Page 84 of Bad Medicine

Mia

Istaredoutthewindow, watching the empty desert speed past as Rocco drove us who knew where. Linny had chosen not to come with us, instead saying she was overdue to visit her sister in Salt Lake City, packing up and heading out as soon as she could. As we held each other in the driveway, I prayed that it wouldn’t be the last time.

Looking out into the night, I felt a kinship with the darkness that surrounded us, almost as though it was welcoming me into its embrace, and the comfort I got from that thought was immense.

That was what I needed right now; nothingness. I’d have given anything for a moment—a single solitary breath—where I wasn’t being bombarded by my own odious thoughts.

My head was so full of regrets, a veritable storm of possibilities and worst-case scenarios, all swirling around, making it impossible to concentrate on a single one for any reasonable amount of time. One by one, these thoughts flashed thorough my mind; all my mistakes, all the things I should have done differently, the things I could still make right. They teetered dangerously in my mind, stacked up like poker chips, ready to topple at any moment and drag me down so deep, I might never see the light of day again.

Blowing out a sigh at my own moroseness, I turned, dragging my gaze from the endless sea of blackness surrounding the van to the front window, the way ahead lit for us by the beams of the headlights. On and on, we drove, chasing but never catching them, each mile we gained leaving us the same distance from victory.

Exactly how my life had felt for years; like I was on a hamster wheel, running as fast as I could, always hunting but never catching. Destined to be nothing but tired and dejected, over and over, until I died.

It was what I saw every day at the hospital.

It was what, when you stood back and looked objectively, we all had to look forward to.

Endless pursuits of fruitless endeavors until death.

That was really all life appeared to be.

For me.

For all of us.

The inevitability of it all disgusted me.

As though he could sense my thoughts, Rocco looked over, his concerned gaze making me feel like shit for the terrible direction my mind had taken me.

Life was about more than that, and I bloody well knew it. I was just feeling particularly sorry for myself tonight.

Not like I didn’t have a reason.

Once again, I cursed the day that Amber Davidson walked into my ER. If she’d have gone somewhere else—anywhere else—Greg would have likely never laid eyes on me again. He wouldn’t have seen me with Rocco, wouldn’t have felt the need to track me down to dig into my relationship with a man I now knew was his enemy.

And he definitely wouldn’t have learned about Jasper.

Looking into the backseat, I felt my chest lighten as I gazed upon the sleeping form of my son, the one thing in my life I would never regret.

There he was, safe and sound, clutching Roy to his chest, thanks, in part, to one man.

Rocco Campanelli.

What the hell was I gonna do about him?

“He still alright back there?” Rocco asked softly, the tender concern in his voice cutting me like a ten blade scalpel.

“Yes,” was all I said, turning around to face the front again.

“It’s gonna be okay, Mia,” Rock ground out, the determination in his voice seeming to be for him as much as it was for me. “I promise you, I’m gonna make this okay.”

I blinked at him, wanting more than anything to believe him, but said nothing.

Rocco sighed in frustration, turning back to the road with an aggravated grip on the steering wheel.

The image of him—rough, sexy Rocco with his Rock star-Mafia vibes—behind the wheel of my brand-new minivan was almost comical, but I still couldn’t bring myself to so much as smile.

We lapsed back into silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts, until Rocco pulled us up in front of a large industrial looking building.