“There’s an officer just about thirty seconds away from you. Where are you?”
“Upstairs, last room on the left. The kitchen door is unlocked, he can come in that way.”
“At the back of the house?”
“Yes. Oh, please hurry. He’s spitting up blood now.”
Worse, Tee could feel the tremors starting deep in his back. Small quaking convulsions that shook his legs. God, she didn’t want him to die! What had he done? Why had he done this?
The siren cut through the night, and the crunch of tires followed. She waited to hear the heavy foot falls of the officer coming up the stairs before she called out to him. “In here! Down at the end of the hall.”
The heavy boots ran down the hall and pushed the door open. Fatima wasn’t sure if she was relieved or horrified that Geo McGovern clomped into the room and plopped down next to her on the floor.
“What the fuck did he do?”
“Pills. I don’t even know what kind, but you can see them in the spit.”
“The officer is there, ma’am?”
“Yes, yes, thank you.” She hung up and tossed the phone to the side.
Geo growled, tearing through the room, looking for the script bottles that could be laying around. “Are you sure it’s pills.”
“He’s vomiting blood foam, Geo! How the fuck should I know if that’s really what he did. It could be rock crack for all I know. Crystal meth. But I see pieces of pills in there, and that’s all I got.”
She wasn’t sure that Geo was even listening to her. He was yanking drawers out and flipping the mattress to see what he could find. There was nothing, anywhere. The bathroom cabinet suffered almost the same fate as she heard the ambulance tearing down the drive. Geo walked out and slammed a hand on the wall.
The picture frame fell.
There, behind where the picture had hung, were dozens of bottles and sandwich bags. Tee and Geo looked at each other in horror, and Geo reached in and pulled out a few bottles, reading the labels. “They don’t even have his name on them. They’re all oxys. All of them.” He shook each as he pulled them out. “Empty. Every single one of these is empty. Jesus Christ, how much did he take?”
Fatima didn’t try to answer. The sound of the EMTs charging up the stairs robbed the house of the silence that hung there. They carefully slid Tate off her lap and Geo hauled her out of the way. One of the EMTs motioned to them to back up, and the other suggested that Geo head down and get the stretcher. They were going to need it as soon as they assessed him.
As they walked down the stairs, the paramedics pulled up in the driveway and dashed by them—and two more cars pulled up. One was Reg’s truck and one was Caldwell’s Lexus. Reg also darted up the stairs, and Cald tried to follow. Geo grabbed his arm. “No. No, man. Wait here. Your dad can handle it up there. You don’t want to see that.”
“What the fuck happened?” He clearly snapped the words at Fatima, and she quivered against his assault.
“It wasn’t her, man. Your brother…”
“My brother what?” Caldwell was right in his face.
“Your brother overdosed.” Geo held up four of the bottles in each of his hands. “He was hiding oxycontin in the wall. I don’t know how many he took. Tee found him—”
“He was puking blood, Caldwell. I couldn’t find him and when I did he was covered in…”
Geo gave him a hard look, but Caldwell snarled. He ripped his arm out of Geo’s grip and flew up the stairs in a rage. He didn’t get far; Reg grabbed him by the arm and pulled him a halt.
“No.”
“Don’t you dare tell—”
“I said no.” There was a hard, angry edge to Reg’s voice. “I mean it. Let them work. They can save him. I don’t know how much damage was done.”
“Reginald?” They all turned and found Deidre walking in slowly, her step hesitant. “What’s going on?”
Fatima walked toward her and pulled out a chair. “No. Reg is right. Don’t go up there. Please, sit. Tate’s in a really bad way.”
“What happened?”
“Overdose of oxycontin.” Geo reappeared at the top of the steps, holding an evidence bag. “All of these have different names on them.”
Deidre gasped. “Oh, no. Reg. The missing pad.”
“Pad?” Fatima looked back at her. “What?”
Reg answered. “Deej found there was a missing prescription pad. She reported it immediately and had the numbers voided. But it wasn't at the top of the pile. We don't know how long it was missing…”
“Tate took it?” Geo wrinkled his forehead.
