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“This is him,” Leslie says. “This is James Crawford.” Her eyes are wide again.
“So I see,” Nurse Rangefield says, not looking as impressed as her coworker.
“How’s Lilah? Is she going to be okay?”
She opens her mouth then looks back at Leslie. “Shouldn’t you be back at your desk by now?”
Leslie startles as if she was woken from a trance. “Oh, right. Sorry.” She grips my forearm. “It was really great to meet you.”
I shake off my irritation at her lack of self-awareness—this is not the time or the place—and smile anyway, then I nod and turn back to Nurse Rangefield.
“She was unconscious and barely breathing when the ambulance arrived. According to them, there was evidence of heroin use, so they administered Naloxone. That helped, but she still hasn’t regained consciousness. Her pulse and heart rate are unstable still, and because we don’t know if she stopped breathing for any period of time before the ambulance arrived, we’ll have to do some tests to make sure her brain function is fine. It’s not likely she stopped breathing and regained the ability on her own, but since she was alone, there’s no way to be sure.”
I try my best to understand everything she’s telling me, to examine its meaning piece by piece, but I’m rolling over the same word over and over again. “Heroin? Are you sure?”
“That’s what the EMTs reported. Said it was pretty apparent.”
I push a hand through my hair, the lump in my throat increasing. “What are her chances of being okay?”
This woman has been hardened by her job, that much is clear. But for a moment, I swear I see pity in her eyes. “She’s not out of the woods by a long shot. Right now, we’re trying to get her stable so we can run some more tests. These next few hours are critical as far as her long-term prognosis.”
My chin falls to my chest and I suck in a shaky breath. “Is there somewhere more private I can wait?” I know it’s far-fetched to think that somehow the press won’t get wind of this and show up here.
“Sure, this is LA after all. There’s a private waiting room for your type just down there.” She points behind me, and when I turn, I see the door she’s referring to.
“Thank you.”
She turns to head back behind the curtain.
“Can I see her first?” I ask, needing to set eyes on her to see how bad she looks.
“I’m afraid that’s not possible right now, Mr. Crawford.”
“If anything changes though, you’ll come find me?” I ask with raised brows.
“I will.” She gives a curt nod and ducks back behind the curtain.
I stand, unmoving for a moment, stunned by the news.Heroin?I’d understand cocaine, alcohol, but Lilah has always stayed away from the really hard stuff. I foolishly took that to mean she hadsomeself-control andsomedesire to turn her life around.
Then again, why wouldn’t she? What was left in her life to keep her afloat?
She’d lost me.
Slow steps lead me to the waiting room. Because I know if something happens to Lilah, the guilt and loss will shackle me for the rest of my life.
Chapter Twenty-seven
LILAH
The first thing I notice is the taste in my mouth. Funny that something so ridiculous would be my strongest anchor. My neck twitches and my head aches.
Something feels weird on my arms, and something warm is on my hand. I try to move my arm, but a pinch on top of my hand stops me.
“Lilah?”
Something about the voice, some quality to it, makes me feel safe. I want to figure out who it is, but I’m so tired.
* * *
