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Chapter Four
Pounding slammed into Ian’s dreams, pulling him from his restless sleep. Instead of answering, he pulled the blanket over his head and ignored the noise. He didn’t need or want to see anyone until he went back on shift tomorrow night. Even then was too damn soon. Apparently though, whoever beckoned didn’t give a damn what he wanted or needed. The banging continued. His visitor was a tenacious bastard.
“Go away, damn it,” he yelled.
The lock turned. Wes. Ian’s best friend was the only person in his life with a key to his apartment and certainly the only one with the balls to use it. Before Ian could pull himself from the rocker he’d fallen asleep in and make his way to the hallway, Wes had let himself inside. The other man stood in the doorway now, surveying the small, crammed room.
His friend sighed heavily. “Ahh, Ian.”
Ian hated that damn sigh. Though he’d gotten used to hearing it over the past five years, he hadn’t grown any more accustomed to the anger and shame the gesture always stirred in him.
“Don’t.” Heaving himself out of the rocker, he tossed the quilt to his vacated seat.
“What are you doing in here, man?” Wes’s voice held both pity and condemnation.
Ian followed the other man’s gaze around the room. The crib shoved in the corner was filled with toys, clothes, packs of diapers. All unused. A mobile still hung at the head of the small bed, though the child the toy was intended for should be five now.
Ian swallowed the lump growing in his throat. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“You should donate this stuff,” his friend offered for the hundredth time.
Ian only nodded. Wes was right. Of course, he should donate these items that were useless to him, but he’d never been able to bring himself to pack up the supplies he and Cameron had planned to use as parents.
He turned away from the remnants of a life he’d never been able to live. Now his stare landed on Cam’s belongings. Her clothes. Her books. Those silly little knickknacks she’d insisted on collecting from every new place she visited. Everything she’d owned. Because that’s what she’d left behind. Everything. And he couldn’t bear to let any of it go.
He pushed by the other man, closing the door to his past. “Is there a reason you’re here?”
“Yeah.” Wes rubbed his hand over his face. “The team’s been called in. A plane exploded between some islands off South America. Boats were sunk. People on the island were injured. We’ve been called in to help.”
“How many casualties?” Ian asked, always the optimist.
Wes shook his head. “Right now, it looks like no one on the plane survived, but they’re not sure.”
“Of course,” Ian muttered. Didn’t he have enough death in his own world? Did he really need to travel thousands of miles to find more?
“Wes, I—”
“There were innocent bystanders on the beach when the plane exploded,” the other doctor cut in. “Children, women, they need you.”
“No one needs me,” Ian assured him, heading to his bedroom. “Find someone else.”
He’d made it halfway to his bed when Wes’s voice stopped him. “I’m glad Cameron left.”
The familiar pain at the mention of the woman he loved washed over Ian.
“She was incredible, and the man you’ve become, a man who would turn his back on people who need him. That man doesn’t deserve her.” Without waiting for a reply, Wes let himself out.
* * *
Cameron stumbled from the Jeep’s front seat with her daughter’s now unconscious body clutched to her chest. Brodie, stretched out on the board, took up the back seat.
“Here, let me help.” A man came forward with a strip of cloth wrapped around his head. Blood already seeped through the makeshift bandage.
Cameron scanned the open area in front of the ramshackle clinic.
Wounded.
Though the grounds around the clinic didn’t have the chaos and destruction of the beach, the people assembled here were in no better shape. She couldn’t help them all and attend to Ara and Brodie too.
“Where should we take him?” Pauler asked.
Cameron turned. The men stood, holding once big, strong Brodie now broken and bleeding between them. She clenched her jaw to stave off the tears that threatened every time she looked at the former stranger who’d become her family. Where did she want him? At home with his wife and daughters. Safe. Loved. Whole.
She swallowed. “Please take him to the last room. Make sure . . .” Make sure what? He was comfortable? Alive? On the beach, before they could leave, she’d had to resuscitate him, and his legs—No. She couldn’t go there. Right now, he breathed. His big heart beat. She’d see to the rest.
“What can I do?” Luci stood at Cameron’s side, wringing her hands.
Looking at the older woman, Cameron’s own fear and worry came crashing down like the waves that so terrified her.
“Is there a room available for Ara?”
The woman nodded. “And I already got the medicine to help people sleep while you cut.”
A sedative. Cam nodded. Good. Without a nurse on the island, Luci often helped when Cameron needed to work on a patient. She trusted the other woman’s judgment and was glad to have her by her side as she checked Ara’s wounds and assessed the damage to her fragile body.
Edmund approached. “I called that group back to update them on the injuries. It’ll be hours before more doctors can get here.” He spoke quickly, his voice rising with worry.
Her heart sank as she followed him into the clinic and down the barren hall to a small room with a bed made up with clean linens. Of course, it would take hours, but she’d hoped for sooner. Brodie may not have hours. And Arabella . . . No. She couldn’t think the worst. Pessimism wouldn’t help her, and it wouldn’t help her daughter or friend.
With Edmund’s help, she placed Ara on the bed, jostling her as little as possible. Once satisfied they’d made her daughter as comfortable as they could, she pulled in a fortifying breath and rubbed her hands over her thighs. Shit. She still wore only her two-piece, and now blood covered the material. “Luci, can you get me some clothes, please? Anything will do.”
The older woman nodded slowly. “Do you want me to leave Ara?”
“I’ll get it,” Edmund spoke up. “Luci can stay with Ara. I’ll find something.”
“Thank you,” Cameron whispered and scanned the hallway outside the room. “Aimee,” she called to a woman holding the hand of a small boy. Neither appeared injured.
Aimee turned to her. Her dark eyes were wide. Terrified, like everyone else.
“Are you hurt? Do you need help?” Cameron asked.
