53. Clash of Titans

Brighton

Monday, June 12 th

12:03 p.m.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Kline lands beside me, the loud crack of his head connecting with the floor. Dax towers over us. He extends a hand and pulls me to my feet.

"Dax, how did you…" Tears spring to my eyes.

"Are you okay?" He pulls me to his chest, wrapping his arms around me.

"Yeah, I think so."

He brushes his thumb over my cheek, wiping away a tear, and turns, letting me go. He lunges for Kline, landing on top of him.

I try to stop him and scream.

Dax ignores me and yanks Kline up by the front of his shirt, plowing his fist into his jaw.

I grab him around the arm, begging him to stop, but he swats me away like a fly. Their movements blur, fists flying in every direction.

"Please, Dax! It's my fault."

The sound of grunts and the dull thud of flesh meeting flesh fills the air, my pleas going ignored. I continue to watch, unable to look away. Every punch stretches through time until Dax scans the room, eyes landing on me.

"Don't make excuses for him," he growls, his body shuddering. He pushes off a limp Kline and stands, popping his neck from side to side.

"Is that all you got?" Kline laughs, rolling to his side as he wipes the blood dripping from his nose. He stands, wavering and unsteady, as he gets up in Dax's face.

Dax rears back, his fist connecting with Kline's cheek. Kline's head flies back, and his glasses get struck off his face as he sails over the table, landing between the knocked-over chairs.

"Thanks, fucker. I've been needing to hit something since yesterday." Dax opens and closes his hand, shaking away the apparent pain.

"Fucking cunt. You messed everything up." A splash of red spatters across the floor and photos where Kline spits. He wipes the back of his hand over his mouth and pulls himself to his knees, using the back of a chair to balance himself.

Dax stalks toward him, his heels digging in, ready to slam his fist into Kline's face again. He rears back and socks him, knocking him to the ground.

I scream out, but Dax doesn't turn. He lunges straight for Kline again, grabs him by the shirt, and slams him against the cabinets. Every muscle in Dax's body is tight and shaking.

Kline groans and tries to twist out of Dax's grip, but Dax tightens his hold, bringing his fist back and landing a punch to the side of Kline's head.

If the detectives show up in the middle of this, I don't know how we're going to explain it. Dax wasn't supposed to be here. I don't know what will happen now that he's involved.

"Stay the fuck away from her," Dax snarls, rearing back to land a kick in Kline's stomach.

The door of the lounge flies open, and a crowd enters. My eyes land on Hudson, but he's stuck behind the group. Screams and yells boom throughout the room, but I don't focus on what they're saying. Someone races toward Dax, trying to restrain him, but he yanks out of their grasp and slams back into Kline, grabbing him by the shirt again and throwing him down on the floor.

Two security guards grab Dax by the arms and haul him away from Kline.

"I'm fine. I'm done." He shrugs them off, wiping his forearm across his chin. They let him go, and he glares at Kline before scooping his hat off the floor and re-situating it on his head.

Kline charges Dax and slams into him as they fall over the table and chairs.

It all happens so fast. There's a snap and a deformity as Dax's shoulder dislocates, and he shrieks in pain, before he crumples to the floor, Kline half-landing on top of him.

I race to Dax's side as his eyes roll back in his head and his eyelids flutter, his face ghost white.

Someone grabs me and hauls me away from him.

"Let go! Let go!" I yell, trying to break free.

"Dr. Fields. Stop. Dr. Fields!" I jerk to the sound of my name and find Hudson pulling me away. "He's gonna be fine. Calm down."

"I need to help him."

Lauren rushes to my side and takes my face in her hands. I flinch at her touch, the soreness in my jaw manifesting quicker than expected.

My lungs expand and contract, but no air is getting in. I'm dizzy and sit up, trying to orient myself. The black spots come, and Lauren is there.

The sensation of my body coming in contact with the cool linoleum is the last thing I remember before the overwhelming smell of ammonia fills my nose. Lauren's wide, dark eyes meet mine as she cradles my head in her lap.

"You're going to be alright. I'm not going anywhere." Her hand brushes against my cheek, and she gives someone towering over us a stinted smile. "I think she's in shock."

Her face goes in and out of focus. I close my eyes, and my thoughts go fuzzy. Vomit is on my tongue and splashing the floor before I can stop it. I wipe a hand over my mouth as the tears pour down my face, and trembling overtakes my body.

