Page 10 of Gravity of Love
“They said she’ll probably be released today,” a woman Liam hadn’t even noticed standing beside Owen with a kid who looked about his age offered. He met her eyes, and she smiled. “Hi, I’m Adriana, and this is Jonah. We were just on the way to meet my husband to get these boys fed.”
Liam nodded. “Nice to meet you.”
“You, too.” She and the boys continued down the hall.
Liam watched him go, and although he was sure that Adriana was a perfectly capable adult, Owen had a lot of health issues, and it made him worried thinking about him being with anyone else but his mom.
“Owen, you have my number. Call if you need anything.”
“I will.” Owen glanced over his shoulder, smiled, and waved.
Despite knowing that Taylor was fine, that she hadn’t been shot, once he found outshewas the woman involved in the domestic dispute, adrenaline spiked in his system. Years in the military and years in the ER had exposed him to the damage a single bullet could cause. The world around him blurred as his mind went to dark places. A montage of worst-case scenarios flashed through his head. In each one, Taylor was pallid and unresponsive on a gurney, her clothes soaked in blood, with thefrantic scramble of a code team calling out for suction and a crash cart. He stared down at the tiled floor, his chest constricted as his stride quickened with each step he got closer to trauma bay ten.
When he reached the room, he lifted his head and paused for a fraction of a second in the doorframe, every muscle in his body tense.
“Miss Taylor,” he said, his voice lower and rougher than usual.
Her skin was pale, but not shock-white, her lips were blanched, but her breaths were regular, and—most importantly—her eyes found his immediately, wide and alert. “Dr. Davies, hi.”
“Are you okay?” Liam stepped to the edge of the bed, automatically scanning her for signs of deeper trauma. No visible blood soaking her shirt, the oxygen monitor clipped to her finger reading within a safe range, the heart monitor chirping a steady, if slightly elevated, rhythm. Liam was never satisfied with monitors. He had to see for himself. He stared into her eyes, searching for any sign of concussion. As badly as he wanted to get the penlight out of his pocket, gently tip her chin up, and examine her pupils, he knew it would be overkill. She’d been seen already. “I just saw Owen, and he told me it was you in the shooting incident. I had no idea you were here.”
“I’m fine.” Her voice sounded weak, but that was to be expected. “I wasn’t shot. My friend, Mr. Santino, was. He saved me.”
He was still examining her as covertly as possible, tracking the subtle tremor in her hands as she smoothed the hospital blanket, when his pager went off. The shrill double-beep cut through the background sounds of the ER, and Liam’s entire body tensed. He glanced at the code—white, which meant aggression—in bay seven, the psych patient.
As much as he didn’t want to leave Taylor, he had to. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
She managed a tired smile as Liam turned and walked out. On his way he gave Caleb a nod, passing the torch of her care to him. “Harrison.”
The moment his name left his mouth, he stopped. It was involuntary, as if he’d hit a wall, not a physical one, but some invisible forcefield. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he wasn’t sure what the reason was until his brain processed what his olfactory nerve had detected. The scent. Vanilla layered with something floral. That is what had brought him to an abrupt halt.
It was the essence of Frankie Costas.
The memory was so visceral he felt like he could reach out and touch her.
Could she be there?
No.
Frankie lived in New York with his brother Tristan.
Her Yaya lived in Hope Falls, and he’d seen her around several times. She’d come to visit people at the hospital, but she didn’t know him. She hadn’t seen him since he was a pre-teen. From what he’d heard, Frankie hadn’t been to visit her in years. When her Papou passed away, they had the funeral in Greece, so she hadn’t even come back for that.
It wasn’t her. Why would she be here? In Pine Ridge General Hospital?
“Davies.” Caleb’s voice was deep and raw. His stare and tone infused a lot of subtext in those six letters. He managed to deliver Liam’s last name as a threat, snapping him out of his Frankie fog.
Liam left the room with two thoughts in the forefront of his mind. One was pure relief and happiness. He knew now Taylor was getting out of there in one piece with a man who would diebefore he would let anyone hurt her again. Harrison may be a man of God, but the message he’d just given Liam came across loud and clear: if he messed with his family or brought trouble to his house, he would be visiting the morgue, and that made Liamveryhappy. This asshole ex of hers might be locked up now, but if he did come back, he was glad to know the pastor had what the nurses referred to as touch-her-and-die energy. He wasn’t soft.
The second thought—the one that stuck like a stone in his shoe—was why, after eleven years, had he been triggered by that scent? The aroma persisted, clinging in his airways every time he inhaled like an unsolved riddle. He’d been triggered by other things before. Some of which he only had himself to blame, intentionally exposing himself to photos, art, food, tattoos, and more that related to her. Others he held no responsibility for, randomly seeing someone who resembled her, or hearing someone who laughed like her, or watching a TV show or movie that happened to have a scene or storyline that reminded him of her or their relationship.
But never scent.
He’d always had an acute sense of smell. The way some people had perfect pitch or photographic memory, he had the ability to break down any aroma into its atomic parts. It had never been very useful until he started working in medicine. Over the years, he’d trained himself to recognize the warning tang of diabetic ketoacidosis, the sickly-sweet breath of a meth user, the coppery undertone of blood before you even saw it.
But this was different. This wasn’t real. She wasn’t there. Maybe it was just another sign that he needed to move on. This place was causing him to have aromatic hallucinations. It was the only explanation, because there was no way Frankie Costas was in Pine Ridge General Hospital. If she were here, he would know. He would know.
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