Your Neighborhood Vixen: The Neighborhood #3

  Your Neighborhood Vixen

  The Neighborhood #3

  Tarrah Anders

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Epilogue

  Dear Friends,

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by Tarrah Anders

  I dedicate this to women.

  Don’t ignore the signs of any sort of chest pressure.

  * * *

  Signs of heart attacks in women are much different than they are in men.

  COPYRIGHT © 2019– TARRAH ANDERS

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the email address below.

  Tarrah Anders | Tarrah Anders, LLC Tarrah.anders@gmail.com |www.tarrahanders.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Book Formatting: Tarrah Anders, LLC

  Cover: Jess Bryant Designs

  Ordering Information: Your Neighborhood Vixen

  ISBN: 9780463669723

  Chapter One

  I’m lying on the dirty floor in the storeroom of The Neighborhood Bar.

  Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

  The squeezing in my chest is killing me and feels like someone keeps tightening the imaginary corset around my body. I am not sure how long I have been lying on the floor in here, but as I look around, I note that it could use a thorough cleaning.

  I sit up and take a few breaths, then stand.

  Okay, I can do this. Maybe it was a mini-panic attack. Maybe I have some indigestion, and maybe, it’s the root of why I want to throw up. Oh shit, there’s the squeezing again.

  I resume my place on the floor, as the position of lying down feels best, and continue with the deep breaths.

  One hand is clutching the space below my breasts, and the other is under my lower back. I feel like I’m holding my insides in, but it feels as if it lessens the pain instead as I apply pressure.

  Deep breath in.

  Deep breath out.

  Ow. Ow. Ow. This is not a fun feeling.

  The storeroom door swings open, I turn my head, and through my blurry vision, I see a pair of black sneakers rushing to me. Hands reach out hesitantly, and then I meet the worried gaze of Miles, the brother of the owner of the bar.

  “Fuck, Rhi. What the hell are you doing here on the floor? Are you okay? You’re crying. You’re not okay,” he goes on to ramble.

  “Tightness,” I choke out around the flood of emotions that I wasn’t aware I was dealing with.

  “Can you sit up?” he asks.

  “I can, but I would prefer to lay down,” I hiccup.

  He stands and pulls his phone from his back pocket. I don’t see what he’s doing, but he calls for Noah in the main part of the bar.

  “Miles, if this is another one of your random punching games- shit!” Noah’s feet rush to my side, and he is leaning down beside me a second later. He brushes away the hair from my forehead and tries, yet fails miserably, to give me a smile. I can see the fright in his eyes, and I know that this isn’t just a silly random cramp.

  Miles leans down beside Noah.

  “It’s too far of a drive for ambulance or car, so you will be taking a first class flight. We’ll be right behind and will be at the hospital as soon as we can.”

  “No. You guys don’t need to come,” I breathe out.

  “Bullshit. We’re family. It’s not like your mom is sober enough to get in a car and come. We’ll call her and offer her a ride though,” Noah replies calmly.

  “Medics!” I hear from the front of the bar.

  Miles stands up and rushes out of the room to meet them. I hear muffled voices then several pounding feet rushing towards me.

  “Hello, I’m Garrett, and this is Mitch. We’re here to take care of you. What’s your name?” he asks me.

  “Rhiannon Jones.”

  “Rhiannon, how old are you?” Garrett asks, pulling out stuff from his bag.

  “I’m twenty-eight,” I reply.

  “Ma’am, can you tell us what’s going on and where it’s hurting?” Mitch, the other paramedic, asks while maneuvering around the room with a backboard.

  “It feels like I’m wearing a corset that’s too small for me, and someone is pulling on the bindings to make it even tighter,” I say in between breaths.

  “Okay, and how long have you been feeling like this?” Mitch asks beside me, picking up my wrist and taking my pulse.

  “Off and on for the past few hours.”

  “Have you been back here like this for that time?” Miles asks with worry.

  “No, I was home. I only got here about thirty minutes ago,” I say, feeling another tightening around my chest. Shit! Holy mother of fucking demon ducklings, this hurts.

  I take in a shaky breath, and with tears in my eyes, I look to Garrett.

  “I’m ready to go now,” I say, my voice high in pitch.

  “Ma’am,” he obliges. They move me to the backboard and haul me up in the air. Miles and Noah are yelling something at Percy, the kitchen chef, as they trail behind.

  I hear Noah on the phone then tune out to just focus on my breathing.

  Moments later, I’m in an ambulance and confused.

  “I thought we couldn’t take the ambulance?” I ask.

  “The rig will take us to the field where we have the chopper waiting for us. There isn’t enough room for the chopper to land in the middle of the parking lot or the street. Ma’am, I’m going to have to lift your shirt then fix these here sticker-like pads. I’m going to get an EKG.”

