Page 18 of Rough Hard Fierce (Chicago Underground 1-3)
Shelly had accepted a client since I’d gotten back so early, so I swiped her laptop to hunt online for advice, but all I found were stern call-your-pediatrician directives. Bailey’s pediatrician was long gone from the low-cost doctor’s office, and now the only option was the twenty-four-hour emergency clinic. She wailed and coughed and then wailed some more. I’d never seen her like this.
By the time I called the emergency clinic, Bailey was in full-fledged banshee mode. The receptionist gave me a scripted, “She should be seen,” barely audible over Bailey’s shrieks of pain and baby frustration. That meant spending a hundred bucks we didn’t have, but I’d pull it from the rent money for now.
Fortunately, the clinic was not at all crowded for a Saturday night. In fact, after the last couple of people were called in, we had the dingy waiting room to ourselves. I filled out the paperwork and settled in to wait for Bailey’s name to be called.
The night air had a calming effect on Bailey. If it wasn’t for the nasty cough that intermittently racked her small body, she almost seemed well. But we were there already and had paid, and it made more sense to stay and be seen.
I almost didn’t notice him. My attention was split between Bailey and the clock. But he stopped right in front of us, and I looked up. Even then I didn’t recognize him right away. A big, scary-looking man who’d had the shit beat out of him, that’s what I thought. Angry, red welts covered his face. His right eye was swollen and literally taped shut, with what looked like first-aid tape. My arms tightened around Bailey, and then I recognized him—the man from the club, in the parking lot.
The man who’d almost raped/fucked me and had only been stopped by Colin’s threats. Apparently he’d picked the wrong girl to mess with this time, because he was wrecked.
Had he followed us here? Would he try to hurt us?
This was a public place, but I knew from personal experience that no place was safe, least of all a hospital. I glanced nervously around the small, empty room of plastic chairs. The receptionist was behind a frosted-glass sliding window. Probably the most I could hope for was that she would call the cops if trouble started. Oh, and we’d have speedy-fast medical aftercare. Great.
I had to get him away from us for Bailey’s sake. There was no going along with it this time. I licked my lips, trying to think fast with an armful of sick baby.
He spoke, but only half of his lips moved, the other half busted up. “I’m not going to hurt you, I swear.”
Right, that’s what people always say when they have no intention of hurting someone.
“I just want to apologize,” he said, the last word slurring almost unintelligibly. He shifted his weight between his feet nervously, or maybe just in pain.
I didn’t really care, so long as he left us alone. “Okay.”
“I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Okay. It’s okay.” I willed him to walk away, begged him with my eyes.
“I hope I didn’t hurt you. Are you all right?”
All I could think of was how to get this guy to leave, but I didn’t know what he wanted. If anything, he seemed to be getting more worked up. His breathing increased, but not in a menacing way—more like he’d fall down any second.
I glanced at the closed receptionist window again, wondering if we’d need her help for a different kind of emergency. “Umm, you don’t seem so good. Are you all right?”
He jumped back. “No! I’m fine. I don’t want any trouble.”
“Okay,” I said, more confused than wary at this point. “So…” I trailed off, glancing at the door suggestively.
“Ah! Right. Well, you take care. And again, I’m sorry. Very sorry.” He backed away from me to the door as if I might lunge and attack him with the diaper bag. I heard him mumbling apologies even as the door shut behind him. My whole body slackened in relief that he was away from Bailey. She dozed in my arms, fitful from her sickness but otherwise no worse for the wear.
That call was too damn close.
We made it through the actual visit with minimal fussing. The doctor, who performed what appeared to be a cursory exam, said it was probably a virus but sent us home with an oral antibiotic “just in case.” By the time I dragged us back home, it was already midnight. Late, but not that bad, considering all that had happened.
Bailey, who had been exhausted on the ride home, decided to wake up with wide eyes after I administered the antibiotic. Meanwhile my lids were closing. Not good.
My throat started to ache, and it felt so cold. I cranked up the heater, already cringing at the thought of our gas bill next month. I set Bailey up with some soft toys in the living room and then collapsed on the floor beside her, watching her play.
I jolted awake to the sound of my phone ringing. I took a quick inventory of Bailey, who seemed to have collected everything that wasn’t nailed down and piled it in
the middle like a bird’s nest.
My hand fumbled for the phone. “Hello?”
“Hey, Allie.” A few of my frazzled nerves settled at hearing his voice.
I glanced at the clock and groaned. It felt later than one o’clock. “Hey, you.”
