Wildcard: Volume Three

“Come on. Let me help you. I’ll drive you there.”

She gathers some of his things together and packs them into a Spider-Man backpack along with his bear. Just as we’re walking out the door she stops and turns around.

“Shit, I forgot his PlayStation.” She moves toward the kitchen and I brace myself, waiting for the reaction I know is coming.

“Ryder! What the hell happened?” She reappears around the entry of the kitchen, her eyes wide. Her gaze falls on my arm and she gasps. “You’re hurt!”

“I’m fine,” I assure her. “I told you, I was worried. I had to get in somehow. I had images in my head of you being locked in a basement or something by your insane arsehole of an ex.”

She shakes her head, shoving the game console that is sitting on the kitchen bench into her bag.

“I don’t know whether to laugh or be annoyed.” She narrows her eyes as I follow her to the car. “What exactly were you hoping to find on my laptop?”

“Your collection of fisting porn.” I snigger, and she throws her keys at me. “I don’t know—a threatening email from your ex? Evidence that he’d kidnapped you, and maybe the location of his dungeon? I know almost nothing about you, Scar.”

I climb into the driver’s seat and lock in my belt, starting the car and clicking it into reverse. It feels weird being on the wrong side of the car. How do people drive like this? Now is probably not a good time to tell her I don’t actually have an international driver’s licence.

“Which hospital?” I ask, pulling out into the street.

“Northwest. I’ll direct you.”

She’s accepted my explanation for now, but I’m sure we’ll be discussing it later. Fuck, I hope the kid is okay. As we weave in and out of the thick evening traffic, I learn how bad she is at giving directions.

“Can you try and give me a little bit of warning that I need to cross three lanes to make a turn?” I grumble.

“So it’s my fault you don’t know how to drive?” she fires back.

“I can drive just fine,” I laugh. “It’s your navigational skills that are questionable.”

“For fuck’s sake, I’ll drive myself next time,” she mutters. “You’ll need to turn left into the hospital parking ramp in two miles,” she adds sweetly. “Is that enough notice for you?”

I glower at her. “It’s better than the twenty meters’ notice I got for the last one.”

***

The doctor asks to speak to Scar as soon as we walk into Jake’s room. She takes my hand and squeezes it, glancing past the doctor to Jake, who is sleeping.

“Come with me?” she asks. I nod.

We follow the doctor into a small room just off from the nurses’ station.

“Take a seat, Scarlett.”

We both sit down, and wait for him to do the same. He hesitates before he speaks, which scares the hell out of me. This isn’t good. I reach over and grasp her hand in mine. She offers me a small smile and then takes a deep breath.

“How is he?”

“He’s not good,” the doctor begins. “But it’s not his lungs that are our concern. He’s developed something we call an intussusception. Basically, his intestines have folded over on themselves like an accordion. We need to operate as soon as possible.”

“Oh, God,” she gasps, her hand flying to her mouth. “Will he be okay?”

“We’ll do everything we can.” The doctor pushes a form across the desk. “This is a form saying you consent to the surgery.”

Scar reaches for the nearest pen and scribbles her name along the bottom, not even bothering to read it.

As I wrap my arms around her waist, her eyes grow wide. She’s shaking. It’s as though it’s just hit her how serious this is.

“It’s okay,” I whisper, wiping the tears from her eyes.