Another One Bites the Dust (28 page)

It wasn’t my fault he wouldn’t leave me alone.  “Tell me.”

“Tell you what?”  James feigned innocence.

Once you’re mad at someone, everything they do seems offensive.  There James was idly tapping away with his pencil, and I wanted to rip it from his hands and stab him in the ass with it.  Even Sam was annoying me, idly nibbling on a piece of beef jerky. 

I walked right up to him, snatched it out of his hands, and ripped into it with my back molars.  The flavor burst to life on my tongue and I barely kept the moan of deliciousness in check.  I glared icily at him, and then turned that stare to the other men in the room.  They raised their arms in surrender, and I sat down in the chair next to the desk and waited.

They couldn’t do anything with me sitting right here, and they wouldn’t kick me out either.  After all, my husband was just thrown in jail, I was fifteen months pregnant with a rugby player, and I was hormonal.  They knew better than to mess with this.

The door to the office swung open, and Ember, Cheyenne, and Blaine entered.  They glanced around and instantly became aware of the tenseness in the office.

“What’s going on?”  Ember asked finally.

“Umm…”  Gabe hesitated.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” I muttered and stood, turning to face them.  “My husband was arrested for assaulting a police officer.  He’s now in jail, where he will remain without bail because he assaulted a cop, and the judge wasn’t too happy about that.” 

A chorus of “
What’s?”
  filled the air.  Then what I wanted to happen, happened.  They best friends a girl could ask for all turned and regarded their significant others, waiting for an explanation.  Groans from the men proceeded the looks, but they still didn’t give in.  My lovely friends weren’t going to give in either, so this was about to get interesting.

“I expect an explanation as soon as I get back, dammit.”  I said before stomping back to my idling car, patting Alpha on the head, and heading back to work.

I never made it, though. 

I’d just reached the intersection of Grand and University when our light went from green to yellow.  I stopped for the light, but the motorcycle that had been following Gabe and I for the last mile did not.        

The accident played out like one does in a movie.  There was a screech and squeal of tires.  The sound of bending metal and booming impact.  Horns honking.  Smoke was filling the air, and then all went silent for a few seconds.  People exited their vehicles cautiously, but I didn’t even hesitate.  I ran to the downed victims that were thrown over sixty feet away from where their motorcycle had been impacted with the truck.

Gabe was there, too.  Still following me as he’d done before, but this time I was happy for his presence.  He was a combat medic and would be extremely helpful in trying to stabilize the patients until the ambulances were able to get here.

Dismay washed over me when I saw that the woman was dead.  Her neck was in such a horrific angle it would have been blatantly obvious to anyone.  Her eyes stared vacantly at the blue sky, and that’s when I noted that she was pregnant.  Her face was in such a bad shape that I just knew we wouldn’t be able to do CPR until the medics got here.  Gabe saw it, too.

I ran back to my car and removed the Go Bag that I always kept there for emergencies, and ran back to Gabe who was removing the woman’s clothes from her top half.  I watched with clinical detachment, and then set out everything that I thought we would need.  I glanced over quickly to make sure the man was getting help, too, and saw two men doing CPR on him as well.

Gabe and I worked quickly, and I assisted him as he performed a C-section in the fucking field.  I’ve witnessed multiple C-sections, but this was my first that didn’t occur in the sterile environment of an OR.

In a matter of minutes, Gabe was reaching inside of the dead woman and removing the baby.  The incision was a large one, so no maneuvering was being done, the baby slid right on out in a boneless heap.

The next few minutes blurred as we performed CPR on the infant, and then turned over care to the paramedics who showed up seven minutes after the accident.  Normal response time outside of the city limits was eleven minutes, and we were lucky that they got here so fast.

We followed the ambulance the whole way to the hospital.  I went upstairs to change out of my dirty scrubs, and sat down in the break room and cried.  I cried for that sweet baby who would never see his mom.  I cried for that poor mommy who would never know the joy of holding her baby for the first time.  I cried for Max not being here when I needed him so badly.

I cried for well over fifteen minutes, collected myself, shoved all of my thoughts in a deep vault in my mind, and then finally headed back out to the nurse’s station.  Of course, my coworkers were all curious, but I didn’t feel up to explaining.

