Havoc (20 page)

Striker clears his throat and readjusts his
attention on Haven, “Do you know why you're here, Haven?”

She shakes her head.

“Three nights ago, you ingested an unusual
combination of compounds that could be considered a poison into
your system.”

“Poison?” Her tone and reaction cause my
stomach to churn. I cannot believe it happened.

“Not enough to kill most people but enough to
make them uncomfortably ill. However, your body seems to have had a
reaction to it, more severe than most. It caused you to violently
vomit—” my stomach gurgles again, “until you hit a high level of
dehydration, causing you to pass out. In passing out, you hit your
head, resulting in an unconscious state, which you've been in until
now.”

My chest starts to tighten, cramping in blind
rage, the Incredible Hulk-like strength inside desperate to break
out and take over.

Barely being able to remain calm, she cries
out, “How could I have taken poison and not known?”

He flips through the clipboard in his hand,
“That’s what we’d like to find out. Most likely in a liquid or a
food, masking its bitter flavor. Do you remember eating anything
different Saturday . . . taking something?”

Her silence is chilling. Has she not been
through enough already? She's lived through being raped and
molested. She’s probably seen the death of her parents in her
dreams. And now, now we're pushing her to try recall what could
have potentially killed her had she hit her head a little harder.
Or been left alone a little longer. Angst crawls up my throat
again. The more I'm with Haven, the more I realize the worst part
of feeling emotions is moments like this.

“Nothing crazy. I remember having lunch with
Mindy and Anna at their favorite sandwich place. I had my usual,
though it had a little extra mustard, and then for dinner, I had
some homemade tomato soup Leighyani brought me. It was a little
extra tangy, but I've never been the biggest fan of tomatoes.”

Leighyani? What was she thinking? Did she
really think without Haven that we would ever get back together?
Has she completely lost her shit? You're pissed a girl has taken
what you claim as your spot, you key her car, you spill something
on her favorite top. You don't try to fucking poison her. And how
easy it would be for her with all the medical knowledge her father
has taught her. She was probably inspired by some fucking Greek
tragedy her mother had her read. Well, I hope she enjoyed it
because she's about to experience one herself.

I lean down and whisper so only Haven can
hear, “Alpha.” Honestly, if I were Haven, I would rip me to shreds.
I would scream and shout at me that I have a lot of nerve for
saying everything is safe when one of the neighbors tried to cause
her bodily harm, the same neighbors she's spent all her free time
with, the same neighbors who are supposed to protect her when I
can't. I prepare for her negative reaction, but instead, she
squeezes my tags tighter.

Striker transitions with a clearing of his
throat and a shift in his body weight. He fidgets when he's not at
ease. Typical. He usually does it when Lexi brings up something
that has to do with his facial hair, tofu, or his own daughter.

“So we ran tests, figured out it what it was,
and flushed your system while also rehydrating it. Since you were
here, and we all know you haven't been to the doctor in a bit of
time, I went ahead and had blood tests run on you just to make sure
everything’s in working order.” The sentence trails off as he looks
down at the paperwork in his hand. He opens his mouth to continue
when he looks at me. Immediately, he shifts his words back to her,
“If you would like Mr. Walker to excuse himself for the next part
of the conversation, I can have him do so.”

“I'm not going anywhere.”

“It's not a choice, Slugger. Patient
confidentiality trumps–”

“We don't keep secrets.”

“Clint.”

“What's the next part of the conversation?”
she interrupts us, her voice calmer than either of ours. “And where
is Whiskey?”

“Work,” I respond quickly. “He's come to
check on you after his shifts. Calls every couple of hours to see
if there's been progress.”

A faint smile appears on her face. She looks
relieved.

Haven nods at Striker. “He can hear. It's OK.
Really.”

“Very well.” He pushes the paperwork back
down. “CAT scan came back fine. Bone development is stifled but not
an excruciating amount. Your blood type is rare, so we need to be
aware of that for further cases. Also, you're a little underweight.
Given your previous circumstances, this is understandable. While
examining all reports for diseases we tested for, everything came
back negative even for STDs. However, we did do an examination, and
you have some vaginal tearing. It's an alarming amount, but with
some time, it should heal quite well. Also, I'm going on a limb
here, but you probably do not menstruate regularly, do you?”

