No Safeword: Matte - Happily Ever After (Safewords) (8 page)

The Masterson’s court date was moved several times, and the following week Sam once again found herself in front of the judge.

She was determined to keep the other attorney from postponing the inevitable yet another time, so she made notes as Mr. Masterson’s attorney once again presented a pile of reasons the case shouldn’t be heard.

The judge eyed Sam, expecting her to protest, and she didn’t disappoint, pointing out it was important the couple find closure so each could move on with their lives, emphasizing the increased legal costs with each postponement, and a dozen other points of contention.

The judge asked questions of both sides and rubbed his forehead. Sam asked to speak again, and when the judge waved his hand in what looked like permission, she suggested the judge look over his remarks from the last time he allowed a delay. She knew she was skating on thin ice, but felt the risk negligible for this particular case.

She supplied the paperwork when she saw him flipping through pages without finding it, and could tell by the look on his face they’d be hearing the case today, before he said a word.

Things went well before the lunch break, and Sam ate with her legal assistant and Jenna Masterson while the three brainstormed a list of points Sam hadn’t brought up yet. Sam stressed, again, how important it was the judge see Jenna as mature and in control. 

Barely two hours after lunch, the judge awarded Jenna Masterson the house and everything in it except Mr. Masterson’s clothing and the items left to him in his father’s will. He ordered a police officer to escort the couple to the family home after court to make the changeover. He also awarded the highest percentage of alimony and child support the law allowed, with no visitation. He told Mr. Masterson he should continue with anger management classes and therapy, and when a psychologist was willing to state he could be around his children, he could request the court change the current arrangements.

Sam sent her legal assistant back to the office to prepare paperwork so they could get everything filed that afternoon. She wrote the name of a locksmith for Jenna Masterson, stressing she should have all locks changed, including the codes for the garage doors. She also gave her the name of someone who could make enough changes to her alarm system so her ex-husband wouldn’t know how to get around it to enter the home.

“Does this mean we can’t stay at the women and children’s shelter anymore?”

“I think it’s a good idea to stay there tonight, while his temper is likely riding high. However, I doubt he’ll want anything else on his record before standing trial in criminal court in a few weeks.”

Sam called the police service center to request the court-ordered escort for Mrs. Masterson. She again recommended Jenna Masterson allow her ex-husband to take any items belonging to him as a child, or given to him by his parents or siblings, as well as anything related to his job, and anything else with special meaning for him but not the rest of the family. “The judge is trusting you to be the adult, since it’s obvious your ex-husband can’t. You don’t want him bringing you back to court to try to get possession of something his father gave him as a child, for instance. It’ll just make you look bad.”

Jenna’s smile was huge as she said, “Ex-husband. Wow, that sounds good.”

Sam was told the officer was en route to the family home and would allow no one inside until both parties were present. She worried for Jenna’s safety as she sent her on her way, but hoped Mr. Masterson’s impending case in criminal court would calm his temper. If the judge found him guilty of aggravated assault on her as an officer of the court, the minimum sentence was five years and the maximum twenty. At this point, she didn’t see how he could be found not guilty, the only question was how long he’d be sentenced.

She turned her phone on, checked for any messages she may have missed while in court, and responded to a few before leaving the courthouse. Her phone was still in her hands as she descended the steps with the July sun blazing its punishing heat, and as she traversed the courthouse lawn she thought she might call it an early day and head home for a swim before meeting Ethan at the dojo.

She heard the thunderous boom as she was slammed backwards, and would’ve hit the ground if her fighting instincts hadn’t kicked in to keep her on her feet. She crouched in perfect fighting form as her eyes focused on the gun in Mr. Masterson’s hand, and she looked down to see blood blooming across her shirt, between her left breast and shoulder. It hurt, but she could breathe, and her brain went immediately into survival mode. She’d dropped her bag when he shot her, but still had her phone in her right hand. He was too far away for her to kick or hit, but she might be able to throw her phone flat, as one would a throwing star, and knock him off balance long enough to get close and take the gun. Or, it might make him shoot her again.

“Fucking cunt! You ruined my life! I lost
everything
because of you!”

Still not taking responsibility for his actions, but now probably wasn’t a good time to point it out. She was lightheaded and didn’t want to pass out, so she forced a deep breath despite the sharp pains it created, and tried to focus on staying alert. A few people were standing off to the side, watching, and she hoped someone called for help. She couldn’t think well enough to form words, and wasn’t sure what to say, even if she could.

