Shadows of Recovery (Everhart Family #3)

Chapter 24

Twenty-Four

T he small city of Eldon Falls lay nestled on shared tribal land buried deep in the South Dakota terrain. Damon Whitlock stood on the porch of his family’s home. The welts on his back had finally become tolerable.

Damon felt a twisted sense of satisfaction as he considered the meticulousness of his actions, convinced he had left no proof of his crimes. His total possession of Sophie Everhart's body was his dark secret, one he believed she would never betray. The only thing he wished for was more success in his thefts.

The door behind him creaked open, and his father stepped out, leaning on his cane and dragging his long oxygen tubing, followed by his oldest brother, Nathan. The two men joined Damon, their expressions dour.

Trace looked at his youngest son, concern etched on his rugged face. "How are you feeling, son?"

Damon did his best not to glare at his father and brother. "Dad, how do you think I feel after being caned?"

Trace’s voice was firm. "Son, I won't justify a decision made in everyone's best interest."

Nathan, the eldest, frowned, his eyes sharp with frustration. "Thanks to you, I need to report to the highway patrol with our attorney in the morning. So don't act all high and mighty. I need to know what you did. Who did you harm or kill directly? Besides putting a hospital filled with people in danger. And what did you do to Dr. Everhart?" he demanded.

Damon remained cocky, his smirk unfaltering. "No one saw me do anything to that little lady doctor.” His mind flicked back to the sight of her nearly drowning and freezing in that muddy, sewage-filled puddle. "She won't be credible, and if she does become a credible witness, well, she'll be running our clinic and taking care of the tribe and our people."

Trace’s eyes narrowed. "You better be sure, Damon. This isn’t a game."

Damon shrugged, his confidence unshaken. "No one could prove I was negotiating on the phone. I'd place the blame on one of the dead. They learned that two of their people died. And no one could identify anyone who held the patients hostage. Everyone but me wore a mask."

Nathan’s face tightened with worry. "What about the hospital security footage? The police aren't idiots, Damon."

"I took care of that too," Damon replied. "Deleted everything. No evidence left behind." He also knew he washed his DNA out from inside her.

Trace's expression remained stern. "We’ve built something strong here. Our little city is protected by fencing and its well-armed militia. The tribe and the local sheriff already leave us alone. The tribe is paid well, and considering the medical attention they’ll get, they’ll be beholden. And the sheriff… no one wants a battle."

Nathan still looked uneasy. "And Dr. Everhart?” he asked again. “How do you plan on keeping her in line?"

Damon's eyes gleamed with a dangerous light. "She’ll join us soon. I made sure she knows her place. Trust me, she’s in no position to betray anyone. She’ll be too busy running our clinic and ensuring the tribe's health. She’ll have no choice."

Trace placed a firm hand on Damon's shoulder. "You better be right, Damon. One slip-up, and everything we’ve worked for could fall apart."

Damon nodded, his expression unwavering. "I won’t let that happen, Dad. I've made sure of it."

The three men stood in silence for a moment, each lost in their thoughts. Damon’s mind raced with thoughts of his dark triumph, convinced his actions would remain hidden forever. As they stared out over the night lights in Eldon Falls, the town seemed to hold its breath, unaware of the secrets and sins lurking in the shadows.

Damon's confidence in their untouchable status was unshakable. He had covered every angle, silenced every witness, and ensured that Eldon Falls would remain their impenetrable fortress. The darkness would shield their secrets, allowing their twisted empire to thrive.

* * *

Kay Birdham was sitting at the nurses’ station in the acute admission ward, her fingers tapping impatiently on the desk as Tristan walked in. Despite the soft lights and comforting colors, she cast an unwelcoming atmosphere. Her deep green eyes glared at Tristan.

“Well, look who decided to show up to work,” Kay sneered, her eyes narrowing as she looked up at him.

Tristan took a deep breath, ignoring her tone and her statement. “Do you need something, Kay?” He kept his voice steady and professional.

She rolled her eyes and handed him a chart. “We’ve got a new admission. A forty-year-old police officer, heavily addicted and going through severe withdrawal. Seems pretty drug-seeking to me.”

