I stare past her, watching until Vanna disappears from sight. "Savannah Mercer. Twenty-six. No insurance. Heroin overdose, probably fentanyl laced."
"Are you family?"
"Husband." The word tastes strange on my tongue.
We've been separated for over a year, but I've never filed for divorce.
Neither has she.
Just another loose end in the disaster of our life together.
"Wait here. A doctor will update you as soon as possible."
The waiting room is half-full even though it’s late.
Mining accident victims with dust-blackened faces, anxious families, and a drunk college kid holding a bloody towel to his head.
They all stare at me—six-foot-two of leather-clad biker, covered in engine grease and what I now realize is Vanna's vomit.
I drop into a molded plastic chair and call Ruger, keeping my voice low. "Vanna OD'd. I'm at Ruby."
"Fuck." He doesn't waste words. "Need anything?"
"No."
"Coming anyway. Thirty minutes."
I hang up and stare at the industrial tile floor, counting the black specks in each square to keep my mind occupied.
Anything to avoid the thoughts threatening to overwhelm me.
When I reach one thousand eight hundred and forty-seven specks, a familiar voice cuts through my concentration.
"Garrett?"
I look up to see my sister, Leah, standing before me in blue WVU Medicine scrubs, her ID badge swinging from a lanyard.
Her face shows the same concern it did at our mother's funeral, the same disappointment it did at my last birthday when I drank myself unconscious.
"Vanna OD'd," I explain unnecessarily. She'd have seen the chart already. Being a nurse in this hospital has its advantages.
Leah sits beside me, her small hand finding mine. "She's in good hands. Dr. Reynolds is treating her. He's the best we have for overdoses."
"She gonna make it?"
Leah's hesitation tells me everything. "It's bad, Garrett. They administered Narcan, but she was down for a long time. There could be brain damage from oxygen deprivation."
I nod, processing this. "Not her first OD."
"I know. I was here for the last one too."
We sit in silence, the hospital sounds washing over us—beeping monitors, squeaking shoes on linoleum, muffled voices over intercoms.
The doors open and Ruger strides in, flanked by Ounce and Maddox.
They draw every eye in the waiting room—three men in leather cuts, moving with the kind of confidence that makes people nervous.
Ruger nods to Leah, then sits on my other side.
