The Academy Saga, III : CAP & Gown by CJ Daly

Author:CJ Daly [Daly, CJ]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Brandylight Ink
Published: 2021-03-31T16:00:00+00:00

2

WAKE-UP CALL

I came to with a full awareness of where I was, what had happened, when it happened, and who had done it to me. But my first thoughts weren’t plotting revenge, or wondering if my handsome mug would be permanently disfigured, or even ones of betrayal.

Loss. That’s what I was feeling. And pain. Everywhere, but most acutely in my chest. It felt like there was a ripping hole there, even though I didn’t think that part of my anatomy was even injured.

That fucking weasel ripped off my wife—right out from under me. Did not see that coming. Stupid. Never underestimate an opponent—the first rule of combat.

I slit the one eye I could open. Saw what I expected: a sterile hospital room, a worried-looking Mexican nurse with one of those caps you only see hot girls wearing on Halloween in the States. She was conferring with a pale but stoic-looking doctor. I was a VIP.

I wasn’t worried about anything except getting the hell out of here. I needed a phone. I needed a chopper. I needed to get my wife back. STAT.

I sat up. Bloody hell. I laid back down. My head felt like Bruce Lee karate chopped a cinderblock over it. I winced from the air movement alone—my cheek felt fragile as fuck. Motherfucker! I didn’t know how, and I didn’t know when, but I was going to beat Davenport’s face in. He’d never be pretty again.

The couple in white came over to check my vitals. I just realized I was hooked up to IV bags. “Phone,” I croaked.

A Mexican accent, in perfect English, inquired how I was. How the hell do you think I am? “I’ll live” is what I actually said. Then: “How long have I been out?”

“Approximately twelve hours.”

They were long gone. I rubbed at my chest, using the hand attached to the arm I could still move. My right arm was bandaged and taped down so I couldn’t use it. Screw me. I was right-handed. “I need a phone,” I directed. She might still have her cross on.

“Please, Señor Nealson. I’m you’re attending physician, Dr. Arellano,” he formally introduced. “Please lay back and rest. Allow us to notify your family.”

There was no resting. And half my family was gone. I needed my phone to get her back. “Just give me my cell phone,” I ordered, and watched as they unhelpfully checked my vitals. “Where’s Pedro?”

“Waiting outside and very concerned for your well-being,” Dr. Fernando answered, blinding me with his pen light, presumably to check my pupils for dilation.

“Send him in,” I ordered.

The professionals peered down on me with polite detachment. I grabbed the railing with my good arm and rattled it. “Now!” I yelled in their faces. Wished I hadn’t. Laid the tank attached to my neck back down. Swallowed back nausea. “Get me my phone!”

“Señor Nealson, with all due respect, I am your attending physician. Therefore, I must insist that you lie back and . . .”

“I must insist that you back off and

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