Among the Echoes(59)
"Her name is Erica," he clarifies, looking me directly in the eye.
"Shut up!" she screams, pushing him as hard as she can. My eyes go wide as I watch her detonate. "They will take him away from me! You *!" she cries, pounding on his chest. I loop a restraining arm around her waist, but she continues to wildly kick her legs and swings her arms. "I hate you. I f*cking hate you."
"Good, because I f*cking hate me too," Dave bites out. "But you know what? He needs to know you. And more than that, you need him to know, Erica."
"They’ll make us disappear. You know that!" she cries, crumbling in my arms.
"I won’t let that happen, I swear. Tell him all of it, babe. Free yourself as well." Dave nods to me and walks away, leaving me holding the pieces of the shattered woman I’m madly in love with.
I have no idea how long Slate and I have been lying in bed. He hasn’t said a single word since he carried me in here, but then again, neither have I. I’ve been lying facedown, alternating between crying, sleeping, and wanting to puke at the idea of telling him everything. I don’t think my past will send Slate running for the hills, but that doesn’t mean I’m not worried that it will ultimately make him leave. But no matter how long I wish I could put this off, I know it’s time. I suddenly roll over to face him and find him propped up on an elbow, watching me.
"You ready?" he asks, and the familiar words make tears once again flood my eyes.
"I think so," I whisper as he lies down on my pillow, only inches from my face. He places a hand in the curve of my hip and gives me an encouraging squeeze. I suck in a breath and prepare to spill it all. "My name is Erica Hill. I used to be an emergency room physician—" My words are immediately cut off as Slate leans in for a deep and lingering kiss. He holds his mouth to mine while breathing me in and pouring his heart out with only a single kiss.
He pulls away, flashing me a crooked smile. "It’s nice to meet you, Erica."
"Oh, God." I try to fight back the emotions, but the sound of my name coming from his mouth is just too much. It’s a word I took for granted for almost thirty years, but now, it’s something so incredible that it leaves me speechless.
In true Slate fashion, he holds me patiently, waiting for me to continue.
"Almost four years ago, I took a house call that changed my life. Everyone will tell you never to take house calls, but residents make shit for money. Combine that with over a hundred and fifty thousand dollars in student loans and just like everyone else without a rich mommy or daddy to lean on, I was broke. A guy I worked with did some after-hours stuff all the time. He told me the patient was some sort of hypochondriac that just wanted a doctor to tell him he didn’t have a horrible illness. I would later learn that some people can be bought for mere dollars. My crooked-coworker asked me if I would be interested in some quick cash, and of course I said yes." I stop to laugh at myself. "Well, a few weeks later, they called me in the middle of the night, asking if I could come right away. When I arrived, I was escorted in by a large man who immediately cleared the room so I could do my evaluation.
"The patient who was described to me as a hypochondriac was anything but. He was obviously ill, probably cancer, but I’m not completely sure. I never even got a chance to ask any questions—I was just the distraction. As soon as everyone left the room, three men came in through the back, firing a single shot to the patient’s head."
"Jesus Christ," Slate says, squeezing me tight.
"Please just let me finish."
He nods, but I know that, as much as he wants to know the rest, he doesn’t want to hear it.
"My patient, Miguel Rodriguez, was a very prominent member of one of the largest drug rings in Miami. Which, by the way, is where I’m from," I throw in with a shrug, knowing that I point-blank lied to him about that months ago. "Well, Miguel’s brother, Dom, decided to switch teams and work with Darren Wilkes, another prominent member of the drug world. Leo knows a lot more about this part than I do, but basically, Dom brought me in, playing the concerned-brother role as an excuse to see Miguel, then killed him in cold blood. I guess the cancer wasn’t doing it fast enough. Dom ordered his right-hand man to kill me since I’d witnessed it."
Slate flinches at my words, but he doesn’t say anything in response.
"I grew up with my aunt after my parents died when I was three. She was fifty-five when she took me in and passed away my first year of college. I have no family and I’ve always kind of kept to myself, so really, I was an easy mark for them." I pause, catching his eye. I know Slate, and this next part is going to hurt him more than it will for me to tell it. I toss his words right back at him. "You ready?"