"That's not how things were supposed to happen." My voice comes out as a plea.

"I know." She shushes me. "I know."

I push against the floor with one hand and sit across from her, wrapping my arms around my legs. Some hairs fall loose, and I duck my head to hide my face as I wipe a hand across my cheeks. This can't be happening.

She stands, reaching her hand out for me to take. I grab it, and she pulls me to my feet. I get a quick smile as she brushes loose hair behind my ear. "Look at me. Are you okay? Oh, my god." She races to the sink and soaks a towel under the running water. She brings it back, directing me to lean against the counter. "I told you this was a bad idea."

"What happened to letting me know he was coming?" I take the rag from her hand, dabbing it over my cut lip. She snatches it back when she sees me wince and blots it over my left cheekbone.

"I tried. You didn't answer." The other buzz from my phone. Maybe it wasn't a reminder after all.

Hudson eyes me and makes his way to the opposite side of the lounge as his partner directs everyone else out of the room.

"HR will take care of him. Sit here while I get some gauze." Lauren pulls out a chair.

My head flies up. "For what?"

Shock registers across her face, but she says nothing. She takes hold of my hand, the one holding the towel, and lifts it in front of my eyes. I stare at the stains, and my stomach gets queasy again. That's a lot of blood.

Oxygen is overrated. A strange sensation washes over me, and my head spins. I glance over, seeing Dax ushered to a chair as my eyes blur. I bury my head in my hands, hearing multiple footsteps scurry past. I shake my head back and forth, pinching my eyes closed—if I don't react to this, maybe it'll all go away.

I bring my hand to the back of my head as pain shoots through my skull. My mind tries to grasp onto what Kline said, but everything happened so fast. There's something else going on here, but I can't put my finger on it.

What am I'm missing? What was he trying to warn me about?

Lauren kneels, setting a comforting hand on my knee. "The detectives can take it from here. I told you not to get involved and look at what happened."

"Brighton? I knew I shouldn't have let you—" Luca comes to an urgent stop after racing through the door, his eyes assessing the room and all the damage.

"Can I talk to you outside for a minute?" Hudson puts a hand on Luca's shoulder, not leaving room for him to argue as he directs him past the last of the crowd and into the hall.

"Where's Dax?"

"Here." He raises his hand from the chair at the far end of the room, and I get a weak smile. Two nurses flank him, discussing how they want to go about relocating his arm.

Lauren gives me a sideways glance, lifting my chin to get a better look at me.

I hate the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach, but I have to sort this out. My eyes bounce from face to face until they land on Kline.

His hands fly in every direction as he tries to explain something and shoves a nurse away. The nurse comes back, explaining the need to suture the cut on his forehead as the blood trickles past Kline's brow and along the rim of his eye. He shouts something, but I can't make out what it is above the ringing in my ears.

And everything falls apart in slow motion.

Kline pushes off the chair, only a quarter of the stitches done, and pushes against the chest of the man standing in front of him. He gets cuffed and forced into the seat. Dax lets out a cry of pain as the nurses relocate his arm.

"Is he being arrested?" I mumble through my swollen lip.

"Assault and battery charges," Hudson says, kneeling in front of me. "I told you to wait."

"I thought I could do it." I smile, but it pulls at the cut on my lip, and I let out a groan. "And I was right. Check the cameras. Everything should be on the cameras. You can talk to Eugene. He can get it—"

"That's the least of my worries. But this"—he takes a hold of my chin, turning my face from side to side as he examines it—"is not okay. Dammit, you're stubborn."

A hearty chuckle comes from behind me, and I whip around, gazing up into Dax's stormy-blue eyes. My heart trips over itself at the look he gives me. "You can say that again."

"Are you going to file charges against Dax?" I direct my question to Hudson. Dax places a hand on my shoulder, and I wrap mine over his, squeezing.

"We'll review the case with the prosecutor's office, but we're going to recommend no charges since he was protecting you."

I drop my head and pinch my eyes closed. "I wanted to piss him off but didn't think he'd take it this far."

"You got him put on administrative leave. You think he'd be okay with that?" Luca's voice chimes in from the doorway, his arms crossed over his middle. "When you explained your plan, it didn't involve the cops. Is there something you're not telling me?"