I threw myself into work in a futile effort to try to forget the turmoil that was taking over my brain.  Grabbing my charts from the nurse’s station, I knocked on the first door and entered.  My new mom was asleep, and I announced myself so she didn’t freak when she saw me standing over her newborn.

“Hi, Charlotte!  How are you feeling?”  I asked her.

“I feel like I just shit a watermelon.  My asshole hurts.  Why does my asshole hurt?”  She asked looking at her baby with pride.

I had to smother my laugh.  This woman was awesome.  She was a hoot during labor, and I heard her jokes all the way down the hall in the maternal care unit.  The nurses were still laughing about her outburst when the doctor gave her her episiotomy.

Apparently, when the doctor went to cut for the episiotomy, she begged the doctor not to cut her clit off on accident.  When the doctor laughed it off, she said, “After having to endure this hell, I’ll have to have that to ever get past the fact that a watermelon coming out of your vagina is the end result of that process.”

“Umm, well you did have an episiotomy.  It’s going to hurt for a few weeks.  They did have to cut nearly all the way down to your rectum.”  I said consolingly.

“Fucking wonderful.  When I see that man again, I’m going to punch him in the face and cut his balls off with a blow torch.”  She ground out and then covered her face with a pillow.

The door creaked open, and the man in question came inside, unaware of the emanate danger he was in.  “I got you some dinner, honey!”  He said cheerfully.

Since he wasn’t paying attention, he didn’t see the shoe flying at his head until it hit him on the shoulder and bounced to the ground.  “Hey!”

“Look what you’ve done to me!”  She yelled and raised her shirt, opened her legs, and then showed off the goods to everyone.

Her husband winced and looked away.  “I didn’t tell you to go off your birth control!” 

“Yeah, well I was stupid.  I specifically remember us speaking about it though.  My problem is that you didn’t tell me my vagina would be ripped open!”  She seethed.

Now I should mention the fact that her husband is also an OB/GYN doctor.  He knew exactly what could happen when babies were conceived.  How he was able to keep this from her, I don’t know.

Using the lull in screaming, I examined Charlotte, the baby, and made my way out of the room.  Just as I was about to go outside, my name was called from the nurse’s station.

The charge nurse waved me over and said, “I need you to go down to the ER.  There was a bad wreck, and it involved a pregnant woman.  The baby was delivered, but the mom didn’t make it.  The baby needs to be checked over, and brought up here.  Take everything you will need.  Be careful.” 

I looked at her questioningly, but she’d turned around and started barking out orders to those that were gathered around the nurse’s station.  Gathering a blanket, a portable crib, a nose syringe, and hospital bracelets, I made my way down stairs and arrived into utter chaos.

There was no way for her to know that I was there for the wreck.  That I helped deliver the baby.  However, I didn’t want to get into it.  Instead, I did what I was told.  The elevators dinged, and I was momentarily struck speechless.

Wall to wall, there were bikers galore.  Some wore their leathers, other’s wore only t-shirts, some had on blue jean jackets, but there was no doubt in my mind that they were bikers.  They exuded a type of force that shouted ‘Biker!’  They parted as and watched my walk by.  All of them solemn.  Some of the women were crying.  Some of the men held their women.  Others completely ignored me.

My breath started to come in harsh pants, but I ignored it, thankful to have Alpha trotting along beside me.  Their eyes flickered in his direction, but they quickly averted back to me and my progress down the long hallway.  Once I was in the main hospital room, even more bedlam welcomed me.  

The trauma room was in a full uproar, working frantically on the motorcycle man.  He filled the gurney from top to bottom.  A nurse was standing to the side, holding a bundled up baby, and watching the commotion.  CPR was being performed on the man, and doctors were shouting orders at the frantic nurses.

The chorus of ‘Another One Bites the Dust’ was being sung by the doctor performing the chest compressions. Duh, duh, duh, du, du, du, du, du, du.  They hummed to the rhythm, and then started to sing.

Another one bites the dust.

Another one bites the dust.

And another one gone, and another one gone.

Another one bites the dust.

Hey, I’m gonna get you too.

Another one bites the dust.