“Can't be sure,” Reg said.
Nodding, suddenly all police officer, Geo headed for the door. “There's a way we can see if these can all be traced to him. I'm going to get to work on that, and send another officer here to watch the house. When they have him ready, follow in your cars to the hospital, and I'll meet you there as soon as I can.”
He strode out the door, leaving Caldwell staring at Fatima, Deidre, and Reg. “Didn't I tell you too keep an eye on that medical shit?”
“Caldwell. You will not speak to your mother that way.”
“Step-mother. And I will if my little brother is dead because of this. I have tried to protect—”
“Stop it!” Fatima yelled. “Stop it! Tate is upstairs dying! I don't care whose fault it is!”
“He's stable enough to move,” The EMT’s voice carried down the stairs. “We've got him on the board and are bringing him down.” An EMT ran past and out the back door to the idling ambulance.
But the Tate they had strapped to the board didn't look like the vivacious Tate she'd fallen for. He was pale, trembling, and covered in vomit, spit and blood. His hair was soaked from sweating, and his breath was shallow and quick.
“I'm going with them in the ambulance,” Reg said. “I'll meet you all there.”
And with that, he was out the door behind his son.
“Where are the kids?” Caldwell stared after his father.
“At the birthday sleep over, at the Highlands.”
Caldwell nodded. “Good, we can call and they'll keep them for now. Let's go.”
He marched out the door to where the EMTs were just getting ready to close the doors. Deidre stood from the chair. “The Verhoven men are volitile. Let’s get in the car with Caldwell and we’ll sort this all out later. He’ll be okay, Fatima. They wouldn’t have moved him if they weren’t sure he could handle it.”
Purposefully staying numb, Tee nodded and headed out the door with the frail figure of Deidre Verhoven.
Chapter Eleven
Lucy ran into the room, with RJ hot on her tail. She nearly tackled her with a hug.
“Are you okay? What the hell happened?”
“I don’t know. I went back to the house to pick up Tate after the ride, and he was on the floor, dying. I just wanted to talk to him.” She looked over at the bed where Tate was covered in hoses and IVs. The respirator rose and fell in perfect time and it was disconcerting to hear it. “I did everything right, I did what he wanted me to. But he still tried to kill himself.”
“Why would he want to? I thought that everything was working out. I thought he was getting better.”
A shiver ran down Tee’s spine. “I thought he was too. He was making amazing progress. There was so much hope in the therapy and the drugs. But there were so many pills… so many bottles of pills. Geo went back and found more. He said there were at least twenty of them. Only a few had his name. They’ve all traced back to the stolen script pad that Deidre discovered. All of them. He was having people fill them on their insurance and paying them twice what they paid for them. He’s a fucking junkie.”
There was a growl from the chair on the other side of the room. Caldwell stood and gave Tee an evil glance. “He was not a junkie.”
“No you're right. He was not. But there are twenty fucking bottles of oxycontin, Caldwell. He's a thief. Your brother lying in that bed dying says you’re in denia
l. So stop it. You’re not helping anything here.”
“My brother isn't a junkie.”
Lucy looked at him, taking two steps toward him. “No. He's not. Instead he's been planning his suicide for the last three weeks. Getting people to buy him oxys so he could take them all at once.”
“He was getting better!”
“Haven't you noticed that he was happier than he'd ever been, Caldwell?” Reg was standing in the door. “He was so happy because he had a plan. I'd been trying to talk to him for at least two weeks. Deidre saw it too, and she told me about the honeymoon period on Wellbutrin. It lasts about ten weeks, give or take and he hit that two weeks ago.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Reg walked over to the edge of the bed. “He's been taking an antidepressant since the accident. Wellbutrin. It's a great drug, and Deidre was pleased with it. But she warned me about it suddenly not being quite as effective. I thought we had another few weeks before it hit.”
Fatima shook her head. “Reg—”
“You're sweet, Fatima. But I didn't push hard enough to find out if the drug was really working. I was hoping he'd come to me. I shouldn't have done that.”
“What's his prognosis?” RJ asked.