There was yelling around her, and then she heard another gunshot and assumed he’d shot her again until she saw him fall. She looked up, towards the courthouse, and saw one of the bailiffs on the top step with his gun drawn.

She meant to go to her knees, but her legs gave out on the way down and it was more of a fall, so she landed on her ass with a painful jar. She stayed sitting up, though; she wasn’t sure she could breathe if she laid down.

Ethan
, she had to tell Ethan or it would hurt his feelings. People were coming towards her, but she couldn’t give them attention and call Ethan at the same time. She looked at her right hand, unlocked her phone, and pushed the icon for his cellphone. When he answered all she could say was, “He shot me,” before she lost consciousness.

* * * *

She came to as the EMT’s were working on her, the pain in her shoulder and chest taking her breath, and the clouds in the blue sky above swimming so much she thought she might puke. She tried to sit up but hands held her down as someone told her she was going to be fine. A man asked her name, and whether she had any allergies. He took the mask off her face and she managed to get out, “Morphine and Codeine,” but it hurt to talk. She remembered calling Ethan, but her phone wasn’t in her hand anymore.

“Ethan! I was…” She ran out of air, pulled more in despite the burning knives moving around in her chest as it inflated, and finished with, “calling him!”

“A courthouse officer took your phone and talked to him. Ethan’s your husband?”

“Yes.” God, it was hard to breathe, but she had to tell them. “Frantic. He’ll be…” She tried to say frantic again, but couldn’t get enough air past her vocal cords.

“He was told we’re taking you to Erlanger. I need you to stop talking so we can get you stabilized.” They put the mask back over her mouth and nose, which made breathing easier, but didn’t help calm the flaming arrows darting inside her chest.

Sam tried to relax but the pain wouldn’t let her. She wanted to scream when they moved her into the ambulance, and she felt every bump in the road on the short drive to the hospital. They were obviously driving fast and the sirens were going full blast — both signaling she was in bad shape. She felt her mind slipping into blissful darkness but forced herself to stay awake and aware. She wanted to tell Ethan she loved him, and she hoped he’d be at the hospital.

The ambulance slowed to make a sharp left turn and she assumed they were turning into the road beside the hospital. They turned again and hit some bumps, and finally came to a stop. The doors opened and she suppressed a scream as she was rolled out and jostled even more.

A nurse approached and began placing pads on her chest the instant they rolled her into the building. Sam talked into the mask, “Ethan, my husband. Is he here?”

Another nurse...no, she wasn’t in scrubs. A doctor? The woman followed them into an exam room and didn’t look up from her inspection of the entrance wound as she said, “We need to get you stabilized and get some pictures. Just lie back and try to relax.”

Sam yanked the mask off with her good hand. “I’m not going to relax until I see Ethan! He can stand in the corner while you do this, but if I’m going to die I want to tell him I love him one more time.”

A few people came into the room, and she realized she’d practically screamed the last part. She didn’t dare close her eyes, as she was afraid she may not open them again. She was running on adrenaline now, and needed to say what she could while it lasted. “We’ve only been married a few months.
Please
,” she begged, nearly in tears. “If he’s here, let me see him.”

The doctor nodded to the nurse in the doorway. “Put a gown and gloves on him; maybe he can help us get her calmed down. The note says she’s allergic to morphine and codeine and I’d rather not give her a sedative until I take a look at her records and we’ve had a look inside.”

“Thank you,” Sam said, relaxing a little just knowing he was in the building. “I can handle the pain, so don’t worry about pain meds. If you want me to relax; I recommend valium.”

The doctor smiled and said, “How many gunfights have you been in, exactly?”

Someone put something in her nose, and breathing became easier again. “This is my first.”

A few minutes later Ethan stepped into the room and Sam almost burst into tears. He walked to the foot of the bed and she reached her right hand towards him, but he shook his head. “They told me I had to stand here if I want to stay.” His hands rested on her feet and she realized she still had one shoe on.

“Bastard owes me a pair of shoes.” She tried to make her voice sound stronger, but it still came out breathy.

His eyes warmed and she could tell he was fighting tears. “Come home to me and I’ll buy you all the new shoes you want.”

A hospital employee wheeled a large machine into the room and Ethan said, “They’re going to take some pictures to see what kind of damage we’re dealing with. Just close your eyes and relax; let them do their job, Samantha.”

