by Ella Fields
“I love you. We are the after you search for in those pages, Dove. There …” He stopped and winced. “There is no end for us.”
I sniffed, glaring at him as tears stormed down my cheeks.
A defiant smile shot me straight in the chest. “I would’ve said it tomorrow anyway after you were done …” He coughed again and swallowed, and I knew, I just knew he’d swallowed his own blood to keep from scaring me. “With being upset.”
“A monster indeed.”
I heard the stranger helping Milo, and by the time the police and paramedics arrived five minutes later, Thomas was barely conscious and so pale I feared I’d soon be able to see through his skin.
It wasn’t until the ambulance doors closed and I was being maneuvered into the back of a police car that I realized the scariest thing wasn’t that I could lose him.
It was that I could lose him without him knowing I loved him too.
With blurred vision, I stood on the sidewalk for untold minutes after the police had finished taking my statement at the station.
Once the paramedics and police had arrived, I’d raced upstairs to grab a shirt, shoes, and my purse, then raced back down before being told they were taking me into custody.
Now that my brain had cleared enough to shift my feet, I looked around the street, and remembered I didn’t have a car. It was in the barn at the castle.
I hailed frantically for a cab, spewed the word hospital when one pulled up, and clung tight to the plastic covering the back seat.
City buildings sped by in unrecognizable patches. The only thing my eyes searched for could forever be out of reach.
No.
The driver pulled up in the drop-off zone, and I tossed a twenty at him and jumped out before he could worry about the change. “Keep it, thanks.”
He shrugged as I slammed the door, and I raced toward the automatic doors, almost barreling over an elderly couple.
My frantic hustle was in vain, considering the sour-faced nurse told me to take a seat in the waiting room. If I wasn’t family, they wouldn’t disclose anything.
After a half an hour of feeling as though my heartbeat was going to burst through my skin, I walked back over and tried not to growl. “He has no family. Please, make note of that.”
The nurse sniffed, then after staring at me for an eternity, she looked down at her computer. “What’s his name again?”
“Thomas Verrone.”
She chewed her lip, then looked around. When our eyes met, she said quietly, “He’s in surgery right now. Come back in an hour.”
Nodding, I tried not to let that overwhelm me. It meant he was still here, so I’d take it.
After taking a seat again, I powered on my phone and began stewing over how to contact Murry. Beau. Sage. Anyone who wasn’t family but may as well have been. But I didn’t have anyone’s number.
Only Tom’s.
Just as I was about to head over to the nurses’ station for another update, my phone rang, and despite not knowing the number, I knew it was Murry. “Murry?”
“Where is he?” His voice was calm, but an undercurrent of concern lingered.
“Hospital. He’s, um”—I drew in a trembling breath—“he’s been shot.”
A beat passed. “How bad is it?”
I shut my eyes, falling back into the hard plastic of the chair. “Bad, he’s in surgery.”
Murry cursed. “That fed did it?”
“Yes, he’s here too.”
“What do you mean? With you?”
Ignoring the accusation in his question, I said, “No, I shot him.”
Silence.
“Damn, Jemma.”
Tiny needles of guilt pricked when I remembered Milo was probably in bad shape. “It was in the shoulder, so he’ll survive.”
“Still,” he said. “You okay?”
“No.”
“Honesty, that’s good.”
I relayed as much as I could of what’d happened. As if I were speaking with the cops again, my voice and explanations were clinical, my brain too afraid to entangle itself with my heart.
He quieted for a few seconds. “Let me make some calls, and I’ll get someone there with you soon. Hang tight, okay? Tom’s not about to let some wannabe action hero take him out.” Murry laughed. His laughter broke, and so did the smile that’d started to nudge my lips.
Unable to stop the sob from climbing higher up my throat, I hung up, and hung my head in my bloodstained hands.
A firm hand landed on my shoulder, and I startled, lifting my head.
Daydreaming of better times in his bed, in his library, in the park, in the parking lot, in my old room, in the classroom, hell, even in his dungeon was better than staring at the scuffed white floor and listening to the hospital’s repetitive hum of activity.
Useless.
Sitting was useless. Anything I could do would be useless, and so I escaped the only way I knew how.
Then Beau took a seat, his knee bouncing into mine. “Heard you had a busy day.”
I sniffed. “You could say that.”
He stuffed his hands into his hoodie pockets, watching as a kid chased a basketball across the waiting room floor. “Any news?”
“He was still in surgery half an hour ago.”
Beau glanced over at the nurses’ station. “You got nurse surly over there to tell you that?”
“She’s probably just tired.”
“You’re too nice,” he said. “And the cops? What happened with them?”
“I was questioned but have no priors.” I blew out a breath. “Self-defense.”
He whistled at the sight of my hands and grabbed them. His skin was calloused and warm, and even though it wasn’t the touch I needed, I was grateful for it all the same. “Look at you now, Jemima Jolie.”
Snorting, I yanked them away, and stood. “I’m going to go wash them.”
“Nah, it’s a good look on you.” Judging by his grin and the wild look in his eyes, I figured he was serious.
My nose crinkled. “Be right back.”