Tristan frowned, concern etching his features. “I prescribed medication to help him get here without severe symptoms,” he said. “Did he take them?”

She shrugged dismissively. “Maybe. Doesn’t change the fact he’s a mess.”

“Let me see the chart.” He extended his hand.

Kay handed it over with a smirk. Her long red manicured fingernails grazed his hand. “Why are you here so late anyway?”

“I should ask you the same thing. I’ve checked on the Institute’s patients at this hour since I returned from New York.” Tristan’s expression softened as he thought of Sophie. “As you saw, I admitted Sophie today and waited for her to fall asleep,” he said quietly, not meeting Kay’s eyes.

Her mouth twitched, a nasty comment clearly on the tip of her tongue. But then she said it anyway. “You’re killing yourself staying with her constantly. You do realize she’s not Mimi.”

It was a blow to his heart. Mimi, his first love, had taken her life after being raped. He wasn’t there to support her. That wouldn’t happen with Sophie. He’d be dead first.

Tristan didn’t wait for Kay to say anything further. He looked at her ebony hair, not a strand out of place, her pale complexion and ruby-red lips. He couldn’t believe he once found her attractive. Now she appeared cold and calculating.

He scanned the chart she handed him, his frown deepening. “Where are the blood test results?”

Kay blinked. “I… I don’t have them,” she admitted.

Tristan’s patience was wearing thin. “Kay, we need those results to properly treat this patient. This isn’t a game.” His shoulders rose.

Kay crossed her arms, her jealousy flaring. “It’s not like he’s going to die without them tonight. And, honestly, Tristan, you’re spreading yourself too thin. Between Sophie, the hospital and this place, you’re running yourself ragged.”

Tristan shot her an angry look. “I’m fine, Kay. Sophie needs me right now, and so do our patients. Sam and James have picked up the extra medical load. If you can’t handle your normal share, maybe you should reconsider your position here.”

Kay’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you dare question my dedication. I’ve been here longer than anyone, including Sophie. I was the one who saved you, not the perfect Sophie.”

Tristan roared, “This isn’t about Sophie being perfect. Nor is it about you being there years ago. It’s about doing our jobs and taking care of our patients NOW.”

Kay bit her lip, trying to keep her temper in check. “I just don’t want to see you burn out, Tristan. You can’t save everyone.”

“I know that.” Tristan brought himself back under control. “Now, please, get those blood test results.”

“Get them yourself,” Kay huffed, stood and turned on her heel, leaving Tristan alone with the chart.

He rubbed his temples, feeling the day pressing down on him. As he glanced at the clock, he saw it was close to midnight. He had to keep going, for Sophie, and for the patients.

As he walked down the hall, he found Matt, the head nurse, on the ward, sitting at a pull-down desk reading a chart on another patient. “Hey, Matt. Do you have the blood test results for the new admission?”

Matt nodded, handing over a file. “Kay didn’t give them to you?”

Tristan shook his head, opened the file and quickly read through the results. His eyes widened slightly as he realized the extent of Kay’s mistakes. “No, she didn’t. And it looks like she missed something crucial again.”

Matt frowned. “That’s the third time this month. What are you going to do about her?”

“I’ll deal with it later. Let’s go see the patient.” Tristan led the way to the new admission’s room.

When Matt pointed to a treatment room, Tristan kept his temper in check, asking how long he had been waiting here. “Kay didn’t notify a house MD?”

Matt shook his head. “She didn’t page anyone, as far as I know.”

Tristan stopped and faced him. “You mean to tell me he’s been waiting for two hours? Why didn’t you page me?”

“Kay said you didn’t want to be disturbed.” Matt appeared sheepish.

“I’m never undisturbable.” Tristan rolled his neck and opened the door.

The room was dimly lit. A nursing assistant sat beside the patient holding a basin for him to throw up in. “Hi, Jake, I’m Dr. Tristan Blackwell. I’m here to help you,” he said gently, pulling up a chair beside the bed.

Jake Daniels nodded weakly. “Thank you, Doctor. I feel like I’m dying. But I can’t live dose to dose anymore.”

Tristan offered a reassuring smile. “I know it feels that way, but we’re going to get you through this.” He turned to Matt. “Let’s get him started on our withdrawal management protocol. He needs more support than he’s been given.”

