Page 69 of The Enforcer

“I’ll go get the car. If I had known you’d be discharged today, I would have driven it in the first place.”

“It’s fine. Go. I’ll be ready when you get back.”

Zeke kisses me once more, nodding at the nurse and stepping into the hallway.

With a dramatic sigh, I murmur, “I’m a lucky man.” The nurse barks a laugh but agrees.

I’m in the middle of getting my dressings changed while I wait for my discharge papers when there’s a knock on my door. Tucker sticks his head around the corner, smiling at me. I smile back, waving him inside. He’s been by to visit a few times since I’ve been in the hospital.

Tucker and I have always been friendly, since he’s been one of the paralegals that worked closely with me. Since I quit, however, we’ve been talking more. He’s toying with the idea of quitting, as he said the firm no longer sparks joy.

“Going home?” he asks when he sees that I’m dressed in clothes other than the hospital gown that offers no modesty.

“Yep.” The nurse twists my arm so he can roll the gauze down my arm. They told me I can remove the dressings in the next three to five days, depending on how well it’s healed. “Can’t wait. I’m ready to shower in my own bathroom and sleep in my own bed.”

“I get that,” Tucker comments, sitting in the chair beside the bed. “I can’t stay long. I’m just coming to give you a heads up.”

Raising an eyebrow, I ask, “Oh? About?”

“Mr. Clinton is coming to visit. He heard me talking to another paralegal about how you’re doing and said he’d like to speak to you. Before I could shut it down, the person I was talking to told him where you were.”

I roll my eyes. What could he possibly want? He’s not my boss anymore. I don’t have a boss and we didn’t part on the best of terms. There’s really nothing he could say to me that I want to hear. “Do you know what he wants?”

Tucker shakes his head. “Sorry, I don’t. I couldn’t get a read on his expression either, so I can’t even guess at what he wants.”

If he makes it here before I’m discharged, I may as well see what he wants. It can’t hurt. But I’m not waiting around for that fucker.

“Thanks,” I tell Tucker, who looks stricken. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure he would have tracked me down some kind of way. He probably called, but I haven’t been answering my phone.”

The people that mean the most to me—Zeke, Prez, Jace and the rest of the guys—have come to visit me and give me shit for sporting a hospital gown that’s unflattering to my shape, as Pete told me. The only phone calls I’ve taken have been from Tucker and Finn, who’s called every day to see how I am. He’s really becoming a friend, someone I can count on, even though he can’t physically be here with me.

Tucker’s shoulders sag. “I really am sorry. Hopefully he doesn’t come with some bullshit.”

“Here’s to hoping.”

We’re quiet for a while, the only sound filling the room is the snipping of scissors and opening of more rolls of gauze. Finally, Tucker asks, “Were you serious when you said you wanted to open your own firm?”

I told Tucker I planned to open a practice during his second visit when he asked what I planned to do with all my free time. I was also doped up on the pain meds they gave me since I’d just had a skin graft. Honestly, I didn’t mean to tell him, but it came spilling out. Oh well, can’t be undone now.

Nodding, I look over at him with a grin. “Yep. I’ll rest up for a week or two, then get started on finding a suitable space. I won’t need much. It’ll just be me, so a two- or three-room space would be ideal. I won’t be able to afford anything fancier than that.”

A frown settles on my face when I think about the building I really want. When we returned from Cuba, I called the mortgage company about the old accounting office that’s near our house. It’s about ten grand out of my price range for a five-year lease. I would have to use all my savings as well as take out a loan to be able to afford it. I’d rather start somewhere smaller, then try to lease that space if it’s still available in a few years.

“I meant what I said,” he tells me, standing and brushing his hands on his pants. “If you need a paralegal, let me know. I can turn in my two weeks’ notice as soon as you’re set up.” He looks at his watch. “Gotta go. My lunch is over. Call me if you need anything.”

I bid him goodbye and he exits just as the nurse wraps up my last bit of gauze and slides a compression sleeve on my arm. “You should be good to go,” he says, gathering all the trash and disposing of it. “Keep an eye out for signs of infection. You’ll have follow-up appointments with the burn unit here for the next three months.” I nod, looking down at the compression garment. It’s easy to put on and remove with help, so I know I have to wait for Zeke if I don’t want to struggle with it on my own. “I’ll be back shortly with your discharge papers.”

“Thanks,” I mutter, standing so I can gather the things Zeke brought from home for me. It’s not much—my favorite pillow, a brush so my hair wasn’t all over my head, socks that weren’t the thin and grippy ones the hospital provided, my laptop so we could watch movies and my toothbrush and toothpaste.

I’m tucking my pillow into the gym bag Zeke brought me when there’s a knock at the door. I turn around with a smile, thinking it’s the nurse with my discharge papers. My smile drops when Mr. Clinton—Garth—steps into my room. His eyes land on my bandaged arm and I think I spot a smug look before it disappears.

“What?” I ask. I have no reason to be polite to him. I don’t need to kiss his ass or pretend to like him. He fucked that up when he disrespected my family.

He points to my arm. “I heard you were hurt with your … boyfriend.” He sneers the word as if it’s a curse word. I narrow my eyes at him. “I hate to say I told you so, but?—”

“If you want to keep your fucking teeth, you won’t,” I snarl, fed up with his shit. Why did he think it was a good idea to come to the hospital while I’m being discharged from being wounded to say, “I told you so”? “It’s not my boyfriend’s fault. It’s the man that set the fire’s fault. Don’t fucking blame him again.”

Garth’s eyes bug out of his head at my barely disguised threat. I seriously would deck him if he popped more shit about Zeke or Devil’s Mayhem.

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