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My vision was starting to blur and I didn’t want to pass out in front of her. Luckily she was already moving. The truth was, there was a high chance I’d bleed out before she made it back. I was sending her to the only person I trusted to get her out of the city into safety if needed.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, knowing she wouldn’t hear…I’d broken my promise. I’d manipulated her again.
TWENTY-SIX
“Family is family, and is not determined by marriage certificates, divorce papers, and adoption documents. Families are made in the heart. The only time family becomes null is when those ties in the heart are cut. If you cut those ties, those people are not your family. If you make those ties, those people are your family. And if you hate those ties, those people will still be your family because whatever you hate will always be with you.”
~ C. Joy Bell C.
IVY
Be calm, he said.
How, I should have asked him.
My heart was on fire.
I was scared. I was scared because I didn’t realize how much I loved him until that moment. How much I couldn’t live without him now. He was…my whole world now. I’d go anywhere. I’d do anything for him. Which was why I stepped out the front door without looking back, worried if he didn’t answer I’d break down or he’d waste energy telling me to go once more and I’d let him down.
I’d pulled my hair into a side ponytail over my shoulder just in case the padding there didn’t hold and blood stained it. My leg was in so much pain each step I took outside made it burn, but I just imagined Ethan’s pain and kept walking. The black pantsuit I wore made it look as if I were one of the many reporters on the scene. Southie had become hell on earth, the sky filling with thick clouds of orange and gray smoke piping out of the car and the house it had crashed into. I didn’t know where to look. There were far too many people, EMTs, police, the FBI, medics, each one running from fire trucks, squad cars, or ambulances. In the back of my mind I felt the ever-present threat of time working against me.
“Where are you?” I whispered, pulling out my phone again, but all the lines were busy.
“Sorry, ma’am, no reporters.” A police officer pushed me back.
“I’m not a reporter,” I said, trying to think quickly. “I’m a doctor. I was close by and rushed over when I heard the news.” I patted the side of me. “Shit, my bag. I’m with Dr. Callahan. Do you know where he is?”
“I got no idea, but thank God more of you are here.” He lifted the tape for me to come under. “Hey, Charlie, we got a doc!”
Shit! He nodded me over to the man on the EMT wheeling over a cop to me. Fake it.
“What have we got?” I asked, rushing over to the man’s side.
“GSW to in hip.”
Suck it up, you little pussy-bitch! I though, glancing at the man breathing heavily and shaking, though he just seemed to be in shook. “Keep both his legs stable, he’ll make it to the hospital. Do you have gabapentin?”
“No. Is he about to have a heart attack?” he asked, glancing down at him.
I didn’t fucking know. He was breathing heavily and gabapentin was the only thing I could fucking think of to help his weak nerves.
“Yes, get him to Sharon Med, Boston is filling up fast!” an older woman said, dressed in scrubs and a mask over her mouth, her brown eyes familiar as she glared at me. “Doctor, a little help here!” she yelled at me, rising to pour water over a firefighter’s neck, his brown-gray hair covered in ash as he coughed down.
“You’re a Callahan not a doctor. I’ve seen your face on the Internet.” She frowned, packing something in the man’s coat. “This smells like you all’s doing—”
“Ouch…” the man grumbled and she bared her teeth at him.
“All? You mean more than one? Is Wyatt Callahan here? Where?”
She nodded, leaving the firefighter and reaching into her own truck, pulling out a med bag. “He’s going to need this and you.” She pulled back my jacket, seeing the wound. “The bullet is still in. You’re going to need this.” She pulled off the paper towel, putting a pad on the wound and it burned before freezing. “Ambulance six.” She nodded toward one of the other ambulances across the street. I didn’t even wait, gripping onto the bag, and rushed.
I ignored the other calls until I sa
w him, dressed in scrubs, trying to feed a tube down some man’s throat.
“Wyatt!”
His head snapped up and he looked at me, confused. “Ivy, what the hell are you doing over here? Get back across the tape!”
