I'd Rather Not (KPD Motorcycle Patrol 3)

“He’s our boy now?” Trance teased.

“Yes,” I whispered. “From now on, he’s our boy.”

And that was that.Chapter 5How to keep brownies fresh: eat them all in one sitting.

-Helpful Tips & Tricks

Oakley

I awoke partially due to the voices beside my bed, and partially due to the pain that I was in.

Okay, mostly I woke because of the pain I was in.

It was unlike anything I’d ever felt before.

I could hardly draw in a breath without a shock of it shooting down my belly.

Trying to focus on something—anything—else, I started to focus on the sound of voices.

“They transferred him to a different department,” I heard someone say. “The officer that is his superior is a real dick. I heard him talking to someone outside the emergency room. They wrote him up for failure to approve vacation time. And since he’s in his probationary period, they didn’t have to have a reason to write him up. Honestly, I’m surprised at this point that they kept him on at the police department. Though, if I had to guess, he’s going to be gone soon. That supervisor of his is a real piece of work.”

I wasn’t sure how I knew that they were talking about Pace, but I knew without a doubt that they were. In my heart, I knew.

“That’s a bunch of fuckin’ bullshit,” I croaked, opening my eyes. “Daddy, you better be doing something about that.”

That was when my father and Ford practically pushed my mother out of the way to get to me.

I laughed softly, and nearly cried out in pain when the shock of agony tore through me.

“You’re on a pain pump,” my mother said, pushing back through my brother and dad. “Both of you back up.”

Ford did, but my father stayed put, his hand going to my face as he bent down and said, “Hey, baby.”

I smiled and closed my eyes, trying to hide how much pain I was in.

I didn’t want to make him feel worse than he already did.

Sadly, he’d been the one to expose me to the flu. I’d gotten it, and complication after complication arose, ultimately ending in me losing kidney function.

It sucked.

It sucked bad.

But he was not the cause of it.

Whatever button my mother had pressed shot some sort of medicine into my veins, and I instantly felt an easing to the pain at my back.

“Daddy,” I said, turning my head. “Fix it.”

My father’s eyes went hard.

“Oh, I’m going to,” he said. “Don’t you worry about that, baby.”

“Call him here, though.” I grinned. “I want him to hear what you have to say in front of me. I gotta witness it.”

Ford snorted. “You just want to give the man a piece of your mind.”

I shrugged. “Maybe.”

Ford rolled his eyes. “Pace won’t take this lying down.”

I turned my eyes to my brother once again, unsure when I’d closed them.

“You know Pace well?” I whispered.

I was getting sleepy now that I wasn’t in pain.

“Yes,” he said. “We went through hell together. I know him about as well as he’ll allow me to know him.”

He’ll allow me to know him.

That was a loaded statement if I’d ever heard one.

“Where is he?” I whispered. “Is he okay?”

Suddenly I was wide awake again, and worry shot through me.

I’d thought he was in my room with me, but they surely wouldn’t be talking about him if he was here.

My father patted my face and stood up.

“They moved him into his own room after surgery,” my father explained. “They thought he’d be more comfortable in a room by himself.”

Disappointment rolled through me, and I stared at my family.

“But he’s by himself,” I whispered, heartbroken.

“He’s not by himself,” my father promised.

***

Pace

The first time I woke, it was to find a woman standing at the end of my bed that I knew well.

Her name was Mercy, and she was Ford’s aunt.

She was also the woman that had helped me get back on my feet.

Ford had sent me to her after I’d completed rehab, and Mercy and her business, Second Chances, had helped me not only get back on my proverbial feet but also find the job that I wanted.

“Hey, Mercy.” I smiled. “What are you doing here?”

Mercy grinned, and a lock of her chestnut hair fell over the front of her shoulder.

“I was informed, in no uncertain terms, that you were to have a familiar, smiling face to look into when you finally woke from surgery,” she explained, then frowned hard at me. “You had a bad reaction to the anesthesia. They were really worried there for a while. You’ve taken so long to wake up that even I started to get worried, and I’m not generally a worrier.”

I smiled then.

“How long have I been out?” I wondered.

“Your surgery finished about four hours ago,” she answered, walking around the bed and taking the seat beside it. “Oakley made it, since that’s what you’re going to ask next.”