Page 53 of At Last

“Duke…” she cries. “Mama…”

“I got you, Peaches. Shh… I gotyou.” My voice hitches on theyou. Shit I need to get my shit together.

Sneak walks up to me, staring down at the blanket covering Jesse. He places a hand to my back. “Go,” he says. Though that one word comes strangled. He pauses. “Get to the hospital. I’ll stay, call the boys. We’ll take care of things.”

No. I can’t let him do that. Jesse is—was—my responsibility. Fuck.Fuck. “Appreciate it brother, but I’m the president. He’s mine to take care of.”

“Not now. Now you’re a man who has a woman in bad shape. Take care of your family, prez. Consider this a mutiny.”

My little Peaches, her tears still flow just as strongly, though she’s silent now, snuggling closer against me. And I know Sneak is right. My club, my brothers are important, but I got a woman who needs me, who don’t get how much I need her because I was an asshole. Time to take care of my family.

“Thanks, brother.” I tell him. “We’re heading out now.”

He nods, acknowledging me, but never takes his eyes off the blanket as he pulls his phone from his pocket. Knowing he’s got this, he has my back, I walk over to my bike and have to peel my girl from the death-grip she has on me to set her into the sidecar. Only now does she make any noise again, a whimper.

“We gotta get to the hospital, Peaches. Check on your mama. But I won’t leave you. Promise.” She lets me put the helmet and jacket that I kept stored in the sidecar on her, then buckle her in. After a final glance toward Sneak and Jesse’s lifeless body, I climb on my bike and thunder down the mountain to get to my woman.

After a ten-minute drive, with my girl in my arms, clinging, her arms tight around my neck, I stomp through the sliding glass doors into the emergency room of County Medical, the same hospital where Peaches stayed after her accident.

This part of the emergency room ain’t like how it is on all those medical dramas on TV. A bunch ’a people, some look sick, some stressed, some downright worried sitting in chairs, watching the silent television, checking their phones or stopping anyone in scrubs who looks like they might be able to help ’em.

I walk up to the check-in desk.

“How can I help you, sir?” The receptionist asks.

“Ambulance just brought an injured woman in. Caitlin Brennan. I’m her—” Fuck, how do I identify myself to this bitch? Quick-like I decide on “Man, partner. We live together. This is our daughter.”

Compassion spreads across her face. “Sure Mr.—”

“Ellis,” I tell her.

“Mr. Ellis,” she repeats. “Let me see what I can find out.” Then she starts typing on a keyboard. “Take the doors to the left. When you get there, I’ll buzz you through. Go down that hall and turn right. There, you’ll find the surgical check-in. They’ll be able to tell you more.”

“Surgical?” I shout, making Peaches jump. So I try to calm myself down at the same time taking off in a run toward the doors on the left. The buzzer rings before I reach it, letting me yank open one of the doors without waiting, and continue down the hallway. A right turn leads me to the surgical check-in station, just as the receptionist directed.

Out of breath and needing a cigarette real bad, I rush out to the nurse. “Caitlin Brennan?”

“You’re family?” she asks.

“Yes.”

She begins typing on another keyboard, but I’m met by a deep voice, “Mr. Ellis? Is that correct?”

I turn to see the doctor who treated Peaches. “Yeah, that’s right.”

“Karen,” he says to the nurse behind the desk. “This is Dr. Brennan’s partner.” Then, to me, “Not married, right?”

“Not yet.”

He nods his understanding. I finally have time to think, with it all happening so fast. But what Brutus said to me about wifing Doc and giving Peaches a brother or sister makes sense. Knowing that things might get complicated, what with medical decisions and Caitlin being a single mother. I could lose Peaches, too. Her parents would never let some tattooed, Harley riding man raise their granddaughter.

I follow close behind as he leads me to the surgery waiting room, which holds much fewer people, and tells me he’ll be right back.

My turn to nod. About five minutes after he leaves, three women and one baby storm the waiting room. Elise, Trish and Maryanne Doyle, Tommy’s old lady, come right at me. Tears and puffy faces.

“How is she?” Elise speaks for the group.

“Don’t know yet. The doctor went to check.”

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