Mariah's nails dig deeper into my hand. The small pain keeps me focused when all I want to do is put my fist through the wall. She's alive, but he's not sure if they can keep her that way. It's not enough.
"Do whatever you have to do to save her life," I demand, my voice a rough rasp.
Dr. Becker nods once. "We'll keep her under sedation for now. We've got her on a ventilator to allow her body time to heal. She's trying to take breaths over it, which is a good sign. But we'll know more as the night progresses."
"I…thank you," I whisper, pushing a hand through my hair like it'll give me comfort. It doesn't though because it's not January's little hand brushing through my hair like my mom and Ma Rose used to do when I was a kid. When she does that shit to me, I feel like I'm home and everything is right in my world. Right now though…it's far from right. It will be though. I'm not letting her die.
"Can I see her?" I ask, hoping like hell he doesn't tell me no. I need to lay eyes on her, even if only for a minute. I need to see for myself that she's breathing. Maybe that'll erase the memory of her lifeless body in my arms as the paramedics took her from me.
"She's in recovery right now. As soon as we have her situated in the ICU, someone will be out to let you see her." His gaze sweeps around the room, taking in the number of cops sitting in the small waiting room. "Ordinarily, we only allow immediate family back there, but I understand Miss James doesn't have any immediate family."
"I'm her family," I practically growl at him. There's no way in hell they're keeping me out of that room. "That girl is my entire fucking world. I'm going to see her. Mariah is too."
"I understand." His stoic expression doesn't waver despite the anger and aggression I know is rolling off me in waves. "We'll let the two of you back to see her, one at a time. Once she's more stable, we'll evaluate whether additional visitors will be allowed."
"Thank you."
"I'll be keeping a close eye on her, Agent Kincaid," he says, his expression softening incrementally. "I promise you, we'll do everything we can for her."
I jerk my chin in a nod and then shake his hand.
"She's going to be okay," Mariah whispers.
She has to be. There isn't another option.
Two hours later, they finally let me back to see her. The petite raven-haired nurse who leads me back chatters the entire time, but I don't catch anything she says to me. I think she's trying to prepare me for what I'm going to see behind the double doors to the ICU…to prepare me for seeing January. There's no preparing for that though.
The second the nurse slides open the glass partition to let me in, my heart dives toward my stomach.
January's in the middle of a hospital bed, the white blankets folded back over her chest. She's got a breathing tube down her throat and IVs running all over the place. Other wires crisscross her body, running to machines scattered all around the room. They beep and hum, filling the moderate space with noise. Even though the lights are dimmed in the room, all the light pollution from the machines makes it seem much brighter. My girl is so tiny and pale, with her eyes closed and her dark lashes resting against her cheeks. The ventilator tube has been taped to her mouth to hold it in place.
"You can go in, Agent Kincaid," the nurse says softly, placing her hand on my arm.
I jerk my head in a nod, but my feet won't move. They're rooted to the floor right outside the door as I watch January's chest rise and fall. Rise and fall. My eyes bounce from her to the ventilator sitting on a large table-like stand beside her. Lights flash and various numbers run across the screen as the machine breathes for her in a pneumatic wheeze.
"How do you know she's trying to breathe?" I ask the nurse, my gaze moving back to January.
"See this light?" the nurse says and steps up beside the machine, pointing at a small light in the bottom corner of the screen. It doesn't do anything for a second, and then it flashes a green color. "It flashes like this when she tries to take a breath on her own."
I stare at the screen, willing the light to flash again. It feels like forever before it finally lights up. As soon as it does, my legs finally move. I stumble into the room, a strangled sob breaking from my lips.
She's breathing.
Thank God, she's breathing.
"January," I groan and drop to my knees beside the bed. Grabbing her hand, I cling to her. Her fingers are still cold, too cold. She's too still. "Baby girl, I'm sorry. I'm so goddamn sorry."