"It was good timing," I say. Hudson and I share a glance before I drop my gaze. "Did you get my laptop? I had it recording. He smashed it, but there should be something on there."

"I'll get IT to look at it." Luca pats my shoulder and gives me a weak smile.

Phillip comes into the room with a sling for Dax and a weary smile as Kline gets escorted past us into the hallway.

"You've got the wrong guy," Kline wails.

"You're under arrest for assault and battery. You have the right to remain silent—"

Kline continues yelling something about the malpractice and wrong information about the murders. He rips and pulls against the cuffs, bumping into people as he passes by.

"Or don't, I don't care." Dardson hands him off to a uniformed officer in the hallway. "I'll be in to question him after we get this wrapped up."

The room buzzes with voices, and I try to drown them out by trying to remember what Kline said. Something about trying to keep me out of things. And having it all wrong. What was it about not knowing what I've done?

I groan in frustration as the sound of a chair scooting along the linoleum snaps me back to the present, and I glance around to see who's talking.

Hudson sniffs. He gets out his phone, sets it on the table, and takes a seat across from me. Leaning forward, he grabs his wallet from his back pocket and opens it, pulling out a business card. His eyes scroll across his screen, and he pulls a pen from his breast pocket before writing a number from his phone on the back of the card.

When he's done, he slides the card across the table in front of me. He taps it twice, and our eyes meet as he informs me, "They offer counseling. We can't protect you if you don't—"

I cut him off. "I don't need protection." Right? I snivel, grabbing the card, and avert my gaze. I can't focus on everything with the haze in my brain.

He continues without skipping a beat, "—let us. You can fool others for a while. You can even fool yourself, but"—he leans forward, his elbows on the tabletop, looking me directly in the eye, and whispers—"if he's our guy, what makes you think this won't happen again? He could show up at your house or find you outside of work. I can't keep an eye on you everywhere. Besides, we can't keep him in jail forever. Once bail is set, he can be out within twenty-four hours. What then?"

I glare at Hudson through tear-stained lashes and wipe my hands across my cheeks, flinching when my hand comes in contact with where Kline was gripping my chin. I sense the pressure of Kline's hands. His rage. His hatred. I remember his words. But I can't wrap my head around their meaning. I don't understand any of it.

Lauren takes this as the time to insert, "I'm just gonna . . . I'll be at the nurses' station. I need to make sure Dax has his prescription."

"Wait, I'm coming too." I stand, knocking the chair into the table. "We're done here."

"We need a statement from your boyfriend," Hudson hollers after us.

"I'll give him your card."

A few minutes pass, and I steady myself against the counter, standing beside Lauren at the nurses' station as she informs Dax of precautions he needs to take after a dislocation and hands him a prescription.

"Can we give you a ride home?" Dax's voice draws me out of my thoughts.

"I don't think you're in shape to drive." I smile at him, wincing from the pain, and poke his swollen fingers.

"Semantics." He readjusts the sling strap on his neck.

"I'll drive. Let me grab my purse." I take a couple of steps toward the hallway, stopping at the thought of what took place and how it got out of control.

"Liam's waiting downstairs."

"I need to talk to HR and give a statement, see if they got the footage. It all happened so fast; I don't remember the details."

"Can I come by to check on you later?" He brushes a hair out of my face, rubbing his thumb across my jaw. When I wince, he leans in. "I'm sorry."

"That would be perf—" His lower lip grazes against mine, a silent confirmation that he's glad I'm okay. I lean in, not caring what anybody thinks, when Hudson's voice interrupts us.

"What do you mean there's not enough?" He storms out of the hallway with his phone pressed to his ear and marches toward the elevator.

"What if I swing by and pick you up here when you're done?" Dax and I share a worried look.

"I'll be fine. I'm sure it's no big deal. I have paperwork and need to finish my clinic. Nine?"

Dax squeezes my hand and takes his time before joining Hudson near the elevators but stays a few feet back. He tosses an uneasy look over his shoulder, and I smile, trying to put his worry at ease.

Hudson jams a finger into the call button and stalks back and forth as he waits for the elevator to arrive, not noticing Dax is behind him. Hudson's mouth continues moving, but I can't make out the rest of his conversation. Seconds later, not able to take my eyes off him, I wince when he pounds an angry fist against the switchboard.

This doesn't look good.