Mason is working on a basement renovation job for their company and I’m manning the clinic alone for a few hours while Cat is off collecting herbs.
No one has any appointments, but she didn’t want to close shop with the code yellow and has her cell phone with her in case of any emergencies.
I’ve decided that while I’m here, I’ll be calling to quit my job. And I’ll send a letter of resignation. Technically, my two weeks’ notice are covered by what was supposed to be my honeymoon, so I won’t really be leaving them scrambling.
Right about now, if all this hadn’t happened, I’d be on a cruise with Rick the Dick. I shudder at the thought.
I checked my phone earlier and there was a text message from Rick’s sister. Gloria wrote that she was still in town and wanted to know if I wanted to go for sushi. I told her I couldn’t make it. She also said her brother was in the hospital and they figure he must have hit his head because he can’t remember anything. And he’s in some sort of trouble, embezzling money from his clients-type trouble. She said she thinks he’s faking the amnesia because of the trouble.
I replied that I hoped he’d be all right. That I have no ill will toward him. I told her that I sold the ring, that Rick told me it was okay for me to do since he admitted to me he’d lost the money I’d given him to invest.
Gloria told me ‘good riddance’ about the ring and said she’d be back in town again at Christmas and hoped we could do lunch or dinner then.
Rick said his ‘problem’ was “prison-serious.” I guess he was borrowing from Peter to pay Paul while waiting for his inheritance, continuing to pretend he was the financial master of the universe. But really, I don’t care all that much about the money I lost. I’ve gained something so much more important. Mason told me last night that Rick’s gun wasn’t even loaded, which made me roll my eyes. He was desperate. And ridiculous. And an absolute DICK to try to pull that bullshit with me.
Good riddance to him.
Oh yeah, Gloria also mentioned that she got in touch with Tiara, Rick’s ex, who hates her twin’s guts. Tiara told Gloria that Sheila wasn’t leaving her husband because he was very rich and has a terminal illness. So she, too, appears to be waiting for a pay day.
I wonder what sort of price I’d have to pay the Young sisters to do some sort of healing spell for Sheila’s husband.
I’m gabbing with Bailey when the doors fly open and a very naked Joel and equally naked Lincoln rush in with a bleeding, unconscious massive black wolf in their arms.
“He’s been shot!” Lincoln shouts.
I spring to my feet. “Call Cat!” I tell Bailey, then yell, “Get him on the exam table.”
It’s a little daunting trying to examine a bleeding, unconscious giant wolf and though he hasn’t been my favorite person, he’s my sister’s husband. My sister’s soulmate. She loves him and I need to save his life. He’s family.
I find the bullet wound is on his side, above his hip. There’s no exit wound, and he’s definitely nicked a vein. It’s bleeding profusely. His tongue is hanging out.
“Is he breathing?” Bailey shouts. “Cat’s coming. She says to apply pressure and wait. She’ll be here in a couple minutes.”
“He’s breathing,” Lincoln shouts.
I douse the wound with saline solution since there’s visible dirt on it, and then I apply pressure with clean gauze. A lot of pressure. As much pressure as I can manage.
“Find me a stethoscope. Now!” I shout.
The stethoscope gets put around my neck and plugged into my ears as both my hands are holding the dressing to the wound.
“Pressure, Lincoln.” I get Lincoln to take over.
I stare at the black, furry chest a second too long as I search, I guess, because Joel grabs the diaphragm and positions it. I hear his heart.
His heart rate is slow. But I don’t know what a normal supernatural wolf shifter’s heart rate is.
I need Cat.
I put my hands to the gauze with Lincoln, our hands covered in dark red blood.
Ivy rushes in and she’s red-faced, crying. She gasps as she takes in what’s happening.
“Ty! Tyson!” She rushes over and wraps both arms around his neck and hugs him, crying into his fur.
I’m worried about internal injuries, about his organs. About his intestines. If they’re punctured, he’ll be susceptible to infection.
“Ivy, back up. Give us room,” I say.
She ignores me.
“Tyson, please be okay,” Ivy cries out and it’s breaking my heart. Then she looks at me and screams at me, pointing, “Amie, don’t let him die. Don’t fucking let him die!”
“Ivy, back up. Give us room!”
Where the fuck is Cat? I glare at a pale Bailey. “Call her again!”