Her face flushes and looks down, “No.”

“Due to the stress of your previous situation
and adjusting to your current situation, I ordered you a birth
control shot. It's a simple shot that will need to be taken every
three months. You should begin to get a cycle that way as well. I
do not know if you’re sexually active.” I clear my throat,
uncomfortable discussing that with him. It's none of his business.
That and of course I kissed her for the first time just five
minutes ago. “But in case you are or plan to be, it will help. I
have it scheduled for later this afternoon. Do you consent to
that?”

“If it's what's best. You're the doc.”

He smiles, “I am the doc. Also, we are going
to schedule a few immunization shots to help boost them to the
levels they should be at. After having some additional time to
study your charts, I realize that, while I can do my best work
helping your body heal, it might be a wise decision to start
seeking help with a counselor. Sometimes talking to an objective
third party can do wonders. If you think that's something you're up
for, let me know, and I'll make arrangements with the best
therapist I know.” Striker relaxes visibly, “Now from the point of
a friend, not a doc, are you OK?”

“Yeah.” She squeezes my hand again. “Just a
little fuzzy.”

“Well, rest,” he taps her feet gently. “I'll
alert the cavalry. Inform them they can come visit this afternoon.
We're gonna keep you here probably another day just to monitor
everything.”

“I appreciate that,” she whispers as I place
a kiss on the back of her hand in a bit of awe. This woman can
survive anything. A day hasn't gone by that she's failed to amaze
me. A fighter. Just like me. “Thank you. And I swear, as soon as I
get a job–”

Striker waves her off. “This has been taken
of. Do not mention anything about a bill again. Are we clear?”

“Yes.”

“Rest up.” He gives her toes a squeeze in a
fatherly way. I appreciate the way all the older men in the
neighborhood have taken it upon themselves to step into the role of
her father. “My shift is basically over, and I've got to get some
rest myself.” His eyes flick over to me, “And so should you,
Slugger. I told you she would be all right.”

“I know, sir.” My face hardens, afraid for
him to see the emotions I'm choking back, but my strength is
wavering. “Just had to see for myself.”

“Stubborn,” he grumbles. “Just like your
father. See you two in the afternoon.”

And with that, he's gone. The door shuts
quietly, the air-conditioning being the only sound in the room
besides our heartbeats. I move my body back to the chair I was
nestled in beside her bed, hand still gripping hers, mouth
clutching in the several words I'm dying to say but not sure
how.

I bring her hand to my lips and place a very
soft kiss on the back of it. “I'm so glad you're OK. I remember
when Mom got the flu. She was too stubborn to believe it until she
could hardly move. Dehydration. Exhaustion. It was on the verge of
killing her from the inside out. She was rushed to the ER.”

“Striker?”

“We hadn't lived here that long. He was on
call. Saved her life. I missed three days of school. I stayed by
her bedside until she woke up.”

“Where was Whiskey?”

“Sir.” I nod slowly the words, bitter to this
day. “Sir was on active duty. Couldn't even reach him to let him
know she was in the hospital. He had no idea until we returned home
that she had even been sick. His wife almost died, and he was
clueless. I told myself while I was at the hospital with her I
would never join the military.”

Not realizing my head was lowered, I feel
Haven use her free hand to lift my face back to hers. I get wrapped
up in the comfort she's trying to provide in her time of weakness.
God, how selfish am I? It’s her time of need, and I'm running in
circles in my own head about ancient history.

“What changed your mind?”

A flash of my mom dropping to the floor, Sir
throwing her favorite glass vase, his stone-cold face at her burial
run through my brain. Stiffening, I look at her, feeling more of my
wall demolished, “Death.”

