I was told I would still be woozy and tired from the drugs all evening, but I’m alert and raring to get the hell out of here. I just want to go back to work. Morgan texted to say that Crockett is doing okay, but Brynne never did respond to my text.
My phone has been blowing up with requests for interviews. My agent even saw the story break on social media. The WBOC interview with Brynne has been shared like a thousand times, and I swear every single person in Delaware has commented on the post.
Damn it!
It almost makes me want to go home, take ahold of Brynne the Brave Dolphin, and rip it to shreds.
The only problem is that I still want her to see it. I still want to tell her story. I still admire her. I just don’t understand why she ratted me out.
I asked the hospital staff not to allow any more visitors tonight. I just want to get some sleep and get the hell out of here in the morning. I didn’t text Drew back either. Oh, and my parents called too. They are beyond shocked that I didn’t tell them what happened this weekend, what happened at work today, or about the books. Now I feel like the worst son in the world.
So now I’m trying to figure out why it was so important for me to maintain this whole tough cop persona in the first place. And since I’ve been lying here in a hospital bed the past four hours with nothing but beeping machines and the occasional nurse coming in to check my vitals, I’ve had a lot of time to roll those thoughts around in my head and try them on for size. And basically what I’ve realized is that the whole foster kid thing, then adopted kid thing—well, it made me feel different my whole life. I was a skinny, scrappy kid. Small for my age. I think people felt sorry for me.
I went to college, learned to eat right, bulked up in the gym, and it was a whole new world. No one knew Little Orphan Chris. No one knew the scrappy kid who was a cut-up in school and loved to doodle all day every day. No one knew about that horrible emo phase I went through when I was 15. Thank god, right? I could be whoever I wanted to be. And who I wanted to be was a leader. A strong guy. Someone people looked up to.
That’s why I studied criminal justice in school. I not only wanted to keep assholes like the drunk who killed my parents off the street, but I wanted to protect the little guy. I wanted to be a role model. Splitting my time between law enforcement and writing children’s books seemed to be the perfect answer. I could be the tough guy cop when I was in uniform, but when I was at home, I could reach kids with my heart, putting my stories into words and pictures. It was the perfect compromise. But to work, those two personas had to be kept completely separate.
And judging by the way everyone around me is reacting to this revelation that Corporal Chris Everson and C.J. Evans are one and the same, I was right.
So where does Brynne fit into this?
Well, she is a walking contradiction too—she’s a lot more than what she seems on the outside. I thought she was a brainiac doctor—a stiff, conservative overachiever. But it turns out she’s got all these layers. She’s a metalhead Harley enthusiast. She’s got a wicked sense of humor. She’s selfless and courageous. And she’s a survivor through and through.
And that’s why I just really want to understand what happened today when that reporter confronted her—after she had already told half the staff at the hospital that I was moonlighting as a children’s author. She doesn’t seem like the type of person to do something like that without a good reason.
I want to send her another text. But I don’t. I close my eyes and try to convince my brain to shut up so I can sleep. Tomorrow is a new day.
Twenty-Five
This week has flown by. That’s what happens when you’re having fun in the ER and it’s a full moon. Heart attacks, strokes, kids with broken bones, a stabbing—you know, routine stuff. But it’s been a good way to keep my mind off Chris. We had two more days of rain, so the bridge to Ben’s camp had a bit of a setback. But now he’s assured me it’s dried out enough for me to get my car. He went to survey the damage this morning and reported it’s not as bad as he thought, though there are still a ton of things there left behind by the wedding party and guests, including twenty-plus vehicles.
Today is the day of the awards ceremony in Fenwick. I really don’t know what to expect, but I have managed to write a little speech. I got an update from Sonnet today that her grandmother was released from the hospital. I was surprised to hear from her while she and Drew are still on their honeymoon. And I was doubly surprised she didn’t ask me anything about Chris.
I never did text him back. I didn’t know what to say, frankly. Yes, it’s true I confirmed his identity to the reporters, but he is the one who blabbed it to all the nurses. I tried to keep it on the down-low and blow off his loopy ramblings, but he just kept pushing. It was like he was hellbent on outing himself.
