Page 1 of Flyboy's Nightingale
CHAPTER
ONE
Riley
I stepon the elevator as I’ve done a thousand times over the last few months, knowing that today is going to be like every other day, but pray that it'll be different.
“How’s he doing tonight?” I inquire as I make my way over to the nurse’s station on the ICU floor. Nurse Beverly looks up from her charting, giving me the same sad smile as she does every day, when I ask this very question.
It’s been four months since Flyboy was rolled into the ER by an ambulance. Four months since I’ve heard his smart mouth as he walked into the ER for his shift. Four months since I’ve felt him tug on my hair. I replay the last time we talked at Razor and Edge’s wedding over and over in my dreams. Each time, my heart clenches tighter in my chest.
Her words derail the runaway train of memories that were colliding through my mind. “His brain swelling has come down enough that they’re hoping to start weaning him off his anesthesia.”
The surgeons were able to save him, and said that everything looked good, so all we could do was wait to find out how bad things may end up being. They’ve had him in a medically induced coma since that tragic night, giving his body a chance to mend and heal as he sedately rests.
I can’t hide my excitement concerning this plan of action, even if I wanted to. Things over the last four months have been so touch and go, that I truly never thought this day was going to happen. Being a nurse in the ER, with a specialization in physical therapy, I knew having hope was dangerous, but I couldn’t help it. I hoped with everything inside of me that he would pull through and recover.
“Riley, don’t get overly excited. You know that could mean nothing at all. One day at a time,” Beverly says with a sweet, sympathetic smile.
I know she’s right. I know that the outcome and events could be nothing less than catastrophic. Coming off long term sedation could make things so much worse, not better in the long run. What I do know though, is that this man hasn’t fought this long and hard, to give up on things now. He's going to make it through this ordeal. He fucking has to, dammit.
Beverly squeezes my arm before walking away. Taking in a calm breath, I push through the door, not at all shocked to see Duck sitting by his bed, scrolling on his phone.
“Where’s Lil’ Red?” I wonder aloud, seeing as they’re never far apart from one another.
He looks up grinning, and conveys, “She just went to the bathroom. You know I’m not going to let her stray too far from my side.”
I chuckle, shaking my head while checking over the monitors, and looking over all of Flyboy’s IVs. I trust Beverly, and all the nurses on the ICU floor, but I have to reassure myself that he is getting the very best care possible.
“Riles, they just checked over everything not too long ago, and said it all looks perfect,” Duck whispers, with dark shadows that I’ve never seen before, filling and dimming his eyes.
“I know. I can’t help it. I would never forgive myself if something happened that I could have prevented by double-checking.” I feel raw as I battle against all of the myriad of emotions warring inside of me, vying to escape, doing my best to keep them hidden and buried from others.
“Duck, leave her be. This is how she takes care of Flyboy, and you are going to let her do that,” Lil’ Red says, coming out of the bathroom and glaring at him the way only an Ol’ Lady can.
“Yeah, do what she says, and leave me alone!” Laughing, I stick my tongue out at him, playfully putting him in his place.
I quickly turn away, praying that he knows I’m teasing, and that I haven’t stepped over any invisible boundaries. Club guysdo notdo disrespect of any kind. Growing up, you respected the men in the club, or you faced an ass whooping. That went for everyone involved, no matter who you were, or who your father happened to be. I stand stiff as a board, apprehensively waiting for retaliation from Duck.
Lil’ Red’s soft voice calms my nerves… slightly. “How long are you going to stay today?”
“I’m headed down to the ER in about ten minutes. I just wanted to stop in, since I won't be able to make it by to check on Flyboy again, until the day after tomorrow.”
“Is everything okay? You always see him when you get off work,” Duck inquires, sounding equal parts confused and concerned.
“Everything is perfect, just have an appointment scheduled after my shift, and I don’t know when I’ll be done,” I tell him with a shrug.
“Got you. Prez and Torch wanted me to ask, and see, if you wanted to come to the next family picnic at the club. They want to say thank you for everything you’ve done for our brother.”
Panic slams into me hard and so rapidly, I see shards of stars dancing behind my eyes. I can’t be at the club. Fuck, I was barely able to be there when I had to help Flyboy with Edge the day they brought Edge in, beat to shit. There is no way I can be somewhere like that on my own. I’ve taken major steps to avoid all things motorcycles, and groups of large, ominous men. My breathing becomes choppy and ragged. I know from past experience that I’m about to pass out.
Dammit, I haven’t had a panic attack like this in—I don’t know how long. Ice-cold hands grab my arm, causing some of the panic to melt away. I use the icy hand on my arm as a way to ground myself, so I can focus on the here and now. Vaguely, I hear someone asking me to hold something.
I look down at my hands, wondering why I’m holding a pillow and a cup of ice chips. Then I look up, to see Lil’ Red talking steadily, and calmly. I focus on her words, trying to decipher them to where they make sense to my turbulent thoughts. That’s when I notice she is talking about pink snakes and flying monkeys. What the hell is she talking about? This woman has lost her marbles.
“Lil’ Red, have you lost your mind? What the hell are you talking about?” I ask, my brow furrowed in bewilderment.
“It’s a trick that I learned in therapy. When someone starts to fall into a panic attack, you first shock their system with something cold, and then you hand them two random things while talking complete nonsense. It causes the person's brain to let go of the panic and focus on what you’re saying,” she tells me with a small, nonchalant shrug.
