Page 81 of Just Friends

“Still in surgery, as far as we know.”

Nick and glanced over the room, taking a seat beside her. “All right?” he asked. No. But nodded anyway. “I’m Nick, if you don’t remember. There were many people at your dad’s funeral.”

“I remember,” Rebecca mumbled. “The other Detective.”

“Anderson will make it through this,” Nick said, patting her hand. She was a fraud sitting there getting support from his family and friends––she’d left him.

A man in scrubs entered and called “Anderson.” Rebecca stood and tried to concentrate on the words coming from the doctor. Weasel had made it through surgery. Ribs broken, the bullet removed, the damaged lung repaired. Ty’s quick action on the scene had helped keep Weasel alive. To allow the lung to heal, he was sedated and placed on a ventilator for two to three days depending on progress. The ventilator would reduce as the lung became stronger.In excellent shape, the prognosis was for a full recovery. But, the next twenty-four hours would be crucial.

The group proceeded to the critical care waiting room with the promise of seeing him soon and Rebecca tried to breathe.

“Did you call Ben?” Rebecca asked Dalton. From the expression, it hadn’t occurred to him, and he hurried away scrolling through his phone. This would send the group of former friends there, and she’d have to face them.

“Men don’t think about stuff like that,” Cindy said, sitting next to her.

“I didn’t think about it until now…been worried. I don’t know what I’ll do if he doesn’t…” Rebecca grabbed a tissue out of the box on the end table and pressed it to her eyes.

“Now, don’t go there,” Cindy said. “The doctor was optimistic. Weasel’s a big, strong guy. He’ll bounce back from this.”

One thing that Rebecca understood was the fact that time ceased to operate within the confines of physics inside hospital waiting rooms. One minute could feel like it lasted for hours or hours could pass in the space of a single minute. Life inside a hospital was all hurry and wait. Rebecca waited on her father’s doctors, physical therapists, medications, treatments, and results. Now, there she was in the middle of another game of medical waiting, only now Weasel with a bullet wound. And not alone this time, but she was surrounded by his family and officer friends who’d all hate her when they discovered she’d broken up with him. She might not have to wait until Weasel woke up before everyone found out, once Ben and the rest of their friends arrived, they’d voice a few opinions.

“You’re looking a little pale,” Nick held out a bottle of soda.

“I can’t take your— “

“He’d want you taken of,” Nick replied.

“Yes, he would,” Dalton stated, and she caught a look thathe might know more than he’d let on.

Rebecca took the drink and sipped. Finally, they could visit Weasel, two people at a time. Dalton stood, and Rebecca assumed that Cindy would go, but she stared at Rebecca. “Go with him,” Cindy said.

“No, go first,” Rebecca said. “You’re family.” Cindy only shook her head, Dalton grabbed her hand, and hauled her up.

“Come on girl,” Dalton said. They followed the nurse down the intensive care unit corridor. The rooms were glass-walled cubes surrounding a large nurses’ station in the center, with people in scrubs tending to many beeping machines, typing on computers, and having hushed conversations. Most of the cubes had privacy curtains drawn around the occupant, but some of them were open with empty beds. The nurse entered one of the glass rooms, yanked the curtain open for them to enter, and closed it behind them.

“I’m Valerie Thomas, Mr. Anderson’s nurse,” she said, showing the ID clamped to her uniform.

“I’m his brother, Dalton,” he said. “This is Rebecca, his girlfriend.” Rebecca nodded; she didn’t want to go near that statement.

“If you have questions orneed anything, please let me know.”

“He’s unconscious now?” Dalton nodded toward Weasel in the hospital bed.

“Mr. Anderson’s sedated and on pain medication for his comfort,” Valerie said. “Please feelfree tospeak, but he won’t be able to answer.”

“He can hear us?” Dalton asked.

“It depends on the person,” she replied. “Many people remember what someone says to them under sedation and others don’t. I don’thaveany way to know for sure, but I always talk and explain things to my patients even in these circumstances,” she replied and excused herself.

Weasel lay in the hospital bed with a large tube coming out of his mouth, and other tubes coming out from under the covers, and machines whirring and beeping. Rebecca stopped in her tracks. It could be worse, but for a man whose job was being the protector, he’d be in a mood when he woke up.

“Hey dumbass,” Dalton said to Weasel.

“Dalton,” Rebecca scolded.

“That’s how we talk to each other,” Dalton replied. “If I were nice, he’d think he was dying, and he’s not.” Dalton turned to Weasel. “So don’t you even think about it. If you see a bright light, run the other way.”

Rebecca smiled and shook her head. “I’m sure he appreciates the sentiment.” Although she wasn’t sure how much he’d appreciate her there. Rebecca ran a hand down his arm, needing contact and assurance that he was still alive. The heart monitor on the screen provided proof of the steady rhythm beating in his chest, although she had no right to touch him.

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