criminals galore. Real criminals. And, when I wanted you, when I needed you, you were nowhere to be found. After I had a complete and utter melt down, I drove myself insane worrying about you. And thank everything for the fact that I had written down the clubhouse number for you rather than your cell. if it wasn’t for Artist and your brothers, who knows where I’d be.”
Fallen sighed, clearly resigning himself to a conversation he didn’t want to have. He held his hands out in a placating gesture before running one through his hair, his neck craning from side to side. She watched as he opened his mouth to say something, before closing it again, and repeated the motion. After what seemed like forever, her staring at his handsome face, her thoughts running a tangent in her mind, and him floundering for words, he finally spoke.
“Come on then,” he said, taking a breath and continuing before she could respond. “You want answers, you deserve answers ... Let’s go get some food and we’ll talk. I can explain.”
Sarah pushed her impatience for answers away and nodded, intertwining her fingers with his, and letting him lead her to his bike. Like most of his brothers, he rode a Harley, something she actually was familiar with since her father had been an avid motorcyclist before he passed away from pancreatic cancer. While her father had ridden a Softtail, Luke’s was a 2008 Road King Classic. It was forest green with chrome piping and t-bar and the perfect bike for the larger, powerful man. His surprise when she’d rattled off the details of his ride to him had been hilarious.
Sarah waited patiently as Fallen climbed on his bike, before extending a hand for her to do the same. The spike of adrenaline she’d felt when confronting him waning, she took it, hiking a leg over to seat herself behind him and obediently securing her helmet. Her fingers rested gently at his sides as he started the engine, the roar of his pipes loud and echoing in the covered hospital parking lot. Within moments they were off, the breeze of the March air refreshing and cool against her skin as her head rested against Fallen’s back, the vibration beneath her lulling her eyes closed.
The slowing rumble of the motorcycle had her eyes springing back open, and Sarah glanced around, only half surprised to find herself in front of Redemption Reigns. The couple who ran the diner had left it unnamed for years, at least as she’d been told, until a year or so ago when they’d revealed the new sign, inviting all members of both Hells Redemption and Bishops Reign MCs. It was a sort of safe place, a middle ground haven for both clubs - Switzerland, for a lack of a better term. Mrs. Norma and Eugene - a former member of Hells Redemption known as “Foust” - took no sides, instead allowing for a neutral zone where all could eat without politics or looks of curiosity and judgment from other diners.
At first, Sarah hadn’t understood the need for such a place ... until she’d done her research and hung out with the folks from the clubs. All of them, regardless of what they were doing or where they were going, always looked the part. Not only the leather brandishing their backs, but also the iron hardware under their arms - weapons were certainly not in short supply. It had originally intimidated her, made her slightly uncomfortable. Now, it was just a part of their lives.
Lukas shut the engine off and settled the large machine before climbing off, once again extending a hand and helping her do the same. Saying nothing, he led them inside. Nodding to Mrs. Norma, who smiled in greeting as she filled a water glass across the room, he strode them confidently to the reserved booth in the back of the dining area. Sarah knew it was the table Poet often claimed as her own, partly why the “reserved” sign remained firml
y in place - no one argued with the female president regarding where she felt comfortable sitting. And, as she’d been frequenting the place since she was in diapers, it was a given she got the best seat in the house.
The Sergeant in Arms leading her to that spot didn’t surprise her. He, like his Pres, had issues with being unable to see an entire room. It was one of the harder things to wrap her understanding around ... the constant unease that kept him from relaxing in most public settings. For her, it didn’t matter where she sat or who was nearby; her trust in the world was that of most civilians. But, like everything else, bikers were different with polar opposite worlds.
And he likes you again, why? Her subconscious chimed in, the inner voice loud against the sleepy fog in her brain. Shaking her head, she sat beside him, angling a knee toward him, her face expectant.
“Explanation time?” she asked, trying to keep her earlier ire from returning, though it was work. She was tired and hurt, still brittle from the events crumbling her psyche.
Lukas sighed, running his hand over his face once more. “Sarah, when I got that message from you, I went batshit crazy,” he told her, as if it was an explanation, and, partly, it was. While she didn’t know everything the man did, she knew he had a hair trigger and tended to go off the deep end quicker than most. As he opened his mouth to elaborate further, Mrs. Norma appeared.
“Fallen, Sarah,” she said with a small, knowing smile. “The usual?”
Every time she and Luke had come to the restaurant, they got the same things - water to drink, and whatever Eugene was cooking for the special. At first, it had been a game of surprise, now it was a given they’d enjoy whatever the reformed biker made them. She nodded, her eyes darting to the older woman before returning to the man sitting beside her.
