It took us twelve hours to get her back, but not before she’d been severely traumatized. Both Bree and I had been riddled with guilt and too eager to take down her captor, resulting in his death and Bree’s injury.
While I was in the back of that ambulance, I came to the decision working together and sleeping together had been a mistake. Thinking I was doing the right thing, I broke it off with Bree, half-expecting her to pack it in.
But then her mother died just three weeks after Bree got shot. She was still on medical leave at the time and requested an additional few months’ leave to get her mother’s affairs in order. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but when she returned to work three months after the shooting, she had a wedding ring on her finger.
It fucking hurt, and for the longest time I hated that I’d meant so little to her she turned around and married someone else. I knew I had no right to feel that way, since I was the one who broke things off, but it burned for years.
I never met the guy she married. She didn’t speak of him, or her life outside of PASS. We found a way to work together. She was too valuable to lose with her special combination of skills. By the time Dimi joined PASS, she no longer wore her ring. I never wanted to know and she never volunteered what happened.
Yet here I am, many years later, sitting once again in a hospital waiting room to hear the extent of her injuries, wanting to know it all.
They say love and hate are two sides of the same coin and over the past years I’ve started to believe it myself.
After last night I know it to be true.
Bree
Someone is shining a bright light in my eye.
“Brianne? It’s Dr. Finley. You’re at Littleton Adventist Hospital.”
I force my eyes open, blinking a few times to clear my vision.
“Hi.”
“Do you remember what day it is?”
“Sunday.” I think hard. “No…Monday.”
By the time they pulled me out of the back of the ambulance the sun was starting to come up. I’d been gone for almost twenty-four hours.
“I need to talk to the police,” I announce, trying to sit up.
A firm hand on my shoulder keeps me in the bed.
“First we take care of your injuries,” he says in a tone that leaves no room for argument.
For the next however long, I’m probed and prodded, X-rayed, CT-scanned, poked for blood, cleaned out and stitched up, and my ankle is stabilized. Then Dr. Finley leaves the room, telling me to rest while we wait for results.
I’m missing chunks of time when I was either drugged or out of it, but I remember everything I took an active part in. I recall the log home, the trek through the woods, and flagging down the wrong damn car. I remember how every part of me got hurt. Crawling up the embankment to try and catch the first truck that rumbled by, leaving me despondent. By the time I heard the second one approach, I was able to do little more than wave the poker in the air, hoping someone would spot me.
I also recall everything after that, Yanis’s sharp bark but worried eyes. The way he lifted me in his arms, that cruel mouth of his nothing but a thin line, but his touch exquisitely gentle.
I’m so tired, I don’t even have the energy to protest and close my eyes.
The next thing I know the doctor is back, this time with Yanis who lingers by the door.
“So, Ms. Graves, looks like you’ve torn ligaments in your ankle but no fractures. It’s a significant injury that’ll require rest and—”
“How long?” I interrupt, the prospect of any time off work not a happy one for me.
“It can take anywhere from three to six months to heal. A lot depends on you.”
Dr. Finley outlines the treatment plan for my ankle, which is basically sit on my ass with my foot up for the next three to four weeks to start with. After that I have to see a PT, who will tell me when I’m ready to start moving again.
I’ll heal.
The cut took twenty-four stitches to close and will leave a mark but is otherwise of no concern. The two broken ribs will heal on their own, as long as I don’t sleep lying flat and keep breathing deeply, even though it hurts like a motherfucker.
I’ll heal but it’s going to be hell.
Rest is not in my vocabulary and the thought of being stuck in my two-bedroom apartment with only a small balcony for a month or God forbid, longer, is almost as terrifying as the past twenty-four hours have been.
I glance over at Yanis, who has been quiet so far.
“Because you’ve been through quite an ordeal and were dehydrated when you got here, we’re gonna keep you overnight.”
Dr. Finley lifts his hand to silence me when I open my mouth to share my opinion on that. Behind him I catch Yanis grinning and I send him a dirty look.
“You’re going to need some help at home, though. At least until the swelling is down; I don’t want you to put any weight on that ankle.”
“She won’t.”
The first words from Yanis and they’re imperious. Figures, he’s rarely anything but bossy.
Dr. Finley leaves saying he’ll stop by in the morning to check in on me, and then I’m left with Yanis still looming by the doorway, staring at me.
I can’t make out what the funny expression on his face is supposed to mean. I’d say it’s concern, but I don’t trust my instincts when it comes to this man. This morning he seemed pissed and started barking at me, but then seconds later he kissed my forehead and called me Tygrys.
The last time I heard that was before he dumped me while I was recovering from a gunshot wound in the hospital. I still remember the utter devastation I felt, despite putting on a strong face. I had no choice; I’d just found out my mother was terminally ill, and with no one else to look after her I had to stay standing.
But something died inside me that day and I’m not about to be fooled by his gentle lips and sweet words again.
“What?” I snap, suddenly angry he’s even standing in my room.
He inhales deeply and releases his breath slowly before walking up to the bed.
“Scared the fuck out of me.”
See?
Words like that. Words that make me hope perhaps he still cares, when I know damn well I’m just another employee to him. One he can barely seem to tolerate at times.
I’m still trying to come up with a snappy comeback when he adds, “The boys are gonna want to see you before heading back to Grand Junction. That okay?”
Does that mean they’re all driving back?
“By all means.”
I wave my hand haphazardly, determined not to be disappointed. Yanis frowns, eyeing me curiously for a moment, before turning and disappearing down the hall.
Dimi and Jake don’t stay long and keep the visit light and easy, but I don’t like it when they leave. I suddenly feel like an outsider.
At some point I’m sure the cops will show up, wanting their pound of flesh, but until they get here I’m going to get some rest.
Not much, as it turns out, when the scraping of a chair wakes me up.
“Aren’t you heading back?” I ask Yanis, who takes a seat beside the bed.
“Tomorrow.”
He doesn’t say with you, but it’s implied.
There it is again, that pesky bubble of hope, but I quickly squash it before it has a chance to grow. He’s being a responsible employer, that’s all.