Doctors had weird senses of humor.  Paramedics were even worse.  We were taught to perform chest compressions while maintaining a certain rhythm.  So, some doctor decided to implement their own use of black humor, and came up with this song to pace your rhythm with.  Another song that they use, that would be better in this situation, was Stayin’ Alive.  Yet, the doctors and paramedics tended to sway towards this one.

Drawing my cart up next to the nurse, we exchanged information.  She gave me the baby’s APGAR scores, and stats.  I did my own check over the baby, diapered him, swaddled him, and then waited for security to escort me.  I was going to play it safe, and have someone accompany me.  I didn’t want this to get out of hand, and I knew damn well it would if I wasn’t cautious.

Just as I got to the open doors with the guard, I peeked out and my heart dropped when I saw the wall of black leather.  There was no way I was going to be able to do this.  I needed some familiar backup.  Slipping my phone from my pocket, I made a quick call and waited.

Not even five minutes went by when I heard the roar of motorcycles again.  Yes, there was about a gazillion in the parking lot already.  You ask how I know, but I can’t tell you.  I just do.  After six months of listening to those specific motorcycles coming and going, I knew them by heart. 

I watched as the wall of black leather parted, and revealed Sam, Elliott, James, Gabe, and Jack, as well as Luke and some men of SWAT that were dressed in riot gear.  They backed the men away from the door I needed to exit through, and I very cautiously swiped my key card and allowed the door to swing open.

The guys met me with concerned smiles, and then made a human wall so the baby, Alpha, and I could make our way to the bank of elevators that were located around the corner.  All the bikers watched avidly, but didn’t make any threatening moves. 

Whether it was because of the guys, or just because they never had the intention to start anything, I don’t know.  I, however, wasn’t going to take any chances.  Not with this little baby I was pushing, and not with the one that I was currently nourishing with my body.

We’d made it to the elevator when an older man stepped forward.  He was wearing the same leather as the others, yet his said president on a little sticker on his right breast pocket.  I wondered if it was a real motorcycle club, and if he really was the president. 

The man’s hair was silver and beautiful.  He had the type of hair that you see on the box of men’s ‘Touch of Gray’ hair dye, but I was one hundred and fifteen percent positive that the man had never seen a box of hair dye in his life.  He was very fit for an older man, and he reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t quite place it.  This man, whoever he was, was dangerous.  The look in his eyes told a story.  It was one of harshness, and necessity.   

Sam’s body went tight as a bowstring, and then he cursed violently under his breath when he finally turned around from watching behind us.  “What do you want?”  He barked.

I jumped slightly at the harshness of his voice.

I’d never heard him speak like that before, and the harshness of his tone made me look at him differently.  Sure, he was a very nice man; he was big and strong, and I knew he was dangerous.  Although, it was one thing to know that he’s dangerous, and another to
know.

“That’s your nephew.”  He dropped the bomb and walked away, disappearing into the crowd of bikers.

The elevators dinged, and we all shuffled forward holding our breath.  I was afraid if I said anything, I would make this situation worse.  So I kept my mouth zipped, and checked the baby over.  Placing my neonatal stethoscope to his tiny chest and listening to his strong heartbeat.  Then his lungs.  They sounded absolutely perfect.  I checked his APGAR scores again as well, just to be sure.

“I’m going to fucking kill him.  How dare he?”  Sam fumed.

The elevator trip stayed silent until we reached the floor that the nursery was on.  We all scrambled off, ready to get away from the stifling confines of the elevator.  I took a deep breath, and took the baby to the nursery to get him cleaned, weighed, and checked over by the on call pediatrician.

My thoughts stayed with Sam though, and the shock he’d just received.  From what I understood, his father was an abusive man.  His mother and him tried to run away, and start somewhere new many times.  Unfortunately, each time they were settled, his father would send someone to bring them back.  Finally, the very last time, they were able to get away and not be found again.

Things stayed that way until a few years ago when Sam needed help protecting Cheyenne.  The kind of help that required something illegal.  Sam was as straight-laced as one could be.  He believed in his country; he believed in the justice system.  His morals wouldn’t allow him to do anything illegal, or at least something that would put his beliefs into question.  So, he’d called in his dad, and his dad had come through; only he required a favor, which hadn’t yet been repaid.