In the bathroom, I was pulled up by the sight of my reflection. A light dusting of blood smeared my cheek as though I’d rubbed my face before it’d dried on my hands. My pupils were dilated, the whites of my eyes bloodshot.
No sleep, shooting someone, and potentially losing a love you never saw coming would do that to you.
Red water circled the white porcelain, and transfixed, I stood there, watching Thomas’s blood swirl into the drain.
The thought of washing him away had my hand reaching out to shut the tap off, and I stared at my almost clean hands in dismay.
I wasn’t about to question my rational thinking capabilities, so I patted them dry, combed my fingers through my tangled hair, and wiped the blood off my cheek.
Walking past the nurses’ desk, I heard a, “Pssst.”
I stopped, backtracking as the nurse, who I discovered was named Jacky, said, “He’s out.”
I nodded, forcing those words down, then forced myself back to where Beau was sitting, his hands clenched together as he watched me approach.
After passing on the information, we waited, and thankfully, he didn’t pry for more questions.
He just sat there, waiting for the return of a friend, while I waited for the return of my heart.
It was evening before we were finally able to speak with his doctor, and he allowed us to visit because Thomas had apparently been asking for me during short periods of wakefulness.
Beau took a step forward as though he’d charge to the elevator without a second thought.
Then he had that second thought and turned back to me, grimacing. “Go.”
“Are you sure?”
He chuckled, his hand scraping through his tousled blond hair. “You think he wants to wake up to my mug instead of yours when he’s been asking for you?”
I smiled, then took a step forward, and wrapped my arms around him, squeezing as I murmured, “Thank you.”
It took half a minute, his body tense and his heart thundering beneath my cheek, but his arms squeezed me back. “Welcome.”
On the third floor, I stepped out of the elevator and charged down the hall, almost skidding as I saw the room number. A nurse pressed her finger to her lips, scowling at me.
Ignoring her, I peered into the small window on the door, my forehead meeting the cool glass as I saw everything my heart needed to survive. Thomas’s sleeping form in a bed.
He was still so pale, and monitors lit up the dark around him, but the doctor had said he was breathing on his own. They needed to monitor him closely, wait for more test results, and let him rest.
I opened the door, closing it with a quiet snick behind me, then pulled up a chair close to the bed and took his cold hand in mine.
“Little Dove.” A croaked whisper, fingers twitching in mine.
Sunlight coursed through the room, and I blinked, bleary eyed as I took in my surroundings.
The beeping of the heart monitor and one look at Thomas brought it all rushing back, and it took everything not to throw myself over him and hold him tight.
I settled for squeezing his hand and grinning. “Hi, Monster.”
“Shot anyone lately?” he asked curiously.
I shook my head, bringing his hand to my lips and brushing them over his skin. His thumb snuck out, rubbing my lips as I stared up at him. “You scared me.”
“More than when I kidnapped you and locked you in my basement?”
I laughed. “Yes, way more than that.”
His brows rose. “You mustn’t be too upset anymore, then.” He shifted, then groaned. “If I scared you that much.”
“No,” I said, gesturing for him to stay still.
Thomas frowned. “You were right to be.”
“We don’t need to talk about this now.”
“Time, Dove. It’s painfully evident, wouldn’t you agree, that it’s not always on our side.”
He was right, so I nodded.
He licked his lips, and then murmured, “I’m not well versed in apologies, or admitting when I’m wrong, but I was wrong to lose faith in you, to think the worst, and to say and do what I did. Incredibly wrong and idiotic, and I’m sorry.”
“You love her, and so do I. I get it. But what you did, the way you so easily …”
“I know,” he said as I trailed off. “Emotions do strange things to people, and I suppose, despite feeling as though I was different, I’m not. Not as much as I’d like to think.” He smiled, and the whiteness of it lit the dark pits that’d opened in my heart. “But do you get that I love you?” He shook his head. “I don’t like the word. Too inadequate.” Emotion—sweet, brutal emotion—saturated every word and every perfect detail of his face. “You’re the reason my heart fell, the reason it falters constantly with barely a glimpse at you, and the reason it fucking hurts when you’re not near. You’ve colored my entire world, and if you leave it—leave me—you leave me in black and white all over again.”
His words wrapped around me like a warm blanket on a cold night, covering cracks and bumps left by the cold. A trickle of wetness cascaded down my cheek, dropping to my chin at the sight of water beading in his untamable eyes. “You don’t need to worry or threaten me into loving you, Monster.”
He gestured for me to come closer, his hand gently reaching up to tuck hair behind my ear as I carefully leaned over him. His breath feathered my lips. My heart. “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you with me even if it means getting shot again, Little Dove.”
“No,” I rasped, my fingers trailing over his cheekbones. I dropped my nose to his. “You can’t threaten me because I already love you.”
“Even knowing what I am … what I do?” His breath hitched as his eyes searched mine, desperate, hopeful, and scared.
My monster was scared, and seeing it only made my heart crack further. It crumbled into his hands, surrendered to him completely.
My lips met his, whispering, “Every dark and light hue. Every piece. All of you.”
Six months later
“Three bumps, not two,” Lou said.