He used his gentle Dom voice, and Sam’s eyes drifted closed at the soft command.

She heard the doctor mention surgery, and heard Ethan on the phone with their friend Kyle, saying, “If you say he’s good I’ll trust your judgment. Can you call him and see if he can come now? They’re talking about wheeling her into surgery any minute.” He paused and said, “I don’t give a damn whether she scars or not; I just want you to get the surgeon here,
please
.”

She suspected the doctor may have taken her suggestion about the valium, because she suddenly didn’t care about the details as long as she could hear Ethan’s voice.

She must have drifted off, but when she felt Ethan’s hand caress her cheek she opened her eyes to see him looking down at her.

“Kyle recommended someone who specializes in the chest cavity; supposed to be one of the best surgeons in the nation. He’s going to take a look inside you and repair what he can. If I’m not here when you wake up, I won’t be far away. I love you, Sam.”

“I love you, too. I’m sorry, Ethan.”

He shook his head. “No need to apologize. I’ll see you in a few hours.” 

Sam knew Kyle would get the word out to the rest of their friends, and she hoped Kirsten or Tyler would come sit with Ethan. She wanted to ask about her mom and dad, but they began wheeling her away and all she could do was tell Ethan she loved him one last time.

Sam awakened to bondage, but Ethan wasn’t around. A woman she’d never seen before kept trying to tell her it was okay, but she was sure it wasn’t.

It took a while for her head to clear enough to realize she was in the hospital, but the nurse wouldn’t get Ethan for her, and refused to untie her wrists from the rails of the hospital bed. She didn’t know the surgeon’s name, but figured maybe it would help if she asked for Kyle.

“If you won’t get my husband, I’d like to see Dr. Richardson, please.”

The nurse blinked a few times and said, “But, you’re here for a gunshot wound, not plastic surgery.”

“True. Can you get him for me, please?”

The nurse looked at her chart again and said, “Oh, it seems he was in on your surgery, too. Let me see if he’s still here.”

Sam fought to stay awake, and was about to lose the battle when Kyle stepped into view.

“Oh, thank goodness. The nurse doesn’t understand what ‘take these restraints off me’ means. Can you help?”

He wrinkled his brow and began releasing her right wrist. “I can’t imagine why she left them on. They’re only to be used while you’re out of it, so you don’t pull bandages away without realizing what you’re doing. You seem lucid to me.”

“Any chance you can sneak Ethan in here?”

He shook his head. “Sorry, the ICU rules are pretty strict about visiting times, but I’ll talk to your surgeon and see if we can get you moved to a room.” He moved to her other side and said, “Before I release this arm, I want to be clear you need to keep your arm still, okay?”

“What kind of damage is there?”

He stepped to her head without releasing her arm. “The bullet tore through some of the outer sections of your upper left lung. It missed a major vein and artery by millimeters, Sam. You’d have bled to death in minutes if the bullet had hit the artery, and possibly before you reached the hospital if it’d hit the vein. The surgeon extracted the largest metal pieces, but there were a few small fragments we both agreed should stay, as we’d create more damage extracting them.”

She closed her eyes briefly and brushed away the panic she felt at coming so close to dying. Reopening them, she said, “Well, apparently I still have things to do. What’s it going to take for me to get back to normal?”

“You’ll need to take it easy a few days to be sure the repair to your lung has time to heal properly. Your surgeon will have to give you the specifics, but I imagine he’ll want you to avoid getting out of breath for four to six weeks.”

“And the pectoral muscle?”

“He and I worked together to repair it as much as possible, and then he let me close you up once we were finished, so I could give you a head start on not scarring so bad. I gave him an idea of your active lifestyle, and we gave you the kind of repair a professional athlete would receive.”

“But it’s a mess, right? Is that what you’re beating around the bush to keep from saying?”

He tilted his head. “It’s going to take a good bit of work, but we believe you have every chance of recovering full mobility and strength.”

Another doctor came into view and Kyle introduced them. “Dr. Lindsey, meet Sam Levi. Sam, this is your surgeon, Dr. Lindsey.”

Sam managed a weak smile. “Thanks for putting me back together. Any chance you can get me into a room my husband can be in? And I appreciate Kyle releasing my right arm, but I note he hasn’t released my left one, yet.”

“Let’s leave your left one as is; when we sit you up in a few minutes we’ll put it in a sling.”

“I get to sit up? Already?”