For the first time since my mom died, I cry like a fucking baby. I can't stop the tears as they pour out in an anguished flood.
The nurse puts a hand on my shoulder and squeezes once in a show of empathy before stepping out of the room to give me privacy.
A lifetime of repressed grief and regret pour out of me in sobs that leave my chest aching and my head throbbing. I cry for Ma Rose and for Jana. I cry for Titan. I cry for January. And I cry for me…for a lifetime of losing everyone and everything that matters to me. For losing myself.
I never meant for it to happen. I never meant to turn into this person, the one who never lets anyone get too close. The one who spends so much of his time living amongst monsters that he's more like them than he likes to admit. The one so fucking afraid, he doesn't know how to be vulnerable. Instead, he hides behind fake smiles and bullshit, turning life into a joke so he doesn't have to feel anything.
I don't want to be him anymore. I don't want to hurt anymore.
I want forgiveness. I want to feel like I deserve forgiveness. Like I deserve the girl who took a bullet for me.
I have to find me again, because the guy I was back when that girl was really mine…the guy with hopes and dreams, who could close his eyes at night and sleep peacefully…that guy wasn't a monster. He wasn't tripping so far down a dark path, he couldn't even see the light most of the time. That guy…that guy was me.
And I fucking miss him.
I sit with January for a long time, pouring my heart out. I tell her every sad detail about my life, about the way I've lived for the last decade. About how my apartment in Seattle has nothing in it—no warmth or safety—because it was just a place I went when I couldn't keep going anymore and had to sleep. I tell her about all the shit I've done and all the things I wish I could go back and do differently.
I tell her how fucking lonely I've been, how I've kept everyone at arm's length so I didn't have to risk losing anyone else. I tell her about T and Little Mama and how they're the only people in my life who have made me feel a damn thing since the day I walked away from her, and how even then, I kept them at a distance, too afraid to let them in.
I tell her how rage, hatred, and sadness eat at me until I can't think through them. How I channel all that destructive emotion into my job, taking it out on assholes who terrorize and ruin just because they can. I hate people like that because they don't even understand what's important in life. They don't care.
And I tell her how, every single damn day I spent living amongst them, I felt a little bit more like them and a little bit less like me.
I tell her how much I miss her, and how the memory of her is the only thing that's kept me alive. When I was dying in a bar or on a street, in some back alley with the stench of trash in my nose and grit and grime covering me, I thought about her. When I wanted to let the pain take me, let myself bleed out from my injuries so I didn't have to get up again…I'd see her beautiful face and I'd find the willpower to crawl back from the brink.
I talk until my voice fades and my throat aches, purging myself of a lifetime of regret and misdeeds. I know she probably can't hear me and that I'll have to tell it to her all over when she wakes up, but telling her feels good. Getting it out for once instead of bottling it all up and letting it fester feels…peaceful.
Nurses come and go as I talk, but I don't stop. They work around me, not interrupting. If they're horrified by what I confess to my girl, they don't show it. They just shut up and let me ramble about my life until I've put it all out there.
"Y
ou have to survive, baby," I tell her then, "because I need you in my life. I've needed you since you were four years old and let me carry you everywhere. I'll always need you. You give me hope. When you're in my arms, I feel like I can do anything, even shit I know I shouldn't do. I need you because you ground me. You're the only fucking thing on this planet that keeps my ass in line. Ask Ames if you don't believe me. He's been trying for years to teach me manners and shit, but I never listened to him because he wasn't you and you're the only person I've ever listened to."
A nurse chuckles as she replaces the IV bag, but I don't even look at her.
"You gotta get better, and I don't just mean from this," I whisper to my girl, stroking her silky hair. "I know you're hurting. Losing Titan and your mom is always going to hurt, but they would want you to live, baby girl. They loved you so much and I know they would want you to be happy and do good shit with your life. So you gotta fight. I'll be there with you, and when you can't fight anymore, when the blackness is too heavy, I'll fight for you. But you have to come back to me, sweetheart. Please come back to me."