Matt nodded and began preparing the necessary medications. Tristan examined Jake, listening to his heart and lungs, gently pressing on his abdomen.

“Jake, your preadmission ECG was normal. Your bloodwork is showing some issues from your heavy drug use. Hopefully, once we get you detoxed, we will see an improvement.” Tristan sounded encouraging, but internally he was furious. Letting patients writhe in pain was not acceptable.

Jake's hands trembled as he clutched the sheets, his knuckles turning white with the effort of holding on. Beads of sweat dotted his forehead, evidence of the fierce battle raging within him as he fought to break free from the grip of addiction.

Tristan's heart ached for the police officer as he watched the struggle play out before him. He knew all too well the pain and desperation that came with medication withdrawal, the relentless cravings that ate at him. The pangs Kay got him through.

"Focus on your breathing, Jake," Tristan urged, his voice a steady anchor. "In... and out. You're stronger than you know.” He breathed with him.

Jake's breathing began to steady as he nodded.

"That's it.” A soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "You're doing amazing, Jake. One breath at a time."

Tristan handed him a fresh bucket. A second later, Jake doubled over, retching. Tristan had seen this too many times and knew it was coming.

Matt grumbled under his breath. He too was annoyed the man was suffering and handed him a bottle of water, his voice tinged with a western twang. "Rinse and spit," he instructed. “It’s gonna get better in a little bit.”

Jake followed his guidance, his movements sluggish yet determined as he rinsed his mouth and spit into the bucket.

Tristan and Matt assisted Jake in changing into the Institute's pajamas. Comfort for the patient at Blackwell Institute was the most important thing, especially during this initial challenging time, and the soft, practical garments would make Jake's stay more manageable. He’d be identifiable as a patient in the acute unit. Plus, they allowed for easy access if medical personnel needed to start IVs—a necessary precaution in cases like Jake's.

"Start an IV of ringers, 500 cc at 150 ccs per hour, then switch to saline,” Tristan instructed Matt, his tone firm. “Draw another full blood panel covering liver and kidneys, and, Jake, can you try to give us a urine?" Hydration was crucial, especially given the toll withdrawal could take on the body.

As Matt drew blood and started the IV, Tristan drew up ten milligrams of buprenorphine into a syringe. He injected the medication into the muscle of Jake's right arm. The buprenorphine would offer some relief from the relentless grip of withdrawal. “Let’s also give him eight milligrams of Zofran IV.”

Next, Tristan administered a dose of clonidine to help alleviate symptoms like the muscle aches, nausea, and insomnia that would be plaguing Jake. The small white pill seemed almost insignificant in the face of Jake's overwhelming discomfort, but Tristan knew its potential to provide some much-needed relief. He watched closely as Jake settled back into bed, his body still trembling slightly from the withdrawal.

The minutes ticked by slowly, each one a small victory in Jake's tough journey to recovery. "Thanks, Doc. It's starting to take the edge off," Jake murmured.

As Jake’s eyes began to flutter closed, Tristan's hand ran through his own thick light brown hair as he focused on his patient. "Alright, Jake, I'm going to write some more orders. I promise, in a few days, you'll feel less like your skin is crawling."

Jake's eyes flickered with a mixture of hope and desperation as he listened to Tristan's words.

“Matt will be with you overnight. Any questions, Matt can call me.”

After ensuring Jake was stable, they stepped out of the room. “Thank you for your help, Matt. I know this isn’t your shift. Keep a close eye on him,” Tristan said. “His electrolytes are skewed slightly, and his ECG is irregular now. Keep him on the monitor.”

“Of course,” Matt replied. “And about Kay…”

Tristan sighed. “I know. I’ll have to address it. But right now, I need her to share the patient load until Ellen Boyle is fully up to speed. I’ll keep her off acute admits, and please keep her away from Sophie. One more thing—call me if there’s a problem.”

As Tristan walked back to Sophie’s room, he couldn’t help but feel the day pressing down on him. But seeing Sophie’s peaceful face as she slept reminded him why he was doing this. He leaned down and kissed her forehead softly, whispering, “We’ll get through this, Sophie. Together.” With that, he stepped into the hall, closing the door so as not to disturb her.