I did check to see that he was released the morning after he was admitted. But he hasn’t been back all week to my knowledge, and I probably would have known because I’ve pretty much been here nonstop. I don’t know how to feel about seeing him today at this thing. Part of me wishes we didn’t even have to do it. But I also realize the chance of me being able to avoid him for any extended period of time is probably close to zero since the universe seems to insist we keep crossing paths.
I find a parking space near the Fenwick Island Business Center, which serves as a Town Hall, I suppose. The May sunshine is beaming down on me, heating my body almost as much as the nervousness coursing through me. The skies are a brilliant blue with feathery wisps of clouds. It’s a gorgeous day to be at the beach. I turn to see Ben and Jamie coming up the sidewalk, pushing Harmony in her pink stroller. I’m so glad they are my moral support for this mission. Though I also understand there will be cake. Cake is always a strong motivator.
We head inside the building, and the administrative assistant asks us to wait for a moment while she notifies the mayor that we’re here. He’s a short, stout white man with glasses, a bald head and a full gray beard. “Good morning, good morning!” he bellows in a happy voice as he crosses toward us, hand extended to shake.
“Hello, Mayor Carson. I’m Brynne Miller, and this is my brother, Ben, his wife Jamie and their daughter Harmony. Thanks for having us here today!”
He vigorously pumps my hand up and down, smiling and nodding, before showing us into a small auditorium with rows of white wooden chairs set up and a makeshift stage with a pleated blue skirt around it, the front lined with potted ferns. There’s a small wooden podium with the Fenwick Island town seal on it and a microphone jutting up from the top. I suppose that is where I will deliver my speech, should I be called to give one, that is.
We are here early, before the official 10 AM start time, but a few people are beginning to wander in. I see Claire and Jack, and Claire rushes over to me immediately, throwing her arms around me in a big bear hug. From that reaction, it seems like Claire thinks I’m pretty cool too. “Did you get your car yet?” she asks.
“No, I think Ben is going to drive me out there to pick it up after this. Guess I’ll just leave my bike at his house and get it later.”
“My truck is out there,” Jack explains. “We were thinking of going to get it after this too.”
“Oh, reunion at Miller’s Adventure Outpost!” I say, laughing. “Sounds like a plan.”
“I hope the weather cooperates this time!” Claire winks.
As the clock inches toward ten, the blood in my veins surges with a whole new batch of jitters. I’ve never been one for public speaking. I have zero aspirations of being an administrator someday or—
I snap out of my thoughts when I see Chris’s pretty brunette colleague and probable girlfriend enter through the double doors, scanning the rows of white chairs for a seat. If I thought I was jittery before, now I feel almost nauseated. Buck up, Brynne, I think, wanting to grab ahold and give myself a good shake.
She makes eye contact with me and immediately starts to make her way over to where I’m standing. Oh no. I assume Chris didn’t tell
her about anything that happened between us over the weekend. Stay calm, stay calm, I repeat over and over. She’s smiling, so I guess she doesn’t know. I don’t know if that’s worse or better.
“Hey, Dr. Miller!” she greets me and extends her hand to shake.
“Hi…Corporal Morgan.” I pretend to read her name off her badge when I know damn well what it is.
“Oh, please, call me Madison.” She smiles again. She’s more smiley than I imagined she would be. But I can see why Chris likes her. She’s gorgeous. Young, pretty, fit. What’s not to like?
“I just wanted to thank you again for taking care of Everson. That whole call was so crazy. I would have followed him inside, but the victim was threatening to harm herself. She was pretty worked up, so I had to stay outside with her. I truly believe Everson saved my life,” she admits. If I’m not mistaken, a little tear crystallizes in the corner of her eye as thoughts of what might have happened flash in her mind.
“It’s great you have each other to lean on!” I agree, finally letting go of her hand.
“He’s a good guy.” She nods, then glances around the room like she’s looking for him. “And late to his own party—just like him, really.” She laughs.
“Oh, you didn’t come together?”
