Page 28 of Blackout: Book Two

Chapter Eleven

Lacey

Blackie overdosed.

Those were my father’s words. I suppose they should’ve brought some sense of relief. After all, it’s better than hearing he died, right? I should’ve been rejoicing over the knowledge they were able to revive him with two doses of Narcan and that I wouldn’t be identifying his body or planning his funeral. That’s what a good wife would do. She’d be happy her husband survived another detrimental mistake.

She’d be grateful.

So how come I’m numb?

“You don’t have to do this,” my father says, forcing my attention towards him. “I’ll go in.”

Lifting my head, I meet his gaze and shamefully contemplate the suggestion. A good wife would want to see her husband. She’d want to make sure he’s okay. I don’t know if it’s because I’m angry or if I’m acting out of fear but the thought of seeing him in a hospital bed after suffering yet another overdose is not something I want to deal with. But a lot of strings were pulled to make this visit possible and with Blackie’s future once again lying in limbo this may be my only chance to see him for a while.

After my father woke me up and told me the news, he provided me with full disclosure and for the first time, he trusted me with his club business, revealing the plan he had put in motion to exonerate Blackie of all charges. You see, my father had given up the Sinaloa Cartel to the district attorney in exchange for my husband’s freedom but instead of getting a call that he was being released, he was informed of his overdose.

The last time Blackie od’d he suffered a heart attack and initially that was all I could think of. I begged my father to figure out a way for me to see him but because he obtained the drugs illegally while incarcerated, they were holding him in the infirmary until he was stabilized. Once he was, they’d likely transfer him back and bring new charges against him. My dad threw more money at Blackie’s lawyer and Schwartz dragged his ass up to Ryker’s. After speaking with Blackie’s cellmate, Schwartz learned something had happened involving a correctional officer. Without knowing all the details, Schwartz declared my husband’s safety was compromised and threatened to stage a press conference and sue the city if they didn’t transfer him from the infirmary to a hospital. Whether any of that is true or not, I don’t know but for someone who was so desperate to see her husband, I’m at a loss as to why I’m standing in the hospital debating if I should stay or if I should run.

“Lace,” my father says, brushing a strand of hair away from my eyes. “Sweetheart, tell me what you want to do.”

“Parrish.”

At the sound of Schwartz calling his name we both turn our heads and meet the lawyer’s grim expression.

“I need a word,” he says, eyeing me. After my outburst in the courtroom, it’s safe to say Schwartz isn’t a fan of mine. I’d like to tell you I give a fuck, but I don’t have it in me. My dad steps away and I try not to eavesdrop. I even turn my back to them, but for two people who don’t want me to hear what they have to say, they’re awfully loud.

“Look, I don’t know if it’s a good idea that she sees him like this,” Schwartz says.

“He’s a drug addict, Schwartz, and she’s his wife. If you think she hasn’t seen him like this before, you’re wrong.”

“I’m not talking about that. His cellmate wasn’t bullshitting, Parrish. A guard staged for him to be alone with members of Javier’s hit squad. They beat the living fuck out of him. Now, if you want your daughter to see him like that, by all means, go ahead. But I’ve seen her lose her shit in a courtroom and it’s not a good look.”

“What did you say?” I snap, moving to stand beside my father.

“No offense,” Schwartz says with a smug expression.

“I didn’t mean that part, but to be fair I’m not really a fan of yours either,” I hiss.

“Lace—”

“No,” I spat, narrowing my eyes at Schwartz. “So, it’s true? He was attacked in there?

“Before you get all riled up and make another scene, none of us want to be a part of, I’m already handling the situation.”

“Handling it how?”

“Are you always like this?”

“Answer the question, Schwartz,” my dad growls.

“In about twenty minutes every news station in the tri-state area will be interrupting their scheduled broadcasting to share photos of Blackie lying in that hospital bed. I also have someone from my office filing an emergency motion to drop the possession charges brought against him this morning. It just so happens Judge Riley owes me a favor and I’m cashing in. However, don’t hang up a welcome home banner just yet. The court is going to mandate he goes to rehab and there is no way around that.”

“It’s better than him going to jail and besides he can use the help,” my father says. The two of them continue to speak as if I’m not there, deciding what is best for Blackie. No one notices as I slip away and turn towards the hospital room. If they do, neither of them tries to stop me. I don’t know how to explain the change of heart. I think no matter how hopeless the situation it’s in a person’s nature to want to heal someone they love. It doesn’t matter I’ve been constantly trying to save the same man who keeps breaking my heart, I still want to believe my hand was meant to fill his. That my heart, as fragile and broken as it might be, exists only for him. Every beat is his. Every crack too.

Gripping the doorknob, I draw in a deep breath and hold it. As soon as I find the courage to open the door, I release the breath and shuffle my feet inside the room. Before I can take another step, a uniformed officer stands in front of me.

“Can I help you?”

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