“What? Why not?”
“Are you family?”
Cheyenne bit the inside of her bottom lip and glared at the woman. “No.”
“I can only speak to family. I’m sorry. Do you know anyone we can call?”
“Seriously?”
“Any information helps us help her.”
Cheyenne closed her eyes. “I might as well be family, okay? Ember’s from…I don’t know. Chicago, I think. Her family’s all there.”
“Do you have any phone numbers?”
“No, I don’t have their numbers.” The half-drow rolled her eyes. “But I’m telling you, there’s no one else here—”
“I’m sorry.” Nurse Sharon shook her head. “If you’re not related to the patient, I can’t give you any more information.”
“Ember.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Her name’s Ember. Not ‘the patient.’” Cheyenne softened her tone.
“Of course.” Nurse Sharon gestured toward the full waiting room, her brows flickering together in concern. “I am sorry there’s nothing more I can do for you, ma’am. Ember’s being taken care of as we speak, and I have to get to all these other people waiting to be seen next. If you’ll just—”
Cheyenne pressed her palms on the edge of the desk, then changed her mind and slammed her fists on it instead. Sharon squeaked in surprise, the ER quieted in a split second, and someone’s baby started crying.
The male nurse from earlier poked his head around a partition, then sauntered out. “What’s happening, Sharon? Are we good?” He maintained that same disarming smile.
“I’m sorry,” she said, looking at his nametag, “Andre. Sharon.” She peeped around the waiting room, then stared at the back of the old computer monitor and blinked. “But I’m not leaving until somebody tells me she’s okay.”
“I get it, you know. Your friend is lucky to have you.” Andre looked at Cheyenne’s appearance and leaned forward to whisper, “The police are going to want to talk to you. It’s protocol with all gunshot victims. Why don’t you have a seat, and I’ll grab you a coffee.”
Cheyenne weighed her answer and nodded at him, then glanced at Sharon, who looked down at the intake forms on her desk and then called, “Mikey?”
Cheyenne removed her hands and stepped back.
A man with an angry gash in his forearm from a splinter larger than splinters had any right to be—which still protruded from the red, swollen skin around it—stood from his chair and walked toward the desk. He’d forgotten his discomfort as he smiled at Cheyenne’s piercings. He scanned her lip and nose, then his eyes traveled to the silver ring in her eyebrow. “Cool,” he said.
She brushed past him and went to sit in an empty chair. The people waiting in the ER watched her as she slumped. The woman on her right, who’d been hacking up a lung for the last ten minutes, leaned away, then stood and took her cough to the other side of the room.
Cheyenne folded her arms and closed her eyes. Bits of rubble and dirt and Ember’s blood were encrusted on her clothes, and her skinned knees stung like a bitch.
I’m not leaving. I’ll figure out the police when I have to.
* * *
Cheyenne jerked awake when the screaming child was carried through the emergency room doors by a sobbing mother. The nurses at the intake desk managed to quiet them before leading them both into one of the triage rooms, and Cheyenne cleared her throat.
The waiting room now only held about a dozen people, and it still felt way too full. Once the crying mother and her kid were ushered into a private room, Nurse Sharon came out from behind the desk. She stopped in front of Cheyenne and offered her a paper cup of water. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like someone to take a look at your knees?”
Her arms still folded, Cheyenne pulled her outstretched legs back toward her and held the nurse in her gaze. “Are you going to tell me anything? If the surgery’s done or if she…if she’s okay?”
“I can’t. I’m sorry, Miss…” When Cheyenne didn’t offer her name, the nurse sighed and offered the cup again. “Some water will help.”
“Your friend over there,” she glanced at Andre, who was speaking to an ill elderly woman and her grandson, “offered me coffee already. Must be how you guys try to…” She shook her head. “I’m good.”
The nurse lowered the cup and glanced at the water, holding it now with both hands. “Legally, I can’t tell you what kind of treatment your friend is receiving or has received since you’re not related—”
“We covered that part already.” Cheyenne sniffed and glanced around the waiting room. “I can’t leave without knowing if she’s okay.”
“I understand, but no one’s going to be able to tell you anything.” The nurse tried to smile, then looked at the blood all over Cheyenne’s clothing and injured knees. The smile wavered. “I can tell you to come back tomorrow during visiting hours. If your friend’s recovered enough to put you on the approved visitors' list, you’ll have more luck.” She paused like she was weighing something, then she whispered, “The police are on their way. You have about five minutes.”
The words made Cheyenne perk up. “Right.”
“My suggestion would be to go home, get cleaned up, get some sleep, and come back tomorrow.”
Blowing out a sigh through tight lips, Cheyenne pushed out of the chair. “I have to go to the front lobby for visiting hours?”
“Yes.” Sharon’s voice was surprisingly level and calm.
“Thank you.” Cheyenne eyed the cup in the woman’s hand. “Some water might help.” Then she turned and headed out the automatic doors.
If I can’t get anyone to talk to me here, gonna have to go to Plan B.
Cheyenne Summerlin had been doing that since she was ten.
Chapter Seven
At the front door of her apartment on St. John, Cheyenne fumbled in her pocket for her keys. It wasn’t out of exhaustion or fear for Ember, although those things were swimming through her in equal parts, but because she just couldn’t move as quickly as she wanted to. She was exhausted.
Once inside,
