The doors slid open.
Declan
Gotta go.
Scott and I followed the gurney as it came off the other elevator, Foster in step beside us.
“Declan, I want you posted outside the operating room doors. Scott, you’ll take the doors to the surgical suite. I’m gonna try to get into the viewing area.”
I opened my mouth to make a suggestion, and Foster stopped me with a stare, then turned to Scott. “Give me and Declan a moment.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” Scott said, giving a half-hearted salute.
Fucking military types.
I worked around them for years. Fell in love with one and married him, but sometimes that shit grated on my nerves. I felt like I had to work three times as hard for the respect someone off the street got the minute they walked into Holt because they’d worn a uniform, and I hadn’t.
Foster watched Scott until he was out of earshot, then turned to me.
“Go ahead.”
“You should take the operating room doors. That way, when the family arrives, you can ferry messages to them.”
“Are you sober?”
My chin quivered slightly, and I gnashed my teeth together to put a stop to it.
“Yes. Feel free to ask the ER doc to do a toxicology test if you don’t believe me.”
“I trust you to tell me the truth, but I had to ask.”
“Have I given you any reason to question my abilities or focus?”
“No, but…”
“Good. There’s no need to say anything, but I get why you had to ask. If I were in your shoes, I would have too, but I’ve never been drunk or even drank while on a detail. Never.”
I sighed, scrubbing my hands over my face and into my hair. “I won’t say I’ve not wanted a drink while working, because that would be a lie. And I won’t lie to you. It’s why I stayed out of the field for so long. I wouldn’t put someone’s life in danger. After all, the only way I could cope with my shitty situation was by drowning my stupid ass in liquor.”
“You’ve worried us all sick.”
I wanted to be flippant and brush off the concern, but he didn’t deserve that. None of them did. Walker calling me out, let me know my struggles hadn’t gone as undetected as I’d hoped. Blowing them off now would only raise more questions and concerns and would be completely out of line with the steps I worked so hard on.
“I know. Hell, I scared myself bad enough to seek help. I’ve been seeing a therapist and doing virtual meetings. I’ve even gotten a sponsor. Things that led me to drink are righting themselves, but I know better than to think Hayden and I getting back together is going to right the ship I nearly capsized, but I have a therapist and a sponsor to help. And I’ve not had a drink.”
Foster jerked me into his arms, embracing me. “We love you, kid. Don’t blame yourself for this. It’s not our fault. It was the first thing Walker and Daddy said when I talked to them.”
“Yeah, they said the same to me.”
But that was when I called them from the studio. Before some madman shot Jackson.
“What about the chief?”
I scoffed. “Oh, Conrad Carter is of the mindset that a Holt is to blame for everything that’s happened to his daughter.”
“Yeah, if he says that to me, and I can get my hands on the man…”
“He’s the Chief of Police. Don’t make Jules bail your ass out. Besides, you’re too pretty to go to prison for assaulting a police officer.”