He smiled. “Most patients tell me there’s no way they can possibly move yet. Dr. Richardson was right about you, it seems.”

Sam ignored the fire in her chest as she took a breath and forced as much clarity into her brain as she could muster. “Okay, so you want to immobilize the arm? How long? When can I start working to get strength back into the muscle? Is it only muscle damage, or am I looking at tendon and ligament damage, too? How about bones? Did the bullet hit any bones?”

The doctor looked at his watch, and Kyle said, “Yes, she’s unusually coherent so soon after surgery. She’s kind of hard headed though, so I can’t say I’m surprised.” Kyle gave Sam a conspiratorial smile and added, “She hasn’t been married long, and her husband is probably the only person on the planet she listens to. We should get the two of them together as soon as we can. How long do you intend to keep her in ICU?”

Dr. Lindsey glanced at Kyle and focused on Sam again. “It’ll take some work, but I see no reason you won’t be able to regain full use of your arm. I’ll answer all your questions this afternoon, for now let’s see how you handle sitting up.” He reached for the hospital wrist cuff. “I’ll release this arm before we begin moving the bed, but please try to keep it still.”

Within moments the bed had her back almost vertical, and she felt much better. “Can I get something to drink?”

Kyle stepped away and the surgeon said, “Okay, small movements, let’s see what your pain levels are. Wiggle the fingers of your left hand, please.”

Sam tried to move them, but nothing happened. She moved the fingers of her right hand, as if to remind herself how it was done, and tried again. They moved this time, and she sighed in relief, and then winced as the change in breathing shot sharp daggers of fire through her left chest.

“Wiggling my fingers is fine but breathing’s a bitch.”

He nodded. “We handle pain management different for professional athletes. With the normal population we try to eliminate the pain with medication, and then try to convince them to deal with the discomfort of rehab even while drugged to kingdom come.”

Sam had heard this speech before and finished for him. “But with hard-headed athletes you use minimal pain meds to be sure they know when they’re hurting themselves, because we have a tendency to push rehab faster than we should, and we run a higher risk of re-injury.”

“Yes, exactly. I’m going to order more pain meds for you for the next forty-eight hours, but I need you to promise you’ll keep the arm immobile, and only walk as much as the nurse says you should.” He smiled and added, “I’ve seen your medical records and I know how many broken bones, and torn tendons and ligaments you’ve experienced. You’re an old hand at rehab, so you’ll know the drill; just wait for clearance to start pushing yourself. Let’s get you moved to a room and we’ll have a talk about the specifics with your husband present. You seem lucid but I’m sure you’d prefer a second set of ears.”

Kyle returned with ice water and a sling, and the doctor helped her into the sling without moving her arm too much. The surgeon left, and Kyle talked to her about sipping the ice water until she was sure the anesthesia was out of her system, so she didn’t get sick to her stomach.

He was saying goodbye when Sam lowered her voice and said, “Oh no, please don’t leave me alone with that nurse. She scares me.”

Kyle raised an eyebrow, and Sam lowered her voice even more. “She’s a damned closet sadist on a power trip, and I don’t have a safeword.”

“Wait, you’re really afraid of her?”

“Yes.”

He looked towards the nurse’s station before returning his gaze to her. “I can’t stay here until they get a room ready for you, but I can get you another nurse. Debbie’s on duty; I’ll have them swap you. If they ask, you’ll need to explain why you requested a change, okay?”

“You know this Debbie?”

“Debbie will treat you right. Hang on and I’ll fix things up for you.”

Within minutes, Debbie introduced herself and told Sam she’d be taking care of her until her transfer orders came through. She also told her the next visiting hours were only thirty minutes away, and she’d be allowed two visitors at that time.

Sam used her good arm to finger-brush her hair away from her face, and asked for a washcloth. Debbie said, “I’m sure your husband won’t care about your hair and make-up, Sweet-Pea. He’s just gonna be glad you’re sitting up and talking.”

“I know, but I can’t imagine how worried he’s been about me and I want to look as strong as I can when he walks in. I want to show him I’m okay.” She remembered the look on his face when he’d promised to buy her all the shoes she wanted if she came back to him.

Debbie looked at her a second, and nodded before turning to leave. She brought a warm washcloth and a mirror, saying, “We really only need to wipe the eye makeup from under your eyes, and you’ll be fine. I’ll do your left eye, to keep you from having to reach across as it’s going to hurt more than you realize.”

