Page 12 of Velvet Chains

Iarrived at the ER in silence, my scarf wrapped tight around my neck as my hands fidgeted in my lap, while Alek parked in the staff lot and helped me out without a word.

“What story do I give them?” I asked.

“You don’t give them a story,” Alek said simply. “Someone tried to strangle you. They’ll ask if you want to press charges. You say you’re the DA. They can’t say anything.”

“I know, I know. HIPPA.”

“Right,” he said, then turned to look at me. “Ruby, are you…I mean, I know you’re not okay. I don’t want to ask you if you’re okay because that’s a stupid question. But last night was a lot and I just want you to know that I’m here for you.”

I smiled. “I know. That’s why I hired you as my counsel.”

“Outside of being your counsel,” he said, not even smiling at my joke. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I guess I’m grateful to Batman after all.”

We weren’t the kind of friends who hugged a lot, but I couldn’t help but throw my arms around him. “Thank you,” I said. “For everything.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, pulling away from me. “Now let’s get you seen by a professional before anyone spots the DA hanging out in front of an ER and sobbing.”

“I haven’t even cried!” I protested.

“Yeah, but do you think the paparazzi care?”

I laughed, shaking my head. “I’m a DA. Not a Kardashian.”

“Shame. I feel like you’d take me to nicer places if you were a Kardashian.”

We stepped into the hospital and through the wide automatic doors, the air sharp with antiseptic. It hit the inside of my nose and made my eyes water, or maybe that was just everything else catching up to me.

The receptionist at the front desk looked up, polite and distant—until she registered my face. Her mouth parted slightly.

Recognition. Sympathy. Curiosity.

And…there was a flicker of memory nagging at the back of my mind, making my heart ache: Kieran beside me instead of Alek, voice teasing as he said he was my husband, as he took care of me all night.

It hurt worse than the bruises on my neck.

Alek leaned in, voice low but steady. “This is District Attorney Marquez. We need a private room.”

“I’m afraid there are no private rooms,” the nurse said. “All patients must be seen by triage first.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Alek said. “We don’t want to hop in line. We can wait for triage as long as necessary. But we would like somewhere private to wait, even if it’s a janitorial closet.”

There was something oddly reassuring about watching Alek turn on his lawyer voice—it was like watching a bomb tech cut a wire with steady hands.

The receptionist’s eyes widened in recognition, then she nodded quickly, tapping on her keyboard for a few interminable minutes. “I’ll be right back,” she said to the person working with her as she got to her feet. “Right this way, please.”

We followed her down a side hall, past curtained bays and flickering fluorescent lights. The further we went, the quieter the hospital became. No one stopped us.

They led us to an exam room tucked behind a partially closed curtain. I sat on the edge of the bed, and the nurse murmured something about the doctor being with us shortly. I nodded without really hearing.

“A nurse will be here for triage soon,” she said. “You might be moved again.”

“Noted,” Alek said.

“Okay,” the receptionist, whose nametag was obscured by her long blonde hair, said. “I’ll leave you to it.”

Her footsteps receded before I moved to sit on one of the large plastic chairs next to Alek.

“Can’t believe Julian thinks it was a lover who got carried away choking me,” I said to break the tense silence. “I told him it was the window guy.”