Page 100 of Choosing Skyler

“Separate transport forhim,” he says, pointing at Eric’s lifeless body. “You two will be transported together,” he continues, pointing between Brady and me.

I nod and cling to Brady until the paramedics arrive and the officer pulls me away for them to work. When he pulls me out to the garage, I realize the car is still running in the driveway. I left the call with Timothy connected when I ran into the house. I walk over and see the call is disconnected.

I shut the car off and pull Brady’s phone from the dock, tossing it into my purse and pulling my own phone out, noticing I have several missed calls from Timothy and Devon. I scroll to the last call from Devon and hit the green phone icon to dial his number. He answers before the first ring finishes.

“Skyler! Thank God! Are you and Brady okay? I’m with my dad and we’ve been monitoring his security’s live feed. Why are the police there with two ambulances? Why areyoucovered in blood? What happened?” he rambles before I hear Timothy bark at him to let me answer.

But I can’t answer. I don’t know how to tell him that his best friend may die because he took a bullet that was meant for me.I’m going to lose them both,I think. If Brady dies, Devon will never forgive me.I’llnever forgive me. I feel my chest tighten and I can’t breathe.

“Skyler?” Devon says, softer. “Stay with me, Sweets. You’re okay. The police are there. You’re safe.Pleasetell me what happened,” he says, and I can hear the emotion clogging his throat as he battles between his need to protect me and his need to find out what happened to Brady.

“Brady… Eric shot Brady. I’m so sorry… Devon… I’m so sorry…” I cry around the tightening in my chest, trying to explain what happened but unable to form the words.

“Is he… Is he… Oh God, Skyler?” Devon chokes out a strangled cry of his own before his voice on the line is replaced with Timothy’s.

“We’re coming, Skyler. I’ve already arranged for my jet to pick us up at the airport in half an hour. We should land in about three hours. We’re coming, sweetheart. Can you at least tell me if Brady is alive?” he says with much more composure than either Devon or I have, and I realize that my words made them think the worst.

“Yes.” I choke out. “He’s alive. I didn’t mean to make you think… But it’s bad. It’s really b-bad,” I cry.

“Okay. Let me talk to the ambulance driver, so we know where to go when we land,” Timothy says.

I walk over to the ambulance just as they are lifting Brady into the back. I climb in behind him and put the phone on speaker.

“We’re… In the am-amb… On speaker,” I gasp, unable to take a full breath when I see Brady’s lifeless body on the stretcher.

“Where are you taking them?” Timothy asks.

“Norfolk General,” the paramedic responds.

“We’re on the way from Tennessee. We’ll arrive in about three hours. Please advise the hospital staff that Devon Mitchell is listed as medical proxy for both Brady Hargrove and Skyler Jennings. He needs to be notified immediately of any status updates if Skyler is unable to communicate with us,” Timothy orders.

“Why wouldn’t she be able to…” he starts, but he’s cut off by Devon.

“Because she’s in the middle of a fucking panic attack! Are you even qualified to treat emergency patients if you can’t fucking see that?!” Devon yells. “She has a prescription for Ativan. Please see that she gets some before she has a fucking heart attack. I know she wasn’t the one shot, but she’s still a patient in your care.”

“Calm down, son. The man is just doing his job,” Timothy admonishes Devon.

“Sorry. Skyler?” Devon says.

“Yeah?” I gasp.

“We’re pulling into the airport. We’ll be there as soon as we can. I love you,” he says, and I can hear the tears in his voice.

“I l-l-love you, t-too!” I sob before disconnecting the call and laying on the second stretcher in the back of the ambulance.

The paramedic holds up a syringe and raises an eyebrow. “Ativan?”

I nod and feel the sting of the needle before he straps me to the stretcher and the ambulance takes off with lights and sirens wailing in the otherwise quiet neighborhood.

I jolt awake and sit up, looking around frantically. It takes a minute for my memories to catch up and for me to realize I’m in a hospital bed. I jump up and run out into the hallway, looking for the nurses’ station or someone to help me. An older lady in scrubs exits the room next to mine and I almost run right into her.

“I’m so sorry, dear. Are you alright?” she asks like our near collision was somehow her fault.

“Yes… No… I came in with Brady Hargrove. He was shot. Where is he? How long have we been here?” I ramble.

She takes my arm gently, leading me back into my room closing the door before she speaks. “I was advised to get you any updates you ask for regarding Mr. Hargrove. I know that he was taken into surgery to repair the damage caused by his gunshot wound and attempt to extract the bullet fragments. I can go call the O.R. for an update now that you’re awake. You were admitted for a cardiac workup since you were having chest pains. You’ve only been here for about an hour,” she tells me.

“Cardiac workup? I just had a panic attack. The paramedics knew that. They gave me Ativan to stop it,” I say, confused.

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