As the doctor had warned, the next twenty-four hours were touch-and-go. Spenser had pried Brittany away to shower and change, promising her Trey was in good hands with the medical staff on hand.
Leaning over, she grabbed his hand. “I’m back,” she murmured. “How are you?”
His grunt accompanied a squeeze of her hand and Brittany gasped, her gaze flying to his face. The ventilator remained in his mouth but he stared at her, eyes wide open. Glazed with pain and drugs, but open.
“Trey!”
He grunted again.
She spun on her heels and rushed into the hallway, barreling to the station where the doctor remained.
“Come! He’s awake. He’s awake.”
✽ ✽ ✽
Brittany remained at Trey’s side for the duration of the time he was in the hospital. She wept with relief when the ventilator was removed the next day, which happened to be Thanksgiving. Though she refused to leave Trey she wanted her family to have a decent holiday. They had much for which to be thankful.
Two days later, she supported one side of Trey while a nurse stayed at his other side when he was ordered out of bed. Everyone’s ears burned from Trey’s language. By the time he returned to the room, sweat was beading his brow and he was gritting his teeth against the pain. Trey had no choice but to accept a dosage of painkillers.
Bryson asked her to attend Destiny’s funeral in a show of support for Karl. Before she had a chance to decline, Mrs. Wilson assured her she’d go with Bryson as a family representative.
She called Karen and offered her condolences.
“Do you need anything?”
“No.” Karen’s voice in no way resembled her normal, no-nonsense tone. “Look after your husband.”
“Okay. If you need anything, please call me.”
“Sure thing.”
When the call disconnected, Brittany held her cell phone, the tears resuming after the events of the past few days.
“Crying again, baby girl?”
Swiping away her tears with the backs of her hand, she nodded. “I’m sorry. Karen sounds so broken-hearted.”
Trey swung his legs over the bed, the metal frame creaking. “Motherfucker, I’m in pain.”
Brittany hurried to his side and looped her arm through his. She thought he needed a bathroom so it surprised her when he headed to the window seat.
He pulled his arm away. “You need to rest.”
“Trying to get rid of me, Sergeant Wilson?”
Unsmiling, he shrugged and cursed again. Ten days had passed since the shooting and solid foods were being reintroduced into his diet. Brittany understood he was hungry, in pain and bored.
The door was pushed open, the handle creaking, and Brittany glanced over her shoulder to see Sylvia walking in.
“Brittany.” She smiled. Red leather pants were plastered to her like a second skin, the outline of her vagina very visible. A red top stretched over her breasts, showing her hard nipples. “I couldn’t… I hope you don’t mind my visiting Trey.”
“Not at all.”
“Of course not.”
Brittany and Trey responded at the same time.
She lifted a brow at him and his inscrutable gaze sent warning bells through her. He turned, pain contorting his features. Gripping the IV pole, he stood and ambled back to the bed and sat.
“Brittany was just leaving.” Trey spoke coolly, dismissively.
Sylvia’s eyes widened and Brittany stiffened. Glowering at Trey, she brushed past the other woman and dropped into the chair.
“I don’t remember saying that.”
Trey slanted her a glance. “Leave. Stay. Your decision.”
Turning her head toward the wall, Brittany swiped at an escaping tear. His tone told her his preference regarding her presence.
“I just wanted to visit for a minute.” Sylvia’s heels clicked toward Trey. “I’ve been worried sick ever since I heard about the shooting.”
“Thanks for your concern.”
The small bit of warmth in Trey’s voice as he spoke to Sylvia cut through Brittany. His former girlfriend didn’t tarry, staying five minutes more before leaving.
The moment she left, Trey’s voice reached Brittany. “Go home, baby girl. I’m tired and I want to be alone.”