“Are you scared she’s going to report you for robbing the cradle?” she asks me, continuing our banter because it’s helping her forget about her earlier apprehension.
“I’m not robbing the cradle,” I deny, sounding aghast as my eyes widen in the nurse’s direction, hoping Britton will catch on that this isn’t something we should be joking about in front of her. “You’re five damn years younger than me, Britton.”
The nurse laughs before saying, “I can tell you two are going to be fun to have around.”
“We’re part of the comic relief,” I joke.
“We could use more of that around here. Some of our patients are more intense and don’t mind voicing it,” the nurse tells us.
“I bet you have some stories to tell,” Britton replies, giddiness blazing in her eyes.
“You can’t ask her questions, Britton. Even if you want to use them as storylines,” I warn her. “HIPAA laws prevent her from giving you details into a patient’s treatment.”
“I don’t want names, Tanner,” she hisses, reaching over and pinching me. “I wouldn’t ever ask anyone to violate such sensitive information so I could use it as inspiration for one of my books.”
“You’re an author? I’m an avid reader. What genre do you write?” Britton answers her but I tune them out. Not because I’m not interested in her work and all that jazz, but because the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand up.
As we continue to walk, which feels like we’ve been doing forever as we make it through the back hallway and around to the other side of the building, I stealthily scan our surroundings. Something’s off, but I can’t pinpoint what that is. And that doesn’t settle well with me.
My gut says we’re being watched. But where from and by who?
“See, told you it wasn’t going to be bad news,” I remark after we wrapped up making our next appointment and enter the elevator.
“I hope the meds work that she called into the pharmacy for me,” Britton says, a hopeful look in her eyes. “I’m over it already and we’re just getting started.”
“Time will fly by,” I remind her. “Especially since we have a lot to do while waiting for our little one to get here.”
“Like what?” she asks as the doors slide shut and she hits the button that’ll take us down to the lobby.
“Many things. We need to pick out our plot of land for the cabin to be built on. Decorate it, buy furniture to fill it, pick out baby shit, and pick out our birthing plan.”
“I really wish I didn’t have to have the baby at a hospital,” she bemoans.
“But you are, right? Even if you don’t like it.”
“Um, yeah. That’s where they keep all of the good drugs,” she says, giving me a duh look.
We walk out of the glass doors and head into the parking lot. When we reach my truck my jaw drops as anger swamps me. I release Britton’s hand as I walk around the entirety of my truck. On one side is spray painted with bold red, Property of Jerome, and on the other, is Property of Patrick.
No. They. Did. Not.
“Those motherfuckers,” I hiss. Hitting the unlock button on the keypad, I quickly make my way to Britton and walk her to the passenger side. My front two tires have been slashed and the rims are touching the ground. I’m gonna need a tow and we’ll need a lift back to the clubhouse. “I need to call Riptide but I want you in the truck where you’re safe in the meantime.”
She doesn’t say a word, only nods her head as I lift her up and help her in. Remembering that it’s hot outside, I run back around the hood of the car and jump inside so I can push the button that’ll turn the truck on. Once the air conditioning is flowing, I lock it up and jump out, slamming the door. I place my cell to my ear and call for backup.
“Sonofabitch!” I holler once I hang up after giving Riptide a play-by-play of what those assholes did to my tuck. “I’m gonna kill them,” I swear, kicking one of my flat tires. “They better pray I’m not the one to see them first.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
Britton
The rideback to the clubhouse is strained. I tune out the guys’ conversation; it’s full of threats. I can’t blame them, but in this case, it’s better if I don’t know what they’re planning in case I’m ever questioned. Ignorance can be bliss in situations such as this. That way, if anyone questions me, I can honestly say I didn’t hear a damn thing.
I’m sitting in the back of the truck Riptide picked us up in, staring out the window as we hit the rocky road leading home. Then the property across the way sparks a memory.
“Stop!” I holler.