* * *

Instead of going home, the home he shared with Sophie, Tristan walked back into the doctor’s lounge to write orders for Jake, his mind swirling. The day’s events had left him feeling drained and vulnerable. Sophie’s presence in his life had stirred memories he had buried deeply. Kay’s words kept echoing in his mind.

“You know she reminds you of Mimi,” Kay had said, her voice dripping with contempt. And she was right. Sophie did remind him of Mimi, his late wife. The resemblance wasn’t physical, but in the way Sophie’s strength and vulnerability intertwined, much like Mimi’s had. The memory of his failure to save Mimi ate at him, a relentless reminder of the past. He couldn’t fail Sophie. Not again.

He stared at the picture of Mimi he kept in his wallet, her smiling face a painful contrast to the grief that followed her death. Vicodin had been a refuge then, numbing the pain, until Kay found him at his lowest. She picked him up off the floor, helped him stop pill popping, detoxed him and gave him the strength to face each day. He owed her a debt he could never fully repay.

But now, Kay’s behavior was jeopardizing the very patients they had sworn to protect. Her negligence and jealousy were becoming increasingly dangerous. The incident with Jake Daniels was the final straw. He had to confront her, put an end to her irresponsible actions. But it was complicated. The lines between gratitude, guilt, and responsibility were blurred.

Taking a deep breath, he found Kay in her office, her face a mask of apathy as she scribbled notes. “Kay, we need to talk.”

She looked up, her eyes narrowing. “What now, Tristan? Another patient you think I mishandled?”

“Not just another patient. Jake Daniels could have been seriously harmed by your oversight. His hydration levels were in the toilet. His potassium was low. And his liver and kidneys are in trouble. And it’s not the first time with a patient,” Tristan replied, struggling to keep his frustration in check.

Kay rolled her eyes, leaning back in her chair. “Aren’t you the medical doctor? I’m just the psychiatrist.”

“Damn it, Kay, you’re a doctor. When Sophie was hurt, I asked everyone on staff for their help.” Tristan shook his head.

Kay crossed her arms tightly over her chest, her green eyes narrowing as she took a step closer. “You’ve become so self-righteous since Sophie showed up. Is it because she reminds you of Mimi? Is that it?” The accusation was sharp, her voice tinged with bitterness and jealousy, each word cutting through the tension between them.

Tristan rubbed his chest, feeling a sharp pang at the mention of Mimi. “This isn’t about Sophie or Mimi. This is about patient safety. You’re putting patients’ lives at risk, Kay.”

She scoffed, crossing her arms. “I was there for you when no one else was. I helped you get back on your feet.”

“And I’m grateful for that, more than you know,” Tristan’s voice softened, “but your behavior is unacceptable. It’s jeopardizing the care we provide. Care rendered under my name. You’re better than this.”

Kay’s expression faltered for a moment, a flicker of something vulnerable crossing her face before she masked it with anger. “So what? You’re going to fire me?”

Tristan shook his head. “I don’t want to, but I will if I have to. You need to understand that your actions have consequences. If you can’t see that, then you shouldn’t be here.”

Silence hung between them, heavy and tense. Finally, Kay looked away, her defiance crumbling. “I just… I don’t want to lose you to her,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Tristan sighed, “You’re not going to lose me as your friend and colleague, Kay. But we are not in a relationship anymore. We’ve been over for five years. Sophie and I are in a relationship, and she needs me right now. So do our patients. You have to find a way to work through this.”

Kay nodded reluctantly, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I’ll try, Tristan. For you.”

“Thank you,” he said softly. “That’s all I’m asking.” He left her alone in her office.

Tristan felt a mix of relief and sorrow. Confronting Kay was necessary, but it also reopened old wounds. He would fight for Sophie’s recovery with everything he had.

Mimi’s memory was a constant reminder of the past, but Sophie represented hope for the future. Tristan knew that, to honor both women, he had to be strong, vigilant, and compassionate. He couldn’t change the past, but he could shape the future.

Sophie reminded him of his dead wife. He’d failed her. He wasn’t going to fail Sophie.