“He's going to live,” Reg answered. “He's got an even longer recovery this time. His physical therapy will have to be changed. His cognitive therapy is going to have to take priority.” Reg let out a sardonic laugh. “I should just get a bed here myself, with Deej and him here.”
Lucy glanced at her sister. “Why don't you take Fatima’s apartment. It's down the road. It’ll be easier to get here.”
“Uh, Lucia? Where am I staying?”
“You can stay at the ranch with us.”
Fatima raised her eyebrows. “No. You, and me and RJ and Addie and Carolyn and her two suitors? That's about three people too many.”
“You can stay with me,” Caldwell said. “I need help at our place with the kids.”
“Uh, no.”
Reg cleared his throat. “That would actually be a great help, Tee. To me and the kids.”
“Reg, I really like all of you, but mister grumpy and growly over there isn't really going to welcome me with open arms. Not after this…”
“I fucking invited you!”
Reg was displeased with his son’s language. “Caldwell!”
Fatima considered the figure of Tate in the bed. She was only his girlfriend. This was his father. She could make a sacrifice for him to be near his son. Even it meant being entirely too close to Caldwell and the heat between them. “That's fine. Okay. I’ll stay at Big Butte, as long as Cald keeps his distance.”
“Like I said, I only want to make sure the kids are taken care of. If you want me to leave you alone I will. I want to find out what was going on with my brother. I don’t think he planned this out. I don’t think that he actually wanted to die.”
Tee didn’t want to hear anymore. She knew that Caldwell and his father were going to get loud. It wasn’t anything she wanted to listen to. Nodding at Lucy and RJ, she walked down the hall, her arms wrapped around herself.
This wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t. She had done what he asked, and after they’d had that conversation about her not being mad at Tate when he didn’t want to go along with her. It had seemed that things were on the upswing. He’d been happy, affectionate, the way he had been before the accident. She didn’t think twice about it; physical therapy was working, the antidepressants were working. And then— that.
The clammy touch of his skin. The pale color of his face. The blood…
The blood he had vomited.
She found a chair in the waiting area and dropped into it, her whole body quaking but no tears falling. She was just overwhelmed and tired.
Fatima ran a hand through her hair. She was tired. Of fighting for Tate, of fighting against Tate. Of fighting for their relationship. Fighting with school to let her take the semester down here in Texas. Just, constant fighting. The battle with the Gibbons brothers, fighting the transport company for the horses back to New Jersey. She wanted to stop fighting everything.
But not the way that Tate had done it. Suicide wasn’t the answer—it only left a trail of destruction in its wake. She just wanted to spend a few peaceful days staring out at the plains, watching the horses and cattle roam around. Parts of the arid lands around Austin reminded her of Portugal, the two or three times they had visited, and she wanted to take the time and just enjoy it. But nothing had been settled since Lucy and Addie had been kidnapped six months ago. Everyone was just constantly fighting.
Picking at the wooden arm of the chair, she thought about the plain ticket she had in her room at the apartment. Whenever she was ready, she just had to call and she could be home in a few days. Just a few days.
But Lucy loved it here. And if she could get a chance to really work on it, she might love it too.
She did love Tate. She had not lied about that at all.
And she loved Caldwell.
Even her heart was fighting. She needed to go away for a few days and get her head on straight. Perking up, she remembered Geo had said his family had a house down in Galveston. Maybe she could ask him if she could hide there for a few days. That would be the best use of her away time for now. If she came back and everything was still a mess, she would close out that plane ticket and go back to Jersey. She would just go back and find her life there, and forget that Tate—and Caldwell—Verhoven even existed.
* * *
There was a tap on her shoulder, and she pushed the hand away. “No.”
“He’s awake, Tee.”
Fatima snapped her eyes open, and found she was still sitting in the chair from last night. She had no idea how long she’d been sleeping there—or when she had even fallen asleep. RJ and Reg were there, and Reg was tapping her shoulder. “Come on, Teegirl. He’s awake. I want you to talk to him.”
“I don’t know if I want to talk to him.” No more lying about how she felt.