  “Okay,” I say watching him lift my shirt. He places the stickers on my stomach and then around my rib cage underneath my breasts. He then places one of each of my legs.

  Then, with some weird contraption, wires are hooked up to the stickers like something out of a mechanics garage.

  Once everything is in its place, he turns to the monitor and asks me to try to be still. I do what I can, wincing as another tightening spell takes over.

  “What does it feel like?” he asks.

  “Like I’m being squeezed,” I reply, wincing.

  “Still how you mentioned earlier, like a corset?”

  “Yes, sir.” I nod.

  “The good news is you’re not having a heart attack. We’re still going to get you to Hollybrooke General as soon as possible though, so that way we can have a doctor rule out anything else that could be serious.”

  He begins to unhook me from the jumper cables but leaves the stickers in place.

  A moment later, we arrive at the open field with a helicopter waiting for us. Both medics unhook the gurney that I’m on from its place and then wheel me to the helicopter. There’s a pilot already sitting in the front who nods as I look over to him.

  “Patient is Rhiannon Jones, age twenty-eight. She is experiencing chest pains, originating on medial anterior. Confirmed a negative on the EKG, locked and loaded.” Garrett hits the side of the helicopter.

  * * *

  2.

  Chapter Two

  It felt like minutes that we were in the air before touching down again. I close my eyes to focus on my breathing. Garrett sits beside me, taking my blood pressure and measuring my oxygen while checking my pulse in between tapping something out on his medical tablet.

  When I open my eyes, I am looking at the blue sky with sporadic clouds above and the helicopter blades rotating as we rush toward the hospital entrance. We enter into an elevator, and I can feel the movement of the elevator descending as I lie on the gurney.

  “If it’s not a heart attack, wouldn’t it have been smarter, or more economical for my insurance, to just take the ambulance?” I ask in the quiet.

  “Even though the EKG demonstrated no heart attack, it’s preventative to assure that you’re seen as soon as possible. I sincerely doubt that it is a heart attack that you’re experiencing, but symptoms in women are much different than they are in men, and I would rather not take any chances, just in case,” Garrett explains calmly.

  The elevator doors open and there are people dressed in scrubs awaiting our arrival.

  “What do we have here?” a woman asks as she fixes the glove on her right hand.

  “Twenty-eight year old female, chest pains, negative on heart attack via EKG, but precautionary as she’s still experiencing symptoms.”

  They rattle off more medical terminology, and I grab the space under my breasts as the squeezing happens again. I’m wheeled into a brightly lit room, and the medical professionals around me do a countdown and then, by gra
bbing the sheet, they lift me in the air and transport me to the bed.

  “Rhiannon, I hope everything is okay. These doctors will take it from here, you’re in good hands,” Garrett says as he leaves the room.

  There’s a flurry of activity around me, many of the same questions, and then a repeat of the same tests. I’m exhausted from the commotion as this is more than enough excitement for me today. I’m asked to change out of my shirt and dress in a hospital gown. I’m covered again in wires. I have an IV attached to my right arm and vials of my blood sitting on the counter while a nurse types into the computer station.

  “Dr. Mattias will be in to see you in a few minutes. He’s on the rotation for this morning in the ED, and he’s great,” she gushes.

  “Um, Okay. Thanks for the quick Yelp review,” I reply quietly as she rushes out of the room. The door swings shut and then a thick arm pushes it open before it can close all the way.

  In slow motion, the most beautiful man that I’ve ever seen enters the small hospital room. He’s carrying a clipboard, and with his other hand, he’s clicking the end of the pen as he leans against the wall and looks over the clipboard.

  “Ms. Jones. I’m Luke Mattias; I’ll be your doctor today. I hear that you’re having some chest…pains?” he says, finally looking up at me. He schools his features and averts his eyes away from me then back to his clipboard.

  “Yup,” I manage to say, even though my mouth is dry as fuck. The air whooshed out of the room as soon as he walked in, making the room feel like a dry desert, or it could just be him.

  He clears his throat and nods his head. He grabs the stethoscope from around his neck as he approaches the bedside.

  “If you are able, can you please sit up?” he asks, coming to the bedside.

  He stands before me in dark blue scrubs, which fit his body perfectly. He has a jacket over his shirt with the hospital emblem on the breast area with his sleeves pushed up just below his elbow. He has short dark brown hair that is sticking up in all different ways, as if purposely. His light green eyes sparkle as he talks, and his smile, well - it could drop panties.

  Now I understand the nurse’s Yelp review of him.

  He must be quite popular around here.

  “I’m going to listen to your heart; I’ll need you to take some deep breaths.” He moves the back of my gown and leans in.

  “Deep breath in and out,” he says automatically. He moves the piece and listens to another part of my back and repeats the process a few more times until he’s satisfied.

