Chapter 40

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Mr. and Mrs. Steele sat in front of the window in the waiting room on the second floor of St. John's Hospital. Ingrid sat across from them in one of the hard-plastic chairs. She'd been introduced to them in the middle of the night, and Glen's father had hugged her. It was Mr. Steele's hug that broke the dam of tears she'd held back.

Mr. Steele was an older version of Glen in looks, height, and personality. It was his quiet acceptance of her as Glen's girlfriend from the minute she walked into the hospital that gave her strength to sit, wait, and pray.

The doctor informed them that Glen had lost a lot of blood. They'd worked feverishly to fix the three bullet wounds. One in his spleen, which they removed. One in his stomach, which they repaired. One that went through the side of his abdomen, missing any vital organs, but exited out of his back.

That information came two hours ago, and Glen remained unconscious.

Wayne, Chuck, and Thad, who were told by police after questioning not to leave town, had left the hospital at seven o'clock to clean up and meet the detective in charge of the case, leaving her in Mr. and Mrs. Steele's capable hands, though she no longer needed protection. Evan was dead.

"What is taking so long?" whispered Mrs. Steele.

The tall, slim older woman had rushed to the hospital wearing her house slippers. Glen's dad had on no socks, and years ago his tennis shoes had probably been white, but now were stained green as if he'd grabbed his lawn-mowing shoes in his rush to the hospital.

Mr. Steele put his arm around his wife. "It's probably good that he's sleeping. He'll need the strength to recuperate."

Glen wasn't only sleeping. He wasn't waking up. There was a difference. The doctor wasn't sure he would wake up. He called the problem Hemorrhagic Shock. Glen had lost so much blood that his heart stopped on the operating table, and he needed to be resuscitated.

During post-op, they were monitoring Glen's organs, giving him another blood transfusion, and watching him closely. Ingrid rubbed her dry, burning eyes. Until then, they had to wait to see him.

"I'm going to walk down the hallway and see if I can find a cup of coffee." Mr. Steele stood. "Would you like a cup, Ingrid?"

She shook her head. "No, but thank you for asking."

"I'm going to walk with you and find the little girl's room." Mrs. Steele held up her hand and let her husband pull her out of the chair. "Would you like to go with us?"

"I'm going to stay here, in case the doctor comes back out." She mustered a weak smile. Glen's parents were kind and hiding their concern for their son out of being polite toward her. She suspected they were walking away as an excuse to have privacy and let their worries out.

Alone in the waiting room, Ingrid leaned forward and cradled her pounding head. Glen wanted her to fight for both of them, but all she could think about was if she hadn't met him, he wouldn't be fighting for his life right now.

She couldn't lose him. They had many more highs and lows to go through.

The mix of sickness and artificial lemon aroma failed to hide the everlasting scent of formaldehyde lingering in the air and reminding her of all the times she'd sat in the same waiting room scared to death that her dad would die after his accident. The air in the room suffocated her.

Despair and regret slowly broke her heart. She sat up and fanned her overheated face. In such a short time, Glen had become the most important person in her life. She couldn't lose him. She loved him.

Footsteps entered the room. Ingrid looked over her shoulder, found two policemen in uniform, and got woozy. For a second, she thought Stewart Kingsley had come to blame her for his son's death. Instead, it was Lieutenant Gomez and another policeman.

"Ms. Peterson." Lieutenant Gomez removed his hat. "Is there any news on Glen?"

She shook her head. "He's out of surgery, and now we're waiting."

The lieutenant looked around the bare room. She said, "Mr. and Mrs. Steele are here, too. They stepped out for a moment."

Both policemen occupied the chairs Glen's parents had vacated. She hugged her middle. Were they going to arrest Glen for the murder of Evan if he woke up?

She had no idea how Glen ended up shot or how Evan died. It was obvious that Notus Motorcycle Club was involved. The other members had been questioned twice by the police.

Fight for us.

She straightened her back. "Nobody can see him until the doctor gives his okay. Even his parents are waiting."

There was no way she'd allow them to arrest Glen or send him to prison. They had no idea what it was like to live with Evan or what the man was capable of. Allegations on paper weren't the same as feeling the pain, humiliation, and fear she'd gone through. Glen obviously had his reasons for going after Evan, and until he woke up, she'd make sure no one bothered him.

"We understand." Lieutenant Gomez cleared his throat. "It might not seem like it at the moment, but I respect Glen. He's done a lot of good work in finding missing persons. I'm only here as a friend, checking up on him."

The other policeman leaned forward and held out his hand. "I’m Detective Garrison. I'll have a few questions for Mr. Steele if he wakes up."

"When." She ignored his handshake. "Not if. He will wake up."

Mr. and Mrs. Steele returned. Ingrid watched the exchange between Glen's parents and the officers. The conversation was kept to a minimum. Like her, his parents hadn't learned the details of what happened last night.