She continues to laugh while also shaking her head. “Just because we work together doesn’t mean we go everywhere together!” She rolls her eyes as if to emphasize what a silly thought that is. “I haven’t even seen Chris since he got out of the hospital a couple days ago. He’s been home recovering this week, from what I understand.”
“Oh.” My brows furrow as I search her face for signs she’s hiding something. They aren’t together? I want to ask her, but before I get a chance, a huge group of people files into the building, and I hear the mayor calling for me. “Gotta run,” I tell Madison. “Thanks for being here today.”
Chris is embedded in this swarm of people. He’s decked out in uniform, looking handsome as ever, but his head is still bandaged up, so he’s not wearing his hat. As soon as he sees me, the smile vanishes from his face.
Oh, no…
I’ve spent the last three days preparing myself to give Brynne a piece of my mind, but as soon as I see her, I have a hard time convincing myself I’m actually mad. She looks radiant with her copper-colored hair piled up on her head, her glasses on, and wearing a pretty floral skirt and blouse. She has so many looks, it’s hard for me to decide what I like best: the serious doctor, the beautiful bridesmaid, the biker look, or this soft and feminine ensemble.
I’m arriving a little late, so I won’t get a chance to talk to her before our shindig starts. I’m a bit overwhelmed by the number of people in attendance. My parents drove here from Newark, and Claire and Jack are here, not to mention everyone from Troop 7 and half the town of Fenwick Island. As a matter of fact, it’s standing room only in the back. I make my way onto the stage right beyond Brynne and Mayor Carson, then the Captain and someone wearing a Lewes Hospital pin step up and take the chairs next to us behind the podium.
The Mayor steps up to the microphone and welcomes the crowd, giving them a little recap of the events of the weekend. He might make us out to be a little more heroic than we actually are, but he hit all the high points: splinting Mrs. Wilson’s broken leg, keeping everyone calm and orderly, and then finally, swimming across the bay for help when Mrs. Wilson’s medical situation became an emergency. There are reporters lined up across the front row, their microphones pointed toward the stage and their faces bright with expectation. I guess this is pretty big news down here where not a lot happens—and who doesn’t love a good human interest story?
Then he invites the woman beside Brynne to the podium. She is an elegant-looking older white woman wearing a conservative navy suit and a green pinstriped blouse that ties at the neck. “Good morning, I’m Dr. Rena McBride, President of the Lewes Hospital Foundation. Thank you for being here today to celebrate the heroic deeds performed by one of Lewes Hospital’s finest emergency medical physicians and one of Delaware’s finest state troopers.”
There is massive applause from the crowd after that, and the look on my parents’ faces is priceless. I’m not sure they’ve been this proud of me since I graduated from the police academy five years ago—wow, almost six years ago now.
“Dr. Brynne Miller is one of our youngest doctors, but she has an exemplary record, excellent discernment, and a high level of patient satisfaction. When I heard the news that Corporal Everson and one of our doctors worked together to rescue more than fifty flooded-in wedding guests, as well as performing emergency care on an elderly patient without any resources, I was not surprised at all to hear that it was Dr. Miller. She has always been willing to go the extra mile for her patients, and apparently, she’ll even swim the extra mile too!”
Everyone laughs.
“I want to present her today with a small token of the hospital’s gratitude, and a symbol of our pride that she’s on our staff. Brynne, please accept the Henry J. Rutherford Medal of Exemplary Service, which we present to doctors who go above and beyond the call of duty.” With a beaming smile, Dr. McBride beckons Brynne to the podium.
Brynne lowers her head so Dr. McBride can slide the medal onto her neck. Her cheeks are glowing, and I don’t know if she’s happy, excited or embarrassed—probably a combination of all three. She has that type of redhead skin that flushes so easily, one of the many things I find completely irresistible about her.
“Please say a few words, Dr. Miller,” Mayor Carson exhorts from his chair behind the podium.
Her fingers are trembling as she nods her head resolutely and takes her place in front of the microphone. “Good morning, everyone. Thank you for organizing this lovely celebration, Mayor Carson. Thank you for the wonderful words about my work, Dr. McBride.”
