“No, this can’t be happening,” I mutter.
Refusing to believe he’s dead, I check again, holding my own breath. Then I feel it, a faint beat tethering him to this world.
“He’s alive. Someone do something,” I command.
I hear the shuffling of feet. I don’t feel like they’re moving fast enough.
My nerves fraying, I yell, “Hurry the fuck up!”
August picks me up off the ground, and I fight before breaking down in his arms.
Another voice comes through the radio speaker, “Whoever it was is long gone. They took the shell casing.” I hear the tail end of the conversation. I’m not sure how they knew where to look and why they thought to even look at all.
Whoever the fuck this was is going to pay. They better be happy they got away. If he doesn’t make it through this…
No, he has to make it through this.
“He’s got to be okay. He has to August,” I state with finality that dares fate to challenge me.
Thomas became more than a guard. He became family, a father-like figure when mine has been gone. So, he’s not allowed to leave me. I refuse to lose another person.
I look over as they work to stop the bleeding. He was hit in the lower stomach and looks deathly pale. The bronze set to his skin is almost ashy.
As if he can hear me, I shout, “Fight. You hear me, Thomas. You better fucking fight.”
KARL
I walk into the hospital room, and Emma is in the same spot she’s been in for two days, only leaving to check on her sister and brothers. She hasn’t gone to school, isn’t eating, and is barely sleeping. I’ve given her time, but she will need to come out of her shell.
Thomas was touch and go for the first few hours. They operated, repairing the damage and retrieving the bullet. By the time we got to the hospital, Thomas had lost so much blood he also needed a transfusion. Now, he just needs to wake up. The doctors expect a full recovery but there’s no reasoning with Emma. Until his eyes open she won’t move.
As I observe her I reanalyze the events as they took place. Thomas had a bulletproof vest on, but it’s like the shooter aimed for a spot underneath the vest. The precision required for that shot meant it had to be a sniper, and Thomas, not Emma, had to be the target. But why would they aim for him instead of her?
I pause my analysis and walk to her side. She doesn’t acknowledge my presence, refusing to be distracted from her watch like the slightest distraction could make her miss something. She doesn’t even flinch when I lift her from her chair and sit her on my lap.
Brushing the thick strands of her blue hair to one side, I lay a kiss on the back of her neck and whisper, “Angel, we need to get you cleaned up and fed.”
She doesn’t respond, and before I coax her into saying something, she sucks in a lung full of air like she’s surfacing from being drowned.
“He moved. He moved,” she mumbles on repeat.
Shifting my gaze, I watch as Thomas’s eyes slowly blink open.
He opens his mouth to speak, but an indiscernible croak from his unused voice is all he manages.
Emma’s chest shutters, silent sobs racking her body, as some of the tension is expelled, she visibly relaxes.
“We need the doctor. Get the doctor.” She jumps into action, reaching the call button to get help.
Seconds later, doctors and nurses rush into the room.
“We’re going to need you both to leave while we do a full examination,” a short female doctor says.
Emma makes a mewl of protest.
“I understand you want to be here, Miss Bishop, but my primary concern is for Mr. Garrett’s health. You can return in a few hours.” Her statement is more a directive than a suggestion.
“Come on, Angel, let’s go grab a few things and come back,” I urge, holding her hand and pulling her out of Thomas’s room.
We make it to my car before she says, “He’s alive.” Her words are so quiet, like she’s convincing herself what her eyes have seen.
Kissing her cheek as I buckle her seatbelt, I say, “Yes, he’s alive, and he’ll be back on his feet and protecting you in no time.”
Ten minutes later, we pull up outside of August’s house. He’s out his front door before I can fully put the car in park.
“How is she?” he asks, while his eyes do their own inventory. I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t care what words were spoken. I’d also need to check she was alright myself.
“She’s still in shock, but we’re going to take care of her and then bring her back to see Thomas. She won’t take the word of the doctor over the phone.”
Usually, Emma would have something smart to say about us talking like she’s not standing right here, but she remains seated in the car, making no attempts to leave.
August pulls open her door, releasing her seatbelt, lifting her to bring her inside. “Let’s take care of you, Love,” he mumbles, kissing the top of her head.
She rests her head on his chest, inhaling his scent, but she still won’t speak. If she didn’t just sniff August, I’d think she was catatonic.
We continue through the house until we have her upstairs in August’s bathroom. He’s prepared his jacuzzi-sized tub with dozens of tealight candles that smell like lavender and eucalyptus.
Placing her on the counter, he says, “Help me undress her.”
I start with her shoes, unlacing her sneakers, pulling off her socks, and massaging her instep. She lets out a short, slow groan.
That’s it, Angel, come back to us.
My eyes connect with August’s, our plan is an unspoken agreement.
He loosens her makeshift bun, kissing along her ear. As he runs the tips of his fingers through her hair, I work my hands up her foot to her calf.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.