Page 26 of Quiet Chaos

“Thanks, asshole.”

He tosses my phone at me and says, “It’s been ringing on and off for a good hour.”

The numbers aren’t familiar. There are a couple of voice messages. I listen to a doctor say he’s calling about Sky Haven. That’s all I need to hear before I push the snowmobile to the cabin. I call Armstrong while I throw everything in the truck.

Reed comes running over. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Sky. She’s in the hospital. I have to go.”

He’s rubbing Armstrong’s head and tells me to leave him there. I thank him and hop into the truck. I can’t get there fast enough, not fully understanding what happened. The doctor mentioned Sky sustaining injuries from an incident and she had me down as the emergency contact.

It’s a packed ER as I try to get around the sick and injured. I walk to the desk and ask about Sky. The nurse checks the database and tells me she’s in surgery. She points to a waiting area.

I check in so they know who I’m here for. My leg bounces up and down. Hospitals remind me of the times I spent withmy mom during her cancer treatments. I also watched as each treatment took a little more of her until she was nothing but bones and ashen skin. My head leans back against the wall and I close my eyes. What the hell happened to Sky?

I’ve been sitting here for two hours before someone comes out. The doctor brings me into a private room to discuss Sky.

“I’m told you aren’t aware of her injuries. Is this correct?” I agree. “Sky is stable right now. She has non-life-threatening injuries, but there is quite a bit of damage. I’ll start with the worst. Sky has a stab wound to her left shoulder, which we had to do emergency surgery on.”

What? She was going to work. Did someone hurt her on the way? I hate her walking by herself.

The doctor snaps me back to the present. “Everything went well. She’s in recovery, waiting for a room. She has a concussion, stitches near her hairline, a few broken ribs, and the left side of her face banged up. Her eye is closed because of swelling. Sky’s left arm is sprained. For today and into the night, we will monitor her closely. Do you have questions I can answer?”

“What happened?”

He takes off his glasses, rubs the bridge of his nose, and puts them back on. “From what I know, some guy came into the restaurant and assaulted her. Unfortunately, no one stepped in to help, only called 911. By the time the police arrived, she had sustained her injuries.”

“Where’s the guy now?”

“Police station.”

“I’d like to see Sky.”

“We’ll get her settled in a room and someone will come get you. Her injuries appear worse than they are. She’s a tough little woman.”

By mid-afternoon, I am standing in the doorway of her room, and I swallow down the sharp pain in my eyes and chest. I movenext to the bed, watching her sleep, and take her small hand in mine. The left side of her face is black and blue. She has a bandage on the right side near her hairline. Sky’s left arm is in a temporary cast. The monitors beep, showing her blood pressure and heart rate. I collapse into the chair and kiss her hand.

Anger pushes to the forefront as I struggle to breathe. I can’t believe some fucker did this to her. To this kind, adorable woman, who has gotten under my skin and near my heart. I’m going to kill him. He doesn’t deserve a trial.

I glance around the room, so similar to my mom’s. The walls are a dusty shade of miserable, and cloaked in antiseptics, cleaning supplies, and urine.

When I look at Sky, her fragile state reminds me of my mother’s. My mom, Christine, tried to be strong, even as the chemo and radiation ate her insides. I never loved another woman or anyone as much as I loved her. We were so close, yet so different. When I was little, she quieted the chaos in me. I struggled, not understanding why my real parents discarded me. Quiet by nature, the anger remained inside, never voicing my pain. Over time, my mom coaxed me out of my shyness, using her sense of humor. I can’t remember the last time since she died when I laughed—a hard belly laugh. Losing her broke me. I enjoy life, but nothing compares to mom. Adopting me saved my life and kept me out of the system. My mom made me her world, and for the eleven years I had her in my life, she was mine.

A tear falls on my hand. I sit up, glance around as I wipe my eyes and nose before anyone catches me. The beeping of the machine lulls me to sleep, and then I wake from the nurses’ whispers in the room. I scoot the chair back. The nurse closest to me says I’m fine.

She takes a bag down, hangs another IV on the pole and says, “Sir, visiting hours will end soon so—”

“I’m not leaving.”

Both nurses glance at one another, and the nurse says again, “I don’t think they’ll—”

This time I say it louder, “I’m not leaving.”

They disappear and send in an older nurse. The cavalry.

“The other nurses say you’re staying.” I nod and she looks over at my leather and tattoos. She shifts her gaze to Sky and lets out a sigh of defeat. “I’ll get you a blanket.”

13

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