I press my lips to her forehead and then to her cheeks. Like her hand, her face is cool to the touch, but I know my girl is in there. She was born in the cold and she'll be reborn in it. It forged her little spine in steel and I know it'll do the same this time too. Right here in this bed.
I press my lips to her ear. "I love you, baby girl. Come back to me."
I sit there for a long time after that, just watching over her. For some reason, the nurses don't kick me out. I know visits are supposed to be short or whatever in ICU, but they don't tell me I need to beat feet and get out of their way. One brings me a glass of water. A little bit later, someone else brings me a sandwich. They all smile at me.
It's strange.
I'm covered in tattoos and scars and January's blood, but they all smile at me like I'm normal or something. No one gives me the side-eye or talks down to me like my tattoos mean I'm too stupid to comprehend shit. Maybe they feel bad for me. I don't know. But it's nice to be surrounded by normal people who don't look at me like I'm beneath them. That doesn't happen often.
"I love you," I murmur to January as the sun rises outside. "I'm going to let Mariah come back here to see you for a while, but I'll be back. I'm not leaving this hospital until you do."
Even after telling her I'm going to let Mariah come back to see her, I can't seem to leave her side. I'm afraid I'll leave the room and something will happen. I need to be here in case she needs me.
"She'll be okay," an elderly nurse tells me, stepping up beside the bed. She rearranges the covers over my girl and then pats her hand and gives her a grandmotherly smile. "We'll take care of your January for you, Agent Kincaid. She's already doing better. Her vitals are stronger."
"They are?" My gaze darts to the machines, but I don't know what number means what or what they should say. Some are high, some are low. They might as well be Greek for all they tell me. You'd think after spending as much time in hospitals as I have, I'd know what they mean, but I never cared to find out. All I needed to know was that they meant I was alive. Anything beyond that was moot.
The nurse nods, giving me a gentle smile. "We let you stay for so long because she seems to find comfort in your presence here. As soon as you came into the room, her blood pressure leveled out. Her heartrate is stronger too. She knows you're here."
"She does?"
The nurse chuckles at how suspicious I sound. Can't help that shit though. January's under heavy sedation. I'm not sure she knows much of anything right now.
"Yes," the old lady says. "Just because she can't talk to you right now doesn't mean she can't feel you here. You're good for your girl, so we let you stay."
"She's good for me," I mumble, staring down at January in the bed. Her color is a little better, I think, but the soft pink tint to her cheeks could just be my imagination or wishful thinking.
"You've lived a hard life," the nurse says, replacing another IV bag and then pressing a few buttons on another machine when it starts a consistent, staccato beep. "I overheard part of your story. I'm sorry for all the two of you have lost. I can't imagine that's been easy for you or for her. I hope I'm not overstepping by saying this, but we have grief counselors and psychiatrists on staff here if you'd like to talk to someone. Maybe it'll be good for you."
"I…yeah," I say and clear my throat as gratitude bubbles up hard and fast. "Yeah, I would appreciate that." I know Ames is trying to find me someone, but I'll be here until January leaves. Might as well start trying to figure my shit out now.
The nurse beams up at me, her craggy cheeks wrinkling. "I'll get some names for you, see if anyone has time to stop in and meet you and your girl today, dear."
"Thank you," I whisper. For the first time in ten years, I actually feel hopeful that there is a future for me and my girl.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Michael
Present Day
"Are you sure you don't want us to come back?" Lillian asks me…the same question she's asked me every time I've talked to her over the last five days.
"I'm sure, Little Mama," I reply, giving her my usual response. As much as I appreciate her and T for wanting to be here for me, I know L.A. is the last place he wants her. Even with Elijah Noel dead and gone, it'll be a long time before T is ready to let his ballerina step foot in this city again.
