Page 98 of Dirty Little Secrets
"Is this Emery Jones?"
I stir, groggy and fatigued. "Yes, this is Emery."
"Miss Jones, this is Dr. Aster calling from New York City General.” I jerk up, wincing from the sudden pain. “We have good news for you.A suitable heart has become available, and you are scheduled for a transplant later this morning.”
“Emery…”
Time seems to stand still as those words sink in. A wave of emotions floods through me—relief, gratitude, and a touch of fear.
Someone just died.
“Emery… Can you hear me?”
"Tonight?" I whisper, my voice barely audible.
“Darling, wake up.”
"Yes, tonight," Dr. Aster confirms. "We understand it's sudden, but it's an incredible opportunity. Please be prepared to come to the hospital within the next few hours.”
“Emery…”
My eyelids flutter open, and I find myself in a sterile hospital room. The harsh fluorescent lights sting my eyes, and I groan softly, trying to gather my bearings. My head throbs as I shift my gaze toward a figure hovering anxiously by my bedside.
"Damon?" I murmur, my voice weak and raspy.
The man's features soften with concern, and realization dawns on me, dissipating the cloud of confusion.
"It's okay, darling," Quinton reassures me, his voice gentle and soothing. "You fainted earlier, but you're in the hospital now. The doctors are taking care of you."
“Why…” I slowly prop myself up, my chest aching. “Why are you here?” The scent of hospital cleaner pricks at my nose. “Why am I here?” I glance around, foggy. “I was at…” The heart rate monitor beside me sounds in frequent, alarming beeps. My eyes widen and I jerk fully upright. “That man… He had?—”
“Shhh…” Quinton pulls up a stool and sits down beside me, cocooning my shaking fingers between his steady hands. “Relax, Emery. Please. I’ll-I’ll explain everything.”
I frown, temples pulsing. “I don’t understand, Quin. Why… Why are you here? Why…?”
Quin swallows, unable to meet my flustered gaze as he says, “Mikhail called my father shortly after you arrived, and my father called me.” My frown deepens. Quinton sighs. “My father, Charles, was the Cavanaughs’ lawyer. He’s the one who…” He winces. “He’s the one who set up the offshore account for Mr. Nicolau after the accident.”
I shake my head, not following. “What accident? What happened? I?—”
“Shhh…” he hushes me, stroking my forearm. “Just breathe, darling. I need you to?—”
“No!” I jerk my hand away from him. “Tell me! What happened? Why does he have that tattoo?” I place a hand over my heart. “Why does he have that date?”
“Emery, please?—”
“Tell me!”
Quinton sighs, nodding. “Three years ago, Damon was involved in a hit and run. He was drinking and?—”
My stomach drops. “No.”
“He…” Quinton cringes. “He was on the phone with me while it happened. He, uh, he ran a red light and hit a cab. The cab swerved into a telephone pole. The driver was paralyzed.”
“Mikhail…” Nausea stirs inside me. “He was paying him off.”
“There was also?—”
“No,” I whimper, shaking my head as tears roll down my cheeks. “He didn’t…” My heart hammers with the truth, with the repercussions of his actions, of his recklessness. “Please don’t?—”
