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5
Kruger
The people in this hospital were about as useful as a windshield wiper on a goat’s ass.
In all seriousness, though? Elite needed some kind of séance. Something to clear out the wicked mojo we had going on because, bro, this shit was toxic.
On dry land, Elite was plagued with drama and misfortune, and I’d spent more than my fair share of time in this emergency room during the past few months. Apparently, being a frequent flyer at the ER did not give you a VIP pass. Neither did showing up in the back of an ambulance.
And frankly, it was pissing me off.
The second we’d gotten there, they whisked Jess off to someplace I couldn’t see her and demanded I stay in the waiting room.
These people didn’t deserve their degrees if they thought they could relegate me to a place filled with sniffling kids and whiners with stomach aches. Not to mention, this so-called waiting room was around the corner and not even in sight of what was going on in this shady place. Frankly, I was considering a lawsuit. A big one. Assholes.
How could they expect me to just let them cart away my whole life on a gurney? Just have a seat and leave her in the hands of complete strangers? What if she woke up? She wouldn’t know anyone. She would be afraid. Confused. I told her I wouldn’t leave her.
The torturous thoughts were like rusty screws twisted into my heart, the vision of her lying in a puddle of blood a relentless image in the back of my mind. Tugging at my hair for the one-millionth time since I got here, I turned abruptly midpace, almost colliding with a nurse in white scrubs on her way past.
Her gasp of surprise was a mere blip on my radar.
“You have news about Jess?” I asked, desperation clinging to me like bad B.O.
“Who?” Her voice was brusque and almost absent as if she was too busy to find out if my life was fucking over or not.
“And people call me stupid,” I muttered, dragging in a deep breath and praying for patience.
The nurse bristled and eyed me suspiciously. “Excuse me?”
“I need some information on a patient.”
“Are you a blood relative?”
“No.”
“Spouse?”
My jaw grinded. “No.”
Her lips pursed. “You should be in the waiting room.”
“You should be doing your damn job,” I gritted out.
She gasped, clearly offended. Too damn bad. I was offended first!
From behind the nurses’ station, another nurse in burgundy scrubs stood. “Sir, I’ve asked you multiple times to please wait in the designated waitin—”
I glanced in her direction. “And I told you I’m not moving from this hallway until I get an update!”
At that moment, a couple led by another nurse in navy scrubs went past. The woman was pale and limping, the man supporting most of her weight.
Jabbing a finger at them, I said, “How come he can go back there, but I can’t?”
The man glanced over his shoulder at me. “I’m her husband.”
I flung my hands in the air. “Ooh, he’s got a permission slip.” What a fucking crock. As if a piece of paper makes me care any less or more about someone. This place sucked.
“Security!” Nurszilla behind the desk called down the hall where a man in a uniform dallied.