She giggled as I dropped my head to bump my nose with hers. I kissed it, then tugged her duvet higher. “Love you, little Lou.”
I blew a kiss to Funshine Bear next to her, my old ragdolls in the corner of her room on the bookshelf. “Love you, Jemma-poo.”
Smiling, I switched out the light and headed to our room to find Tom.
“Are you ready?” I called, grabbing my brush from the dresser and tugging it through my hair as I walked deeper into the room. “We need to …” I trailed off, noticing he wasn’t even there.
My shoulders fell, and I sighed as I trudged to the bathroom to quickly swipe some mascara onto my lashes. I’d changed into a yellow and black polka dotted sundress and spritzed perfume on before I realized he was obviously held up.
I was nervous enough as it was, given our family’s history, and therefore kind of pissed he was going to make us late.
Thomas couldn’t work for a few months after his surgery, and although he didn’t need the money, I knew he was itching for the return of what he deemed as normality.
After we went to court, where Milo was sentenced to twelve years, he’d settled some, but I knew it was only a matter of time before we had a new visitor, or he was gone for days or weeks.
Milo was arrested before he could leave the hospital. Attempted murder and kidnapping charges were brought against him by me, and the witness in the stairwell of my apartment solidified his guilt.
We’d locked eyes a few times as he sat on the stand. His burning with a million questions and obvious accusation. Mine just looking. Taking in the man who’d changed my life in unforeseeable ways. Seeing him again, knowing that my statement would help put him behind bars, wasn’t what wracked me with guilt. It was seeing Shelley, his wife, as she sat stoically in the back of the courtroom, barely a hint of emotion on her beautiful face that did that.
I’d wished I’d had it in me to walk away. To not say a word, for I didn’t know. I wasn’t responsible for ruining their lives. They were.
Yet once Milo was taken away and most of the room had emptied out onto the street, I’d stopped her outside on the sidewalk. A quiet apology was ready on my lips, but her smile, even as it wobbled, told me all I needed to hear.
She didn’t blame me.
And as Thomas walked over and stood at my back, all she did was nod, then walk away.
I didn’t know if that would be the last attempt to bring Thomas down. All I knew was that if and when they tried, we’d be ready.
Grabbing a pair of ballet flats from the walk-in closet, I slipped them on and then raced downstairs.
“Oh, hey,” Murry drawled, halting below the stairs when he saw me. “You look lovely.”
“Where is he?”
Murry’s eyes danced anywhere and everywhere to avoid meeting mine.
“Murry,” I warned.
“He said he’d just be half an hour.”
“Let me guess, an hour ago?”
He shrugged, then wisely walked away.
A minute later, I entered the code and pushed open the door, making sure it shut behind me.
“That’s not an answer, Gregory.”
“It is, I swear—fuck.” The words were cut off by screaming as I rounded the stairs.
I waited, hands on my hips, until Thomas dropped the molar into the silver tray behind him. “What’s wrong, Dove?”
“What’s wrong?” I repeated.
The guy in the chair, blood gushing from his mouth, stopped moaning, and bounced his eyes between us.
“Excuse the intrusion, Gregory. I’ll just be one moment.”
“No, we need to go.”
Tom blinked up at me, then stood from the stool and plucked the crimson-colored gloves from his hands.
“You forgot, didn’t you?” I asked.
The middle-aged man, with sweat beading on his forehead, clenched his
hands as he studied me.
“Hi,” I said, for lack of anything else to say to someone who might not live.
Understandably, he didn’t respond, but his fingers wiggled where his hand was strapped to the armrest.
“Dove, what have I told you about talking to my visitors,” Tom said beneath his breath.
I rolled my eyes, and his jaw twitched.
His visitor, Gregory, smirked, and I wished he hadn’t as more blood oozed from whatever crater Tom had created in the man’s gums.
“And I didn’t forget,” he said, brushing by me to the bathroom. “I merely lost track of time.”
Walking after him, I hissed, “We’ve put this off for months, and you merely lost track of time?”
He scrubbed his hands while I glared at the back of his head. “If they’re talking, Dove, they’re talking. It’s easy to lose track of time.”
I sighed. “Whatever. Please, just hurry up.”
Thomas patted his hands dry on a towel, then snatched my wrist as I went to leave. “No need for sass, Dove. I know you’re frustrated.”
“If you know, then you need to hurry it up already.”
He didn’t move a beat, and I groaned, trying to wrench out of his hold.
His laughter made me pause and had my frustration curling into a tiny ball. A tiny ball that exploded into dust as he lowered his head, his nose skimming my cheek. “When you get mad, all I want is to devour your pretty mouth.” Lips met my skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps as they dragged to my ear. His teeth gently took my lobe, then released it. “Until you’re nothing but pliant flesh, all mine for the taking.”
Moaning from the chair in the next room had my libido checking itself, and Tom sighed.
“Let me put him to sleep, and I’ll be right up.”
With a kiss to my forehead, he left, and I headed upstairs to wait.
“It would seem you have the rest of the evening off, Gregory. You can thank my Dove for that.”
Smiling, I closed the door and shook my head.
Did his occupation, for lack of a nicer word, still bother me? In some ways, yes, it still did.