Though surprisingly, Glen had told his mom and dad about her prior to her meeting them. She had no idea when or how but they quietly accepted her without asking any questions and made her feel like she had a right to wait with them at the hospital, which she was forever grateful to them.

When his parents sat down, they took the chairs on each side of her. Glen's mom reached over and squeezed Ingrid's hand in support. They might not have known each other beforehand, but their love for Glen had brought them together.

"Don't you worry. Those boys are not going to let anything happen to Glen," whispered Mrs. Steele.

She nodded, understanding that the boys Mrs. Steel spoke of were the Notus Motorcycle Club members.

A nurse entered the waiting room through a side door. "I'm looking for the family of Glen Steele."

Mrs. Steele pulled Ingrid's hand as she stood with her husband. The tip of her sneaker scuffed the flat carpet, and she stumbled before righting herself. Her leaden legs barely held her up as she studied the nurse's face looking for any sign of what was going on behind closed doors.

"We're Glen's parents," said Mr. Steele. "How is our son?"

"The doctor has moved him from recovery to I.C.U. and apologizes for not coming out and updating you himself. He's been called to the emergency room. Glen is beginning to stir, though he's not fully awake yet. The next twelve hours will be crucial to his recovery as we watch to make sure he has regained full function of his organs with no lasting damage." The nurse touched Mrs. Steele's arm. "The doctor has given permission for family members to go in the room. We'd like to keep it at two people at a time for ten minutes."

Glen was alive. Ingrid inhaled deeply. After imagining the worst, she'd take twelve more hours. She'd wait a lifetime. He was strong, stubborn, and determined.

"Would you like me to walk two of you back to see him? I can show you the way," said the nurse.

Ingrid stepped away. She'd already received the best news she'd hoped for since learning that Glen had been shot.

"Ingrid?" Mr. Steele held on to his wife. "Would you like to go back?"

Yes. Absolutely. Her chest warmed, and she sniffed, controlling her obsessive need to be with Glen. "You're his parents. You need to see your son."

Mr. Steele's gaze softened. "As his father and knowing how Glen feels about you, the best thing I can do for him is let him see the woman he loves. He's going to wake up, and when he does, you should be the first person he sees."

Mrs. Steele reached out her hand. "Come on, honey. You can go back with me. My husband can go in after we've seen Glen for ourselves."

She grabbed Mrs. Steele's hand and mouthed, "Thank you."

At the nearest elevator, they went up to the third floor. Ingrid realized that Mrs. Steele was holding on to her hand as much as she was clinging to Glen's mother for support. She wanted to assure Mrs. Steele that she loved Glen, too. That without him, she wasn't sure how she would cope. It was simply impossible to think of life without him, and no matter how crazy she sounded, there was a connection to him that she couldn't explain.

But, she remained silent. Sick to her stomach. On the verge of a full melt down.

They exited the elevator and walked down the long corridor filled with beeps, murmurs, and hospital employees rushing in and out of rooms with a stoic professionalism that showed the mood for the I.C.U. The nurse stopped outside Room 313.

"We urge you to talk with the patient even if he's not awake. He's going to be disoriented when he regains consciousness. He might not know what happened to him. There's a nurse with him, who will remain by his side until he wakes. She'll call the doctor to come in at the first sign that he's awake." The nurse smiled understandingly. "He's wearing an oxygen mask, for now. He also has a catheter in, wires going to his chest and an I.V. in his arm. I understand it's a lot to see when you're worried, but we're doing all we can for him. If you have any questions the nurse can't answer for you, the doctor will be available as soon as he's able or you can talk to the attending doctor."

"Thank you." Mrs. Steele stood straighter, squeezed Ingrid's hand before letting go, and pushed open the door.

Ingrid followed. The rhythmic beeping beside the bed drew her attention. She followed the cords and tubing from the machines to the bed, but Mrs. Steele blocked her view of Glen. All she could make out was the white sheet over his legs at the end of the bed.

Her scalp tingled. She opened her mouth to draw in more air. If she passed out, they'd send her out of the room. Concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, she went to the end of the bed, studying the outline of Glen's legs. Under the sheet, she could pretend that nothing was wrong. That he wore his black boots and still had on the pair of Levi's with the hole at the knee and the worn hem from hitting the asphalt when he rode his motorcycle.

The form under the cover moved. Ingrid snapped her gaze to the top of the hospital bed and gasped, quickly stifling her reaction.

Glen's eyes were open, and he looked straight at her. She covered her mouth and reached out, placing her hand on his lower leg, needing to validate that he was alive, he was breathing, he was going to live. In the back of her mind, she was aware of Mrs. Steele talking softly beside the bed. The nurse talking on the phone. The oxygen machine hissing.

Nothing else mattered because Glen looked at her. She looked at him. They needed each other.