“I should have been beside her instead of watching TV.” Buddy’s guilt-ridden tone broke the brittle silence. “I was tired and wanted to relax with a beer and…”
Beck scrubbed a hand over his face and dropped into the seat beside Gloria’s boyfriend. “It’s not your fault. Obviously the pricks who did this thought a woman carrying in groceries at dusk was an easy target.”
“They’d have thought differently if I’d been there with my Smith & Wesson.” Buddy gritted his teeth, looking all too ready to commit violence. “What’s taking so damn long, Ken?”
Had the surgeon found Gloria’s injuries more extensive than expected? It happened… But he kept that information to himself. Still, the longer she remained on the operating table, the harder it was to force down his panic. “Could be anything, man. Stay calm.”
Beck had no idea how to follow his own advice.
Excruciating minutes later, an older doctor wearing mint green scrubs and a shock of white hair entered the room. He and Buddy immediately launched to their feet.
“I’m Dr. Evans. Are you the Beckman family?”
“Yes,” the two men replied at once.
Beck extended his hand, anxious for a peer-to-peer conversation. “I’m Dr. Kenneth Beckman, RPVI.”
The surgeon’s expression lightened. “Vascular, huh?” At Beck’s nod, he continued on, “Ms. Beckman is your…?”
“Wife.”
The other doctor quickly banked his surprise—because of their age gap?—and took a seat. He and Buddy each claimed one as well.
“She was worked over pretty badly, but we’ve done our best to put her back together. I performed a splenectomy. I’m sure you know that she’ll need to schedule regular follow-ups with her primary doctor.” Beck nodded. “She sustained a broken ulna, so I called in our orthopedic surgeon. He did an open reduction internal fixation and inserted a couple of screws into the bone. The X-rays of her ankle didn’t show any fractures, but she’s got a sizable hematoma and will need to stay off it for a few weeks. Ribs eight, nine, and ten were fractured, but the pulmonologist assured me none perforated her lung. He stabilized her rib cage since he was there as well.”
The litany of Gloria’s injuries sucked the air out of the room. Rage roared through Beck’s system.
“She had a substantial laceration across her forehead—”
“Please tell me you brought in a plastic surgeon.” Because if Gloria woke up and discovered her face had been sewn up by someone without an ounce of finesse, Beck knew there’d be hell to pay.
“We did.” The doctor dropped his voice. “I know who your wife is.”
That gave Beck pause. “Client?”
“No, but…we have mutual friends.”
Thank god. “Anything else?”
“Edema of her numerous contusions, especially on her face. Several teeth were avulsed, but when the swelling goes down and her gums heal, a prosthodontist can fit her with a partial or full set of false teeth.”
“Jesus,” he breathed out.
The surgeon nodded grimly. “I suspect she’s concussed. When the anesthesia wears off, we’ll be keeping a close eye on her. They’re getting her set up in ICU now. I don’t foresee any complications, but we’ll keep her there for a few days before letting her go to the step-down unit. If all goes well, she’ll be home soon after that.”
After Beck thanked Evans, the surgeon left. He collapsed against the back of his chair, both seething and heartbroken.
“I don’t understand much of what that man said.” Buddy cut into his thoughts. “Will Gloria be okay?”
“She’ll be all right…eventually. But those bastards beat the fuck out of her.” Imagining her helpless while someone took delight in damn near killing her infuriated him.
As he and Buddy made their way to the ICU waiting room, Beck used layman’s terms to relay the extent and repairs of Gloria’s injuries. Buddy had already looked overwhelmed, but now he seemed in danger of crumbling.
“When was the last time you ate?”
“I don’t know.” Buddy shrugged. “I had a late lunch. Maybe two.”
Over fifteen hours ago? “The cafeteria opens for breakfast at six thirty. It will take you ten minutes to walk over there, so they’ll be open by then. Grab something to eat. We could be waiting awhile to see her.”
Buddy looked reluctant, but before Beck could give him the canned speech about eating to stay strong for her, the man nodded and left.
To his surprise, he received permission to see Gloria about twenty minutes later. Recovery must have gone well.
He dragged in a bracing breath, but nothing could have prepared him for the needles, tubes, and electrodes feeding air, fluids, and pain meds into her beaten and broken body. The bandages and mangled flesh of her face made her nearly unrecognizable. His gut twisted. His heart splintered. The strong, tenacious fighter who had saved his life and taught him love, fortitude, self-esteem, and a million other life lessons looked half-dead.
Beck buried his forehead into the corner of Gloria’s pillow, but he couldn’t seem to keep his shit together. Hot tears stung his eyes, falling into her starched linens. What the fuck was he going to do if she didn’t pull through?
No. Dr. Evans had her listed in stable condition. She was going to be fine. He had to believe that. Just like he had to pull himself together. If Buddy came back and saw him break down, the guy would freak out.
“I’ll make those gutless pricks suffer tenfold for what they did to you,” Beck vowed.
Gloria’s lashes fluttered. A low moan rose from her throat before she lifted her puffy, purple lids and peered at him. “Ken?”
Beck kissed her forehead. “Shh. It’s me, sweetheart. You’re safe now and you’re going to be fine. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to protect you.”
“You already know you can’t protect every woman you care about,” she slurred from between split lips. “I’m alive. The bastards didn’t win.”
“They didn’t,” he assured as he watched her slide back into a drug-induced oblivion.
A few minutes later, Gloria woke again. “Christ, I hurt. Do I look as bad as I feel?”
“No,” he lied. “You look like a million.”
“Oh, god,” she
