Page 85 of Possession

“If she didn’t put a Glock to your temple and threaten your sorry ass life, I don’t want to hear shit from you.”

“That’s harsh, man, even for you.”

I can hear Lena in the background asking Christian, “What’d he say? What’s he saying?”

“Nothing. It’s fine,” he assures her in a gentle voice that you use with someone you’re intimately involved with either emotionally or, God help him…physically.

“Hunt,” he returns to our conversation. “Lars got her to the hospital in record time. He’s with her right now. Lena and I had to help Gage close the club, but we’re on our way. We’ll be there in ten minutes. And Vaughn is dealing with the situation at the Shaded Lamp.”

“I’ll be there in thirty minutes,” I tell him as I struggle to gain my balance. Even with all this physical therapy crap I’ve been doing, things are still quite wobbly.

“I imagine there’s no scenario in which you’d stay put until we can send over security to escort you to the hospital?”

“Fuck no.”

“Got it,” he huffs. “See you when you get there.”

“And Christian–”

“Yeah?”

“When we’re on the other side of this, we’re going to have to talk seriously about my sister.”

“Agreed.”

“Mr. Middleton, this really won’t do. It’s not standard protocol to allow patients to check themselves out of the facility in the middle of the night,” the no-nonsense, heavy-set nurse says to me.

I read her name tag.

“It’s an emergency, Portia.”

“A police emergency?”

“It’s personal,” is my simple response. I don’t owe anyone in here an explanation about where I’m going or what I’m doing.

“You’re not well, Mr. Middleton.”

“What papers do you need me to sign relieving you of any liability because I’m leaving,” I say sternly. “You’re holding me up.”

I’m trying to be polite because this poor woman is only doing her job, but every moment we spend in this exchange is one more second I’m not at Megan’s side.

“Give me a minute,” she huffs as she prints out several sheets of paper.

As my discharge instructions print, she grabs a wheelchair and points to the seat. “Sit.”

I do what I’m told as she hands me a pen and the paperwork. “Sign everywhere it asks for a patient signature as I roll your stubborn butt to the elevator.

“My fiancee was rushed to the hospital. She’s pregnant with our first child,” I finally explain, relieved I’m almost out of here.

“Oh, my God!” the nurse exclaims. “You should have led with that. Is there a ride waiting for you downstairs?”

“No, I’m going to have to call an Uber.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll have someone at the security desk call you one. I hope everything goes okay, Mr. Middleton. Babies are my favorite thing in the world.”

As I sit in the back of the Uber, the driver tapping his fingers on the steering wheel to some mindless pop song, my phone vibrates on my lap. I snatch it up, praying it's Megan, Lars, or anyone with an update from the hospital.

But the message isn’t from anyone I expect.

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