Being around Shooter and the club seemed like a godsend. A family that would tear down the world for you. Laughter from the bonds of brotherhood, the smiles that showed the world they weren’t afraid of what was to come.
A family nevertheless filled the void of a dream that hadn’t come true.
Hours would turn into days and days would turn into weeks. The fight was coming closer and Shooter would be in the gym all day and come find me or I’d find him.
I’d stop by the gym to see him, the warrior fighting for his life, for his peace, for his family. Even when I felt like death from work and the lack of care I gave myself, he taught me fighting skills hoping that I would never have to use them. With him, I felt powerful, unstoppable.
We just needed to survive fight night, and then we could breathe. And we desperately wanted to feel that breath of fresh air.
Chapter 42
Amelia
“Level two trauma now, level two trauma now,”the overhead speaker announced as I stuffed the last bite of banana in my mouth.
Fight night had arrived and my mind tried to treat it like a normal day instead of a life-altering type where one wrong move could mean game over. The queasy stomach didn’t help either, that’s what happens when you fucking nervous and you just hope that the man that you love comes back in one piece.
The plan was simple. I do half a shift, off by late afternoon. Go back to the house and finish packing for an extended vacation that he made through some connection in eastern Virginia. He said he’d tell me more after but to make sure I had a swimsuit, a lot of sunscreen, and some of our favorite “accessories”. Funny that he didn’t mention any specific type of clothes or anything.
Chris had stayed away a lot longer than I’d anticipated. For me, I didn’t care. But at the pit of my stomach I worried it would be a matter of time. Maybe it was just my paranoia.
“Why is it always over a holiday weekend that the most traumas come in here?” I groaned. It was a rhetorical question but nonetheless a time old question.
“Because people tend to lose their senses or their brain cells and become reckless. Or the stress of their mind becomes one with their illnesses that the body becomes fight or flight mode,” Sarah muttered from behind the nursing station.
“Plus shouldn’t you be getting ready for a fight?” Jennie asked as she looked at the board of all the rooms.
I rolled my eyes. “I have four hours left in my shift. I need the distraction. Between my stomach being in knots and my head always fixating on tonight, I need something to do. I think the stress is making me cramp. I don’t know.”
“He’s going to be fine,” Jennie grumbled, rolling her shoulders back, cracking her neck, then moved her attention to me. “You on the other hand, I don’t know if you need a banana bag or to be freshly fucked. You look like death and not in the most attractive way.”
Listen, I never said my friends were the nicest, but sometimes you get hit by the brutally honest truth and that's what you needed.
“Maybe both.” I shrugged.
“Ladies, incoming trauma, and just heard from the paramedics, patient’s getting worst, let’s get moving.” Dr. Andres popped out of nowhere, barking orders.
When she was on the move, so were you. The blaring sounds and the bright lights of the ambulance came rushing to the bay. Part of the team rushed to meet with the medics, grabbing the patient as they rattled off their assessment.
They came rushing through the doors, and the patient that looked to be in his older age had bright red liquid at the corner of his mouth. Orders came through as a second ambulance was pulling up with another one.
They kept explaining that it was a motor vehicle accident and that one of the drivers didn’t appear to have issues until he had hurled over blood during the transport, and the other driver may have suffered some broken bones and was being rushed to be further assessed.
The first driver started flailing around as he bent over the railing and started to vomit more blood. I’d bet his internal injuries were causing it, Dr. Andres liked to consider them the silent killers.
But something was off, not with the patients but with myself. I stood there frozen, sounds around started to muffle like I was paralyzed. The sight of the bright red substance spun my insides. This was ridiculous, I was a damn nurse, the sight of blood or bodily fluids never bothered me, not like when I was a student. I had an iron stomach.
And yet one look at the blood, and I could feel my body reject the sight and made my stomach curdle. For the first time, I abandoned my post and sprinted to the nearest bathroom. Seconds blurred as the door squealed and my knees hit the cold tile. I didn’t fuss with the lock on the stall as I bent over and hurled my guts out.
Everything had boiled on the inside, my body trembled. I don’t remember crying but somehow I cried, hot tears streaming down my face.
I shivered like my body was failing me or I was failing it. It felt like it never stopped, like if I kept going I’d never leave the damn bathroom. I tried to catch my breath. What the fuck was wrong with me? When the nausea subsided, my body sunk on the wall of the stall. I tried to push past the thought that I was in a bathroom and may or may not have been cleaned and my ass was sitting on the floor trying to catch my breath.
I was going to hear it from Dr. Andres or my charge about this, I was never like this. I just needed to make it for the next four hours.
That’s all. And then I would be with him, and we would get through the night.
If I wasn’t able to handle the sight of blood at work, how the hell did I think I would survive the night? I couldn’t call Shooter after that, he would have worried the entire time and then he would be off the entire night. He needed a clear head.
