Millie
Present Day
It's past ten o'clock. Still no sign of Sam. I knew all his hiding places. Three years was a long time to get familiarized with his habits.
Every night he came right after closing time, sometimes he came inside and asked some mundane questions. Sometimes he hid behind the opposite street wall and watched me leave. And always, he followed me home. Never tried to talk to me. He was just there until I reached home. I had no clue where he parked or if he was slacking his duty by stalking me.
Initially I was irritated, but if he thought this would make me take him back that's his fault. I wasn't going to correct him. Or maybe it's his way of keeping his promise to me. Whatever the reason, I didn't care. It's a routine I got used to and he should have been here by now. Did he get some emergency work? Did he finally decide to give up? I shook my head, no point in wondering. Checking the lock one last time, I started walking home.
Restaurant was doing great. My pride and joy. The revenue, though only a little, was constantly growing. Terry would roll his eyes if I said that.
'That's not revenue. That's because you're not hiring any help and slaving to save expenses.'
Which was true. I liked slaving, why not? It's my own place.
I had made this town my home. I had friends, I had a steady income, I occasionally partied and went out. I dated too. Still in the look out for my man. If Sam popped up in my life here and there, I simply ignored him and avoided getting into any conversation beyond the bounds of his cop capacity. I was proud of the way I turned out. A matured, independent, level headed Millie. Sometimes I looked at the mirror and patted myself. I have come a long way.
Life is good.
As I unlocked the door to my flat, my phone blared.
"Hello."
"Is this Millie?"
"Yes."
"I'm Jane, from Rider Valley hospital. This is regarding Mr. Quentin. I'm calling to inform you that he's been admitted with a bullet injury."
My ears rang. "What?"
"Could you please come as soon as possible? We need your signature."
"On my way." I locked the door on autopilot and turned around. My car was at the restaurant.
Shit. I must run.
Headlights flooded my eyes as a blaring cop car stopped next to me.
"Get in!" Someone bellowed from inside.
I ran to the passenger side and got in. It's Gavin, he too worked at the Sheriff's office.
He shot off without waiting for me to click on the seat belt. I balanced my hands on the dashboard and tried to breathe evenly.
It's okay. He surely must be alive. That's good. Really good. Was it one bullet or many? Did they take them out? They must have.
Why signature?
Why my signature? Who the fuck am I to Sam Quentin?
Tears came unbidden.
Let him be safe. He is a sexist asshole, but a kind one. Kinder than he lets off. Terry became his fan after Sam helped him with moving out. His derogatory views about me didn't seem to spread to my friends or others like me.
He's a good cop. I wanted him to live. Deep down I still cared for him.
"Millie? Get down." Gavin shook me.
I wiped my eyes and looked at the hospital. I hated it. I visited it ever so often for one or the other friend of mine. Just the view of it made me queasy.
Letting out a breath, I got down.
Gavin took me directly to intensive care.
"How bad is it?" I asked, at last ready to hear his answer.
"Very. He lost too much blood. And nerve damage."
I staggered. "No."
Gavin talked with a nurse and she nodded and pointed me at the hospital gowns.
I wore the overall and went into the quiet hall, there was no sound except the ominous beeping from machines.
Sam looked like he was in deep sleep. No visible bandages except in his right forearm. From elbow to fingers it's wrapped in bandages.
It didn't look very bad, he must've broken a bone or two. Then I remembered. It's a bullet. Blood loss. Nerve damage.
I didn't remember how I got out. The nurse handed me a glass of water.
"I brought the forms here, so that you don't have to walk back and forth. Please read and let me know if you have any queries. Doctor will be here in a moment to explain." She thrust a sheaf of papers in my hands.
I looked at Gavin. "What is this for? Does he have surgery? Am I his emergency contact?"
Gavin looked at me with pity. He came and sat next to me.
"I'm his emergency contact. You're his advance directive."
"What's that?" I leaned back on the chair to stop the trembling.
He made eye contact, "Medical decision maker, you can decide on behalf of him."
The papers fell from my grip, "what?"
"Doctors want to do some advanced, high risk neurosurgery, which would give him a chance at life, but it may take away his mobility."
I closed my eyes. Fuck you, Sam. Fuck you.
Gavin wrapped me in a hug. "You have to stay strong. He trusts in you. Stop crying and sign that thing."
A doctor came and explained in length the risks and benefits of the surgery. I didn't see it as a choice. I signed the papers to proceed with the surgery.
He had a lot to offer even if he can't walk or eat on his own. If he didn't like it, he had to deal with it. It's him who gave me the fucking authority to decide.
And I decided he should live.
It's a six hours procedure.
Gavin sat with me.
"What about his family? Did you inform them?"
Gavin stared at me. "You don't know?"
"What?" It seemed to be the question of the night.
"His parents disowned him, like officially."
"The fuck? Why?" I remembered him showing me family Christmas pictures when he taught me to knead pizza dough. I suppressed a sob. I shouldn't think about those days.
"Why else? He told them he was gay. Ta da." Gavin spread his hands.
Gay?
"When was this?" Sam wasn't gay, if he was, then I was straight.
"Hmm... don't remember exactly, around the time we first got posted. What's it now? Three years? Fuck, time flies." Gavin sighed.
"What about his siblings?" He had two brothers and a sister.
"I don't think anyone is in touch with him. I'm surprised you didn't know." He studied me.
I wiggled in my seat, unnerved. "We're not close friends." I said, I only had a passing acquaintance with Gavin, with no clue about how much he knew about Sam or me.
Gavin scoffed. "Right. That's why you're signing off his life or death forms."
"I'm shocked that he had given my name. Maybe he did it at the beginning. He might have updated the details when we were close, then forgot to change it when we... drifted apart." I finished lamely.
"Yeah? When did you drift apart?"
"Close to three years."
"Oh my fucking god!"
"What?"
"We all have to review and update this thing every three months. Sheriff's rule. Guess when we last updated?" His eyebrows went up.
It's a rhetorical question. It couldn't be beyond three months. So I stayed silent.
"Last fucking week. And you say you guys were fucking drifted two year ago. So it's true!" He slapped his thigh.
I looked around to see if anyone noticed his increased volume. The corridor was thankfully empty.
"What's true?"
He shook his head. "When he wakes up, ask him about the New York posting."
"What does that mean?"
"It means he's fucking crazy about you. I thought you guys were having a secret affair or some shit. He kept denying. Now I know he told the truth."
I buried my head in my hands. Why Sam? For the past three years I have been trying my hardest to stay away from him. He had been trying to get me back. For what? To be friends with benefits? To be his proxy woman?
"I don't get it. You look like a distraught lover, you're crying your eyes out from the second I picked you up. You fucking fainted after seeing him. What in the ever fucking shit happened between you two?"
"It's... it's..."
"I know, none of my business. Do you want something to eat? I'm going out for a smoke." Just like that Gavin dropped the topic.
I shook my head.
After thirty minutes he came back with a burger and cola and glared at me until I took them.
We sat in companionable silence, waiting for the OT doors to open.
**** End of Chapter Six ****