With the hospital scare just a few days
behind us, I can tell Haven is beginning to feel smothered. I
wasn't comfortable leaving her in the beginning. After all, she was
most likely poisoned by Leighyani. I don’t care what Striker
thinks. There’s no telling what that girl will do if given the
chance. But I could see that Haven needed some space. That's why
I'm sitting here with a beer in my hands instead of her hands in
mine. Because I'm trying to do the right thing. Honestly, it's
getting harder to know what the right thing is. I thought sending
Leighyani to jail for attempted murder would be the right thing,
but I talked myself off that ledge of extreme. All I can say
regarding her right now is that she's lucky she's not a male
because jail would feel like paradise compared to the state I would
put her in.

“Stranger,” Glove mocks my presence as I
relax in the outdoor patio chair on the first-floor apartment
balcony.

“Seriously,” Lordy hops up on the edge of the
railing. “We should start calling you ghost instead.”

I don't argue. They're right. It's like my
brain has two modes, Haven Offense and Haven Defense. They've been
calling. And calling. Texting. Voice mails. I've been ignoring
most. Texting only so they know I'm alive. The last time I saw them
was that day in the gym. Completely out of character for me.

“Life's been a bit busy.”

“No lay is that good that you can't climb out
occasionally to hang with your brothers,” Glove's description of
Haven is repulsive, and I fight the desire to strike him down off
the balcony railing.

“Aside from the colorful way Glove put it, I
agree,” Lordy nods.

“That's not the case.”

Glove looks displeased, “You mean you haven't
been fucking like a porn star?”

“No.”

“Like a porn novel?” Lordy tries to offer
backup.

“No. No sex. Sex has not been what's got me
busy.”

Confused, Glove takes a long drink of his
beer and then shrugs. “Then we're listening. And if sex is involved
at all, start there.”

I roll my eyes. If anything, I owe them part
of the story. Maybe I'll keep out the details of how my
ex-girlfriend tried to kill my new girlfriend. I don't think I can
handle any of Glove's sick, twisted threesome jokes or Lordy's WE
channel ones.

“Truth?” Placing my beer down, I start, “My
girl, she was in the hospital.”

“You knocked her up?” Glove points
suspiciously at me.

“Not always about sex, Glove,” I shake my
head at him again. I swear, walking stereotype.

“What happened?” Lordy gets back on
topic.

“She, um, had a severe food allergy and food
poisoning. She was out cold for three days.”

“Holy shit!” they say in unison.

Lordy takes a sip of his beer before asking,
“She OK?”

“Yeah. I mean, she is now.”

“What the fuck did she eat?” Glove's
inability to show grown-up emotions can be as relieving as it is
obnoxious.

“Soup.” I divert the conversation, “After
three days in the hospital, I've just been trying to keep any eye
on her, ya know?”

“That's crazy,” Lordy's voice has more
concern in it than before. He knows that this scare was huge. The
girl I'm madly in love with almost died while I watched. While he's
as annoying as his counterpart quite often, he gets the idea of
love more than I do. “Are you OK?”

Leaning forward, elbows on my knees, I shrug.
“More or less.” Am I OK? Yeah, I'm OK. Am I happy? Sometimes. The
idea of me nearly losing my future, watching it slip from life,
letting death take someone else I love away still creeps into my
mind, playing tricks with it. I'm sure I'll get through it. Every
time I see Haven smile, everything else melts away, those fears and
insecurities included.

“I guess that's a valid reason,” Glove
shrugs. “I'll let you play the 'My girlfriend could've died' card.
Just this one time.”

Confused and irritated at the way he’s making
light of a very terrifying situation, I shrug, “Thanks?”

“Wanna shoot with us after we report to
base?” Check-in is a couple days away. I'll already be out. Plus,
it'll keep them from nagging at me about not spending enough time
with them. I don't necessarily care that they don't have adequate
time with me, but they are my brothers in arms, and I know Haven is
going to get sick of my face being in hers soon if I don't attempt
to return to normality. Normality is what she needs, even if that
means shoving down the unimaginable horror that her near-death
experience brought to me, to the pit of my stomach.

“Sounds good.” I try to change the subject,
“And what's going on with you? How many girls you sent to the
clinic since we last spoke?”