No, she knew how bad it would hurt to reach across, because she’d done so to finger-comb her hair, but she didn’t tell Nurse Debbie.

When the doors opened, Ethan was the first through them, followed by her mom. She was thankful Ethan walked to her left side, leaving her mom on her right. She knew Ethan would be careful with her, but her mom was likely to reach for her nearest hand without noticing whether it was in a sling or not.

Ethan rested his hand on her left thigh, content to stand there and touch her as Sam’s mom prattled on about how worried she’d been. Sam held her mom’s hand and soothed her, assuring her she’d be fine and trying to not comment as her mom pointed out if she’d chosen a job more fitting for a lady then perhaps she wouldn’t have been shot.

She knew her mom needed to talk to get rid of some of her nervous energy, so she let her prattle at high speed a few moments before interrupting with, “Is dad here?”

“Oh! Yes. I should go out so he can come in. They’d only let two in at a time, and Ethan made it clear he would be back here the entire time.”

Her mom appeared to approve of Ethan’s stance, but Sam knew her mom was just hoping for grandkids at this point. She always had ulterior motives.

When her mom was out of earshot Sam said, “Thanks for protecting my bad side, but can you move to my right side so I can touch you now? My dad will be careful.”

Ethan fingered the empty hospital cuff, still attached to the bed. “I find myself pissed that someone besides me restrained you. I hate that you had to wake up without me beside you.”

Sam lifted her right arm and Ethan walked around the bed. She reached for his hand and squeezed it. “When they wouldn’t get you, I asked for Kyle, and he released my right arm and then got help to put my other arm into a sling.”

Sam’s dad stepped into Sam’s little curtained area, and Sam squeezed Ethan’s hand again as her dad walked to her bad side, leaned in to kiss her on the cheek, and said, “I’m glad to see you sitting up and smiling. We were worried.” He glanced at Ethan and added, “I did some research on the thoracic surgeon your new husband requested, and he’s one of the best in the country, apparently. I didn’t know you had a friend who’s a plastic surgeon, but it sounds like he sewed you up to try to keep the scarring to a minimum.”

Sam nodded and felt it in her chest. She knew she had a lot of rehab in front of her, but for now she was on cloud nine, sandwiched between her dad and Ethan, with the knowledge she’d live and would eventually be back to one hundred percent.

It took them several hours to move her into a room, and she wasn’t able to fully relax and fall into a restful sleep until she could do so with Ethan holding her good hand.

It was the next morning before the surgeon went over her injuries in detail. He brought a few images showing the muscle damage, and used a pencil to mark the bullet’s path on a diagram detailing the lungs, muscles, and major arteries. The bullet had gone in and turned sideways a little, coming to rest near the artery supplying her left arm with blood.

Ethan clutched her good hand as he saw how close the bullet had come to hitting the artery leading from her heart.

The remaining bullet fragments glowed bright on the images, but were no bigger than grains of sand, and mostly near the back under her shoulder blade. She’d envisioned metal shards, and breathed a sigh of relief to see the tiny pieces.

“So, basically,” she asked, “every muscle in my shoulder, including the ones in the back, have some damage?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so. Your front pectoral muscle sustained the most damage, but you’ll probably experience more trouble with the muscles around your shoulder blade, in the back.”

“Because you weren’t able to give those muscles the kind of repair you were able to afford the ones in front?” He nodded and she asked, “No bones were affected?”

“A few were nicked, and your shoulder blade has some stress fractures, but I don’t believe they’ll cause you any major problems as they’ll have time to heal while you’re taking it easy the next few weeks. You asked about tendons and ligaments, and there is damage, but it’s in places the muscles sustained heavy trauma and I’m not sure your body will differentiate between the two as you heal.”

Sam glanced at Ethan and looked back to the doctor. “I’ve come across some nutritional supplements that help with tendon and ligament repair, so I’ll begin taking them as soon as I get home. I have a physical therapist I’ve used in the past, but if you have one who specializes in this part of the body, I’m more than happy to go with your recommendation.”

He shook his head. “I’m sure yours will be fine, especially if he already knows how to work with you. Give his information to my assistant when he drops by tomorrow and he’ll get my instructions to your therapist so you can get started. I don’t want you doing anything to get out of breath for at least four weeks, and I want you to take it extremely slow for the next two weeks. We want your lungs to have a chance to heal before you push them.”