It's not like there's much for them to do anyway. January is…fuck, I don't know. They keep telling me she's improving. She looks better. But they had to rush her back into emergency surgery four days ago when her catheter began filling with blood at an alarming rate and her blood pressure almost bottomed out. After that, every time I left the room for even a few minutes, it seemed like there was some new setback.
I finally planted my ass in her room and told them I wasn't leaving unless they dragged me out. The setback shit stopped after that. Her blood pressure has leveled out and her heartrate is within normal ranges. Her lab work all looks good and they removed the drain tube from her stomach yesterday. They've been slowly weaning her off the ventilator, and finally took it out completely a couple of hours ago and moved her to a step-down unit.
I've just been sitting beside her ever since, fascinated by the steady rise and fall of her chest. I can't seem to tear my gaze away.
They started weaning her off the sedation meds before they removed the ventilator, but she hasn't woken up yet. She's still on a lot of pain medication, so they think it could be a little while.
I'm desperate to see those emerald eyes. It's been too long since I last gazed into them.
"You aren't coming home are you?" Little Mama asks, sounding sad at the prospect of me not returning to Seattle.
"I am home," I tell her, speaking softly. "January's always been my home."
Lillian sighs. "I'm going to miss having you here," she says. "So is Tristan. We love you, Michael. We're happy for you though. You deserve happiness."
I think I'm actually starting to believe that myself. A shrink has been by several times to check in and see how things are going. He's not terrible. I don't necessarily like the dude, but he's honest and calls me on my bullshit when I try to feed it to him. I respect the fact that he's willing to tell me like it is, even when I don't want to hear it. It's a start.
Once January is out of here, I think I'll continue seeing him. At least for a little while. I've got a lot of shit to work out.
I'm still waiting to hear whether or not I'm going to be charged with the murders of Adcock and his cohorts. No one's said much about it. Hernandez stopped by once to talk about what went down with Kaleo. It was awkward as fuck. He's a good dude, but I'm still pissed Kaleo managed to get into January's house. After our conversation in his interview room, he was supposed to be looking for the fucker. It's not his fault he didn't find him—logically I know that—but I'm still pissed about it.
He feels bad about it. At least I guess he does. He apologized and said he wished like h
ell things had gone differently. That was the end of that conversation. He holds his cards close to his chest. I get the impression he doesn't share much with anyone.
I just want this done and over with. If I'm going to prison, I'd rather fucking know now so I can prepare January for what's coming. So I can prepare for what's coming.
Ames and Roman are convinced I'll be cleared. I think most of the people I know are more than happy to pin those murders on Kaleo and call it a day. I'm not sure how I feel about that. I mean…it's not like I want to go to prison. But I did the crime. Maybe I should be doing the time. I don't know. I haven't worked it out in my mind yet. A lot of shit is still percolating in there.
"I'll try to visit," I tell Lillian, but don't make any promises I might not be able to keep. Her man will never forgive me if I make her cry. She knows I'm being investigated for murder, but refuses to believe I might have actually done it. I adore her for believing in me so emphatically. I'm damn sure not about to shatter her illusion. I think T knows the truth, but he isn't telling her either. Some truths are better left unspoken.
"Will you bring her with you?" she asks me, her tone hopeful as hell. "I want to meet her. She sounds incredible."
"If she'll let me." I'm a little worried January is going to kick my ass to the curb for good when she wakes up and realizes she almost died taking a bullet for me. I still can't fathom why she came back for me. The shrink says that's because my sense of self-worth is shit. Actually, he said it's opprobrious, which is the same thing. Opprobrious just takes longer to say.
He's probably right, but damn. She killed a man and then almost died herself trying to save my life. That's fucking with my head a little bit. She's everything to me. The thought of losing her tears me apart. She's too sweet to live with Kaleo's death on her conscience. I'm worried it's going to eat away at her. He deserved what he got, but I hate that she had to be the one to kill him.
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