Never Giving Up (Never #3)(74)

I breathed out a sigh of relief, then sucked another breath more urgent than the one before. “Wait,” I rasped, suddenly terrified. “Could she . . . can this . . .” I couldn’t even make myself say the words. I ran a hand down my face.

“Mr. Masters, please, take a seat.”

I stumbled backwards and landed in the chair, putting my head in my hands between my knees. I felt Dr. Edwards kneel next to me.

“Mattie is going to be just fine. This is not an invasive procedure. We do them all the time, even on babies as tiny as her. I have never seen any real complications besides not being able to get the catheter in to begin with. The highest risk involved with this is infection.” I lifted my head and looked at her, trying to take in her words and hear what she wasn’t coming right out and saying.

Mattie wasn’t going to die. This wasn’t going to kill her.

“Well,” I said as I shook my head and ran my hand through my hair, “that was a fun little breakdown.”

“Mr. Masters, it can be very stressful having a child in the hospital, you’re doing just fine. And hopefully, if everything goes well, you won’t have to be here much longer.”

I smiled at her and watched as one of her colleagues lifted Mattie from her crib and they took her away without really giving me a second glance. I collapsed back into the chair again, a new exhaustion coming over me. How had Ella dealt with all of this for a week? I didn’t envy that Ella had been the one to take Mattie to the doctor to begin with, but now that I had a taste of the fear of not knowing what was going on with your child, I knew Ella had lived through something no one should ever have to.

I pulled out my phone to text her.

I have not given you enough credit for how strong and incredible you are. I love you madly, and Mattie is so lucky that you are her mother.



Also, they have taken Mattie to put in her PICC line. They say she should be back in about 45 minutes. How is everything going for you?





I could feel my hands shaking as I walked towards the chair where the bailiff was waiting to swear me in. He was big and burly. He also looked slightly unfriendly. He stood in front of me and made me promise I wouldn’t lie. I, personally, didn’t need the man to scare me into telling the truth, but understood the process and routine.

I took my oath and sat in the chair, smiling just a little at how full of uncomfortable chairs my life had been lately.

“Mrs. Masters, can you please tell the court where you were the night in question?”

I rubbed my hands on my thighs to wipe the dampness away and to try to tame the shaking.

“I drove back from the beach that night and came home to find my ex-boyfriend in our apartment, well, my apartment that we had previously shared. He wasn’t supposed to be there. We had an altercation and I left. I then went to my store, Poppy, to wait for my boyfriend to come and pick me up.”

“And how long were you at Poppy alone?”

“About an hour and a half. I fell asleep in the backroom.”

“What woke you?”

“I heard a banging on the glass doors.”

“What happened next?”

“I walked out of the backroom and saw a man standing outside the doors.”

“Can you describe the man you saw?”

“Yes. He was tall, perhaps six foot five. He wore a dark hoodie and dark pants. Um,” I stammered, trying to fight the nerves taking over. I also was trying not to look at Jason Ramie as I described him, Mr. Donaldson had warned me against that. “He had a defined chin, dark hair, light eyes, I think maybe blue? And his nose was crooked, as if it had been broken before.”

“What happened next, Mrs. Masters?”

“He asked me for food, and I thought he was a transient so I told him through the glass that I didn’t have any. Then he raised up his arm and was holding a gun.” My voice wavered slightly, and I took a deep breath. I tried to push the memory out of my mind and my eyes found my sister and focused on her. She smiled at me and nodded. “The man,” I continued, hoping I sounded a little more put together than I felt, “pulled the trigger on his gun and I was shot in the shoulder. The fall caused severe head trauma and I was taken to OHSU for treatment.”

I exhaled, glad I had made it through the retelling of one of the most terrifying moments of my life.

“Mrs. Masters is it true that you identified your shooter in a line up at the Portland Police station?”

“Yes.”

“Is the man you identified here today?”

“Yes.”

“Can you point to him, please?”

I raised my arm, just as Jason Ramie had when he pointed a gun at me, and aimed my finger directly at him.

“That’s him. The man who shot me.”

“Thank you,” he said to me. He then turned to the judge. “I have no further questions, Your Honor.”

“Defense, the witness is yours to cross examine.” The judge’s voice was short, cold, and sharp. It made sense though. She was obviously impartial and not interested in anything except order. Jason Ramie’s main attorney stood and buttoned his gray blazer, walking towards me with a slimy smile on his face.

“Good morning, Mrs. Masters, how are you today?”

Caught off guard by his question, not expecting to exchange pleasantries, it took me a moment longer than I would have liked to formulate my answer.