Page 37 of Vegas Daddies

“Massive fuckup,” Tammy comments.

I rise from my chair and slide the iced latte from the table to sip the lukewarm leftovers on my walk back to the parking lot. “Laters.”

Dry heat hits my body as soon as I exit the Starbucks. A blue, cloudless sky domes over the city, several planes arching overhead as they come to land. Vacationing somewhere like Bali would chill me out. What I need currentlyisn’ta ten-hour afternoon shift in the ICU, but a Thai native healer sitting me down and draining all the anxiety out of me.

Being in the company of Lifesaver, Brander, and Match relaxes me. To be honest, they could be my own personal healers. It’s not good enough, though. Rachel and Tammy are supposed to be thrilled for me. Theywerewhen they first met them, and me leaving the club with them put a kind of glow in Tammy’s eyes I’ve never seen before.

So what’s changed?

They’re only cautious because of their reputation.

But I think maybe their reputation proceeds them.

I take my eyes from the sky and focus on my walk back to the parking lot. Sidewalks are never a breeze to walk down any time of the day. The strip attracts people from all over the world. In five minutes, I can count more accents than I have fingers and toes. Entertainment for tourists might be casinos, clubs, and joyous helicopter rides that carry passengers out to the grand canyon, but for locals it’s eavesdropping into the tourists’ conversations—the English-speaking ones anyway. The British complaining it’s too hot. New Yorkers saying there’s zero culture and they’re counting down the days until their flight home, which is strange because they’re unironically the ones who take it too far in the evenings and wind up in the ICU on a drip.

Vegas has always been my home—I was born in the very same hospital where I now work—but the city doesn’t buzz me like it does everybody else. Even locals stand and marvel at Caesars Palace sometimes, and thread through the crowds of tourists to get front-row viewings of the Bellagio foundation. Vegas, to me, has always just been a city.

Until now.

Since meeting the bikers, I finally understand what it feels like to walk around the place with a stride in my step. To feel a rush of excitement. Adrenaline that makes caffeine an addition to your day, not a necessity.

I sip the last of the latte and throw it in the trash. As high as my spirits are today, I cut off the strip to shortcut through an alley so I can reach the parking lot quicker.

Unlocking the vehicle, I pop open the door and crash into the driver’s seat. Silence has never rung so loud. The past couple ofdays have been intense. More so than anything I’ve experienced in my entire twenty-two years of living. One would think I’m a college student experiencing thrill for the first time in her life.

But that’s what it feels like.

I exit the parking lot and turn onto the main road, rolling down the windows to give myself a cross breeze. As cliché as it sounds, I feel alive for the first time in my life. The sun shines brighter, its UV like a warm hug against my skin. The palm trees too. Their leaves sway in colors greener than I remember. Even the music, when I thumb on the radio, fizzles through my bones. The bass. I feel it in my soul. My heartbeat even syncs up with it.

Life is all about feeling, right? Senses and memories.

And the people you meet.

I don’t even covermy mouth when I yawn. I’m past the point of social etiquette.

Trashing the medical gloves, I stagger into the lockers and wash my hands to rinse away the awful sweaty smell of rubber.

Two very dark circles come into view when I hazard a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The only hairstyle I had time to do was an uncombed, static bun on top of my head. Now halfway down my face. Bits of redness ring around the supposed whites of my eyes. I look like I’ve accepted a class A drug from some drunk off the street.

Gathering the rest of my things, I exit the ICU, pleased my shift is over.

Is it bad that every time I saw an exam table, my mind reeled back to last night?

There was something so peaceful about being in Lifesaver’s doctor’s office, out on the open road. One thing I’ve learned about a biker’s lifestyle is that they like to tuck themselves into the desert as far away from civilization as possible, either to avoid the cops or to give themselves an excuse to ride. It’s endearing. Cute, almost.

Life so far has rarely led me out into the desert. Once or twice when I was younger when Daddy and I were learning to live without Mom, he drove me to Red Rock Canyon to switch up the scenery. It was beautiful, so vast, but he cautioned me. Said it’s better to be around built-up areas where help is always at hand.

The air still retains some warmth when I exit the building, and a breeze blows through the atmosphere, battering at the oversized scrubs.

I advance to my car, slip my keys from my pocket…

A force drags me back.

The keys land on the floor with a smash. I lunge forward, but realize I’m stationary. Two hands curl around my waist, locking me in place.

“Hey! Get off.”

At first I say it in a normal tone because it could just be a kid messing around.

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