  “Well, Ms. Jones, have you done anything out of the normal from your usual routine?” he asks, coming to stand in front of me.

  I think about my morning and shake my head. “I want to say that everything was business as normal.”

  “What’s life like?” he asks.

  “Pardon?” I tilt my head in confusion by this question.

  “Do you stress a lot? Did maybe your boyfriend piss you off? Or girlfriend?”

  “Oh, no. I think I have just about as much stress as the next person, but nothing more than usual. At least nothing is coming to mind right now.”

  “Boyfriend? Girlfriend?” he asks again, his professional demeanor slipping.

  “Neither,” I reply.

  “I’m sorry, that was unprofessional of me. Let me see….” He scrolls through the paperwork and then looks up at me. “Please lie back, I’m going to press on your stomach, and I want you to let me know if there is any pain associated with the pressure, okay?”

  I lean back against the hospital bed, and he lifts up the front of the dressing gown. He begins pressing down along my stomach, and I wince a few times from the pressure, however nothing stands out as painful that warrants mentioning. He nods his head and then pulls the tablet out from the pocket of his lab coat.

  “What would you categorize your caffeine consumption as?” he asks.

  “Basically, stick an IV in me, and I’ll be a happy camper. I need caffeine to function. It would be preferred if I could have a minion make it for me every morning and make sure I’m attached to the IV before I even crawl out of bed,” I reply jokingly, but also with a hint of truth.

  “Throughout the day or are you primarily a morning caffeine drinker?”

  “It depends. I tend to drink it only in the morning. On some occasions, I will have a soda or another cup of coffee.”

  “Headaches?” he asks.

  “Occasionally.”

  “What do you do for that?” he asks.

  “Aleve. It’s the only thing that helps when my head hurts.”

  “Are you taking that while on an empty stomach?”

  “Off the top of my head, likely. But I can’t say for certain each time. Is that not okay?”

  “Aleve is a medication that I would recommend taking with food. So, based upon all this information, I want to do a cocktail. It’s a twofer. I’m thinking there could be two different things going on here. I want to give you something for the pain to hopefully lessen the tightening that you are experiencing, but it may cause you a little drowsiness The other is designed for GI issues.”

  “Like gas?” I ask.

  “In that region somewhat. I’m suspecting that you may have the start of or already ruptured ulcers in your stomach.”

  “And the tightness around my chest?” I ask.

  “Your EKG is clear of a heart attack. Sometimes, we find that with GI issues, there’s a mention of tightness around the chest.” He stops and pulls out his pager and, with a frown, looks back up to me. “I have to check in on a trauma, but one of the nurses will be in to administer this. I’ll be back in a little bit.” His hand is warm on mine as he places it tenderly on me. He smiles, and then with one last lingering look, he leaves the small room.

  I’m sure as shit glad that he didn’t ask me about how I poop. I mean I wouldn’t want him, Dr. McHottie, to know the color, consistency, and amount of times that I do it.

  Nope. No poop talk with this doctor.

  Chapter Three

  My room has too many people in it.

  Miles and Noah are two large guys, and neither of them really need to be here.

  Noah was right; my mom was too drunk to come with them.

  So drunk that she couldn’t even get off the floor to come to the door.

  Noah had to break the door in because he thought she too needed medical assistance.

  Instead, she needed to sleep it off.

  Dr. McHottie hasn’t been back in from the trauma that he had to tend to, thankfully, as both Miles and Noah are over-reacting to everything.

  One of the nurses came in to check on me after giving me whatever cocktail that the doctor ordered and fawned all over Noah, making obvious swoony eyes towards him, but he just smiled and played it off as simple conversation.

  Miles elbows Noah and shakes his head as the nurse leaves the room. He flings his thumb to Noah while looking at me. “This guy.”

  “What?” Noah asks.

  “Have you been that long out of the game? She’s clearly into you,” Miles explains.

  “And I’m clearly into Valerie,” Noah returns.

  “Clearly,” I say, joining in.

  The nurse returns a moment later, this time with Doctor McHottie.

  “Oh, I see you have visitors now,” he says, walking in. He sets his clipboard down on the counter then turns back to Miles and Noah. “Dr. Mattias,” he greets them.

  “Noah, and this is Miles. I’m her boss. She was on the floor of my storeroom when Miles walked in and found her.”

  “Well, there’s no liability issues here, so I would say that you’re safe,” the doctor says.

  “Oh, we’re here for Rhi. She’s family. We’re here because she’s our friend, not because of the bar,” Noah replies immediately.

  Dr. McHottie nods his head and then turns to me. “Well, how are you feeling?”

  “Sleepy,” I return with a lazy smile.

  “Any pain?” he asks.