She looks out across the audience, her face growing more serious and her limbs appearing to stiffen from nerves. She clears them with a deep breath and unfolds a piece of paper she was carrying in her hand. “I feel like I’m accepting an Academy Award or something,” she jokes, and everyone chuckles.
“I have to be honest with you all that I don’t really feel like much of a hero. I basically just did my job along with a side of extra chilly swimming.” She laughs softly as she collects her thoughts, her eyes scanning the paper lying in front of her. “To be honest, the most heroic thing I did—if you want to call it that—is to confront my worst fear. That’s how I was able to dive into that cold water and swim to shore. It’s not a fear of swimming—I’m actually a really good swimmer. But I hadn’t dipped more than my toes into any open water since I was nine years old.
“Not very many people know that when I was nine I survived a shark attack. I’m fortunate that my scars are on my hip, back and thigh, where they are easily concealed. I’ve not only been embarrassed about the ugly marks on my skin, but I’ve been petrified to put myself in a situation where I might come face to face—or more like teeth to skin—with one of those creatures ever again. Just thinking about going in the bay—and yes, I know it’s not the ocean and there are probably no sharks in there—made me seize up with panic. And yes, I know my chances of getting bitten by a shark are astronomically low. It’s much, much more dangerous for me to jump on my Harley and cruise down Route 1, right?
“But irrational fear is a thing, a very real thing that many of us confront. And it’s called ‘irrational’ for a reason. I’m a doctor, okay? So, I’d like to think I’m a pretty smart woman. I just admitted I know the chances of me getting attacked by a shark are crazy low, but that didn’t seem to mitigate my fear in the slightest.
“But the people stranded were counting on me. We had no electricity, no cell phone service, and the tide was rising toward the buildings. One building was already flooded. I was looking after an injured elderly patient, and I knew there were at least two diabetic guests who didn’t have access to insulin. We needed to get off that peninsula and fast. So I did what I had to do: fear or n
o fear. And I think most people in this room would have done the same thing.
“So I’m not really a hero or even that special. I’m just a woman who stood up to her fear and didn’t let it make decisions for her. And that’s something we can all do, every day. And if you do—if you face your fear and stand up to it, refusing to let it control you—then you’re every bit as much of a hero as I am.”
The entire room breaks into thunderous applause. Brynne’s sister-in-law has tears streaming down her cheeks, and Claire and Lindy also look pretty choked up. Hell, I’m swallowing down a bit of emotion too, and now I’m wondering how in the world I’m going to follow that act!
I take my seat behind the podium, flashing Chris a victorious little smile. I still don’t know what I’m going to say to him after this is over, but I sure hope he’ll hear me out. The mayor takes the stand again and introduces Captain Allen, who is a fit, handsome African American man in his early fifties. He pauses for a moment before he speaks, waiting for the audience to stop clapping.
“Corporal Everson has been with us for almost six years,” Captain Allen begins. He has a deep, almost gruff voice. I’m pretty sure when he was on patrol, he was the type of officer who gave everyone tickets—no warnings. “He’s always been a bit of a cut-up at our holiday parties and other staff events, even earning himself a nickname or two along the way. Isn’t that right, Everson?” he questions with the very faintest smile imaginable curling his lips as he looks back at Chris.
“But Everson is also known for some other things around the troop,” he continues. “His biggest claim to fame is that he consistently has the most DUI arrests of any other trooper in the state. I know that’s an important issue to him, and one of the reasons he chose to enter law enforcement. But he’s an all-around good cop with a good head on his shoulders and a can-do attitude. I wasn’t surprised at all that he got himself into a situation like what transpired out at the Miller Outpost last weekend. And I’m sure you’ve all heard about his recent altercation with a suspect wielding a baseball bat, not to mention the bite he sustained from another suspect a month or so ago. Everson has a way of finding trouble, which isn’t necessarily a bad quality for a cop. The best part is that he also has a knack for getting out of trouble—and keeping others out of trouble as well, which is even more important. Everyone at Troop 7, and the entire organization, for that matter, is immensely proud of Corporal Everson and feel blessed to have him here serving the population of eastern Sussex County.”
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