Reaper's Fall

Make that women who weren’t Melanie—she saw right through my shit.

We followed the signs upstairs and found the right hallway. A tall, sexy black chick with braids was at the nurses’ station, and I left Puck flirting with her while I looked for Mel’s room. The door was shut. I gave a little knock, then stepped inside to find her sound asleep on a bed.

Ah, shit.

She looked like hell. There were bruises all over her face and ringing her neck. No monitors hooked to her, though—that had to be a good sign, right? There was a recliner-looking chair not far from the bed, a weird, skinny piece of furniture that was probably supposed to look normal, but was off just enough that it rang all kinds of “institutional” bells.

I sat down, leaning forward to study her. There were finger marks on her throat. Finger marks. Someone had put their hands on my woman, tried to kill her, and I hadn’t even known it was happening. I felt rage boiling up, starting deep down in my stomach, twisting and tightening every muscle in my body as I braced myself for violence.

Except there wasn’t anyone to defend her from. Just Melanie, pale and broken in a hospital bed.

What the fuck had happened?

Twenty minutes passed, and then the door opened. The babe with the braids walked in, looking me over.

“And you are . . . ?” she asked.

“I’m the baby daddy,” I said, keeping my voice steady with no small amount of effort. “Mel’s kid is my daughter. She called me last night, said there was an accident and she needed me to watch over Isabella. Got that covered, so now I’m here to make sure she’s doin’ okay.”

Her face softened a little.

“Mellie’s fine,” she said. “She can tell you the details when she wakes up, but we’re just keeping an eye on her.”

“Hey,” Mel whispered. She was fighting to open her eyes, raising a hand to her head. Relief flooded me, although it couldn’t fully calm the violence inside. “Sheesh. I feel like death.”

“How’s it going, Mellie?” the nurse asked. “You remember what happened?”

Mel nodded slowly. “Yeah. Todger—never saw it coming.”

Braids snorted.

“None of us did. You have company.”

Melanie looked at me, and I cocked my head, forcing my face to stay calm.

“Where’s Izzy?” she asked, frowning.

“I spent the night with her, and then Marie came over early this morning,” I said, my voice harsher than I’d intended. “She and Horse will take her out to pancakes or something—that’ll blow her little mind. Now tell me what’s going on here.”

“Mellie, you want him out of the room?” Braids asked. “He’s here with a friend, but I can call Security on them.”

Her gaze was challenging, making it clear she’d stand up for her fellow nurse as needed—apparently Puck’s flirting would carry us only so far. Inconvenient, but also good to see. I liked the idea of Mel’s coworkers taking her back.

“No, it’s good,” Melanie said. “I want to get home as soon as possible. Don’t want Izzy freaking out.”

“I hear that,” said Braids. “Soon as we get you cleared, we’ll get you on the road. Let me take your vitals and then I’ll see if I can find a doctor to clear you.”

I probably should’ve offered to step into the hallway while she did her work, but no way I was letting Melanie out of my sight until I knew the whole story. This situation felt too much like the morning I’d first met her. We’d been at the hospital then, too—London’s house had blown sky-high, and Mel had gotten caught in the explosion.

“Hit your call button if you need me,” said Braids, making a point of handing her the little remote thingy. I took in a deep, calming breath and offered her a sweet smile and she softened, just like the old lady downstairs. Too easy.

“Why are you here?” Melanie asked after Braids left. I think she was trying to sound tough, but it came off more pathetic than anything else.

“To find out what the hell happened,” I told her, studying the bruises. “You look like shit.”

“Fuck you.”

“Anytime, although you’re probably not up to it today. Now tell me the whole story.”

She glared at me for a second, so I just crossed my arms and waited her out.

“One of the regulars in the ER—a homeless guy—attacked me.”

“Why?”

“He’s mentally ill,” she said, shrugging. “Paranoid. Probably decided I was trying to do something to him. Off his meds.”

“So what happens to him?”

“Oh, they sedated him and hauled him off to Psych. They’ll stabilize him and then he’ll probably be out again.”

“Seriously?” I asked, startled. “No charges, nothing?”

“It wouldn’t make any difference,” she said, sighing. “System’s not set up for people like him. He’s sick, not evil. I don’t want them pressing charges.”

“So they’ll just let him out again?”

“Not until he’s stabilized. Who knows, maybe he’ll realize what he did and stay on his meds this time. It’s a fucked-up situation, but I guess anything’s possible.”

I didn’t like this shit. Didn’t like it at all.

“So what’s to stop him from coming back and attacking you again?”