“I need you to, darling. He’s being an ass to everyone.”
“When did he wake up?” Fatima sat up and scrubbed a hand over her face.
“About three hours ago,” RJ answer. “He yanked his IV out first thing. They had to extubate him before he did himself.”
Rubbing a hand on the back of his neck, Reg sighed. “He’s angry he didn’t die.”
Fatima spotted Caldwell walking down the hall, angry. She finally stood up from the chair and motioned him over to them. “What’s going on?”
“I had to leave. He’s saying terrible things in there. I want to rip his spleen out.”
Thinking quickly, she nodded. “Okay. I’ll go in and talk to him. Cald, RJ, take Reg down to the cafeteria and feed yourselves. Seriously. You need to eat as well as everyone else around here.”
RJ nodded and pointed to the stairwell at the other end of the room she was in. “That way. Food. Now.”
Reluctantly, Caldwell and his father made for the stairs, RJ holding back a moment to talk to Fatima. He waited until the door clicked shut. “Tee, he’s saying really awful things. Brace yourself. He’s going to be just terrible to you as well as everyone else. Lucy is in there ignoring him but keeping an eye out because he’s already tried to rip that IV out twice and inject bubbles into his bloodstream. He said things to Reg no father should ever have to hear out of his children’s mouths. Ever. I feel like I need to get the guy a bottle of rum for dealing with this. Day drinking as defense.”
Fatima nodded. “Thanks for the warning. I’ll do what I can.”
RJ gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and followed the other two men down the stairs to the cafeteria. Taking a deep breath, she spotted a bathroom and made quick work of the toilet and took a moment to splash some water on her face. Her hair was hopeless, so she ran her fingers through and gathered it into a messy bun.
It was not hard to miss Tate’s room as she approached it. There were swear words being tossed about, as w
ell as medical equipment, including an empty metal bedpan that crashed and clattered across the hall. The nurses looked up from their station and shook their heads, then spotted her there.
“Better hurry if you’re going to talk to him,” the head nurse said. “We’ve ordered sedation. He’s out of control and he’s going to hurt someone around here.”
With a deep breath, Fatima pulled the curtain back and walked in.
Tate was sitting on the bed, wrists held firmly in place by velcro straps as he struggled and railed against them. He was trying to pull the railing off while Lucy sat calmly in the corner reading her book. She briefly wondered how he'd hurled the bed pan.
“Tate?”
His angry gaze snapped over to her, and Tee stepped back. There was a burning hate there, and she'd never thought that she would see the likes of that in his eyes.
“What the fuck are you doing here, bitch?”
She stuttered. “I came to see you. See if you're alright.”
“You should have let me die.”
Fatima balked. “What? Why would I have done that?”
“Because I wanted you to. And you're a bitch for not letting me. You never listened to me and just plowed ahead with your plans for us.” He yanked hard on the railing, scaring her a bit more. “You didn't even get that I wanted to die. I am in pain! I am a reject! I can't even ride a damn ATV because nothing in my body works! I can't ride a horse, Fatima! They're your whole life! Who the hell would ever want to deal with me like this?”
Blinking and staring at him, Fatima answer in a small voice. “I do. I want to deal with you. You didn't see that, did you? I've fallen in love with you.”
He snarled. “Yeah? What about Caldwell? You love him too? You fucking him on the side?”
Lucy slammed her book shut. “I've had just about enough of your mouth, Tate Verhoven.”
“Fuck off, Princess.”
Fatima saw that was exactly the wrong thing to say to her sister at that moment. “Don’t you even start with me, you little shit. You’ve been nothing but an asshole to everyone around here since your accident. Even your recovery was a bullshit story. I held my tongue. I tried to convince you to get help—to be fucking honest with your therapist. But you are just all about your self-pity and your pathos. You want to be crippled. You want to die—not out of some sort of depression, because you don’t want to deal with pain. Physical pain. That the doctors, nurse and therapists have said they can control. But once again, God-fucking-forbid you put in a little effort toward your own healing.”
Princess of the Plains Page 9
