“Nice to meet you, Shasta.” I step forward and offer my hand. “I’m Teagan, and I’m Isaiah’s nurse today.”

“I don’t give a flying fuck who you are, lady. I’m here to talk to my son. This little shit has no common sense.”

“This is a pediatric unit,” I say, infusing my voice with calm. “There are young children here. I’d like you to lower your voice and watch your language, please.”

“Yeah, Shasta,” Isaiah says, emphasizing her first name in a way that makes me think she hates when he uses it. “Nobody wants you here.”

“You know who came to my door yesterday?” She points a dirty finger at him, her nail bitten to the quick. “The police. That’s who. You and your stupid decisions made them come ’round asking me questions.”

“My stupid decisions?” He grunts. “I guess I learned from the best.”

“You’d better show your mom some respect,” she says through clenched teeth.

“Shasta, this isn’t the place,” Carter says.

She spins on him, a bundle of nervous energy—twitching shoulder, fingers drumming her thigh, foot tapping the floor to an irregular beat. “This isn’t your concern. You both get out of here.”

Carter takes one step forward and folds his arms. It’s not much, but it’s enough to put himself between the woman and her son, and his posture speaks volumes. If she wants to talk to Isaiah, she’s going to have to go through him.

“The police came to my door,” she repeats, jabbing a finger in the air toward Isaiah.

“I’m sure that must have been very stressful for you,” I say. I try to hide the sarcasm in my voice, but she spins and glares at me. “You must have been very worried about your son.” So worried that it took her another twenty-four hours to make it to the hospital.

“I want to talk to your boss. I won’t have some bitch talking shit to me.”

I smile sweetly. “I’d be happy to get the charge nurse for you.” I press the call button beside Isaiah’s bed and give the charge nurse the code for security. Better to have them on the way if this woman is going to keep up her attitude. “Why don’t you come with me, and we’ll find her together?”

“I’m not done talking to my son yet.”

“Yes, you are,” Carter says.

“You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Shasta doesn’t have custody of her son,” he tells me softly. “She has no legal rights here.”

“And you think you have rights? Did you carry him for nine months? Did you destroy your body to give life to this ungrateful little shit?”

“Mom, leave,” Isaiah growls.

Shaun, one of our security officers, steps into the room in record time. As discreetly as possible, I nod toward Shasta.

“Can I help you, ma’am?” he asks, stepping forward.

The woman stiffens at the sight of a man in uniform, but she lifts her chin. “Yeah. I want to file a complaint against this nurse. She’s disrespecting me.”