PROLOGUE
CELINE
Iwalk out of the hospital, the stress of the day clinging to me. I graduated as a nurse a year ago, and each day still feels like an adventure. An adventure with about a million potential hazards and opportunities for error…
But hey, it’s still fun. Sometimes.
At least I know I’m making a difference, and that’s what keeps me showing up.
I walk toward my car, the air already laced with ice and a hint of snow. It’s late October, almost time for Halloween. Someone’s car has pumpkin stickers scattered across the windshield, a tiny reminder of the season.
Climbing in, I crank up the heat and close my eyes, trying to let the day slide off me. Trying being the keyword.
Christmas will be here soon—my favorite time of year, hands down. Cheesy movies, decorations, way too much food… I fully accept my future holiday food coma.
My cell phone rings. I dig it out of my handbag. It’s Julian, my big brother. He’s not usually a call type of guy. Texts are more his thing—short, efficient, borderline abrupt.
“Hey,” I say. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
His voice is ice when he speaks. “I’m going to give you an address. Do you have a pen and paper?”
“What?”
“Do you have a pen and?—”
“I can write on my phone,” I snap, irritated without knowing exactly why.
Maybe it’s because of that shadowy part of Julian’s life I pretend not to notice, the one full of questions he’ll never answer.
He spits out the address. I punch it into my GPS.
“Why am I going to a dive bar at the edge of town?” I ask.
“Someone needs your help. Your expertise. Do you have a first-aid kit?”
“Yes, Julian. What the hell is this?”
“Just come. Please.”
He hangs up. Crap.
What choice do I have?
I start the car.
The bar is the very definition of ramshackle. Peeling paint, sagging wood, a flickering sign with a crow so faded it looks more like a smudge than a bird.
Julian meets me in the entranceway that reeks of whiskey and damp. “Thank God you’re here,” he says, voice tight. My brother usually dresses like an accountant—pressed shirts, neat hair, everything in place.
Now his expression is ash. His shirt is torn. There’s blood smeared along his neck as if someone grabbed him.
Panic rises in my voice. “What’s happening?”
Julian takes my hands and looks at me with glittering eyes, as though he might break down in tears. “I’m sorry, but I can’t explain. You need to tend to Damian’s wounds. He’s got a flesh wound in his arm and a gash on his face. Can you do it?”
My pulse stutters, and sweat beads all over my body, making my already dirty scrubs feel even grosser. “Duh-Damian?”
Julian takes my hand. “Come on. Please.”
