Lilies on Main (The Granite Harbor Series Book 4)

by J. Lynn Bailey

  Ryan says, “Okay, we’re almost to you now.”

  We hang up.

  Two things are on our side. It’s nighttime, so summer traffic is nonexistent, and the other thing is, Brett doesn’t know shit about our ways of life.

  It was a while ago, but I still remember pulling my brother, Ethan, away from Bryce, so emergency staff could attend to her injuries. Ethan was in bad shape emotionally. Eli and I had shown up on scene right before Luke O’Connor, the California politician’s son, almost killed her. I believe that, if Ethan hadn’t found her when he did, shit wouldn’t be how it is today.

  These guys showed up for me tonight. That’s what we do for each other. It’s been a wild ride in Granite Harbor. We’ve seen more action these past few years than we have in the last twenty.

  “All right,” Ethan says as Ryan and Eli pull up behind us in Ryan’s truck, “let’s go catch this fucking asshole.”

  Thirty-Four

  Lydia

  I can’t breathe.

  Pain in my chest sits. Festers. The tightness doesn’t allow for a lot of air.

  All I can see is darkness, and the smell of gasoline infiltrates my nostrils.

  Breathe, Lydia.

  The pain in my face from the gun doesn’t hold a candle to the pain in my body right now.

  I make my best attempt to look to my left. Brett is slumped over the steering wheel, his eyes closed. Through the darkness, I see blood seeping from his forehead like some sort of leaking valve.

  My eyes slowly begin to adjust to my new surroundings.

  My best attempt at moving, I try to open the truck door by pulling on the lever that leads to freedom.

  But my fingers on my right hand don’t want to move.

  Brett moans.

  What did we hit?

  It’s so dark out.

  I try to pull for my phone in my back pocket with my left hand. It moves but not well, but I can’t reach it.

  We hit something that caused this. I remember the impact when we hit.

  It hurt like something I’d never felt before. Not even after my heart transplant. It feels like I have broken bones. Even the little bones, the ones that make some small difference in our bodies, are broken, too.

  I silently call out as I try to use my left hand to reach for my phone once more. My seat belt is so tight across my chest.

  Brett moans again and tries to move his head, but his eyes stay closed.

  I’m alive.

  Where’s the gun?

  The gas stench gets more intrusive.

  I try to unbuckle my seat belt by pushing on the button. When I do, I fall forward, slamming my head against the dashboard.

  That’s when I realize we aren’t on level ground.

  When I try to move myself back, that’s when the truck begins to roll forward.

  At first, it’s slow and then faster and faster, and the trees are flying past us now.

  The gasoline stench disappears because, now, all I smell is my own fear.

  I have no seat belt on and no control of how this will play out.

  Powerless.

  Brett finally picks up his head and tries to calculate what’s going on. His eyes are wide with fear as he tries to wrap his head around it. Blood still seeps from his head.

  The headlights aren’t shining in the right direction, and they’re not bright.

  Bumps beneath the tires begin to toss my body around like a rag doll.

  Brett is still buckled in, still confused.

  That’s when everything becomes silent and still.

  And I realize that the tires are no longer on solid ground.

  We’re airborne.

  Waiting for what’s below us.

  We’re still falling.

  Dear God, let Lilly know that I love her. That, no matter what, I’ll always be with her.

  Suddenly, we hit something hard.

  And, when I realize it’s water, that’s when I panic.

  Thirty-Five

  Aaron

  Shit. Where’d her phone go?

  “Shit.”

  “What?” Ethan asks.

  “Her phone. It just … it just disappeared. It says, Cannot Detect.”

  A lump of fear explodes inside me.

  “At the rate we’re going, Aaron, don’t worry; we’ll catch up to them.”

  “If he doesn’t kill—” I can’t even say it. I won’t say it because that would imply that I know how this will play out.

  I call Lydia. But it goes straight to voice mail. As I hear her words, I drop my head, and my eyes begin to sting.

  Fuck you, Aaron. Don’t cry. You haven’t cried since you were eight years old. Now is not the time.

  Her words whisper in my ear. “Leave a message.”

  I don’t leave a message.

  I send her a text.

  Me: Stay put. I love you. We’re coming.

  It doesn’t say deliverable. It doesn’t say anything. Lydia doesn’t need a man to save her. I know this. But hope is running free. I try not to let the bad shit get stuck in my head. I try not to play out scenarios that are only created from the imagination of the twisted mind warped with fear.

  But these words come to my mind, and I’m not sure where they came from: Stay on this road.

  Thirty-Six

  Lydia

  The truck fills with water and continues to sink.

  Is this the Atlantic? Or another body of water? The ocean that we watch for miles as we take US Route 1, traveling the coast.

  The temperature of the water burrows itself in my bones.

  Is this what dying is like?

  We continue to sink. It smells of salt and seaweed, and my heart dies a little. The ocean is a scary place to be at night when no one sees you.

  The water line reaches to my chin, and there’s no way to move. The roof of the truck above me is within an inch or two.

  Brett fights it. Fights the water. He thrashes. Screams. Calls out. As if what he did earlier on the road wasn’t his intent. Not so much to take his own life, but his intent to take my life.

  The water level reaches my lips, and that’s when panic sets in for me.

  I, too, begin to thrash. Revolt against the decreasing air around me.

  The ocean seems darker at night. Bigger.

  The water level reaches my nose. I go under, and I try to hold my breath.

  Bubbles come from Brett’s mouth as we sink further and further down.

  The truth is, Brett thought he’d survive. Thought so highly of himself. Thought he could outsmart death. The man with nine lives who hurts women. But, instead, he’s killed us both.

  Are we dead?

  Is this all a nightmare? Like the hellish nightmares I awoke from after Brett’s hands hurt my body. The hellish ones that I woke up from, but now, I’m really living it.

  The water has covered my face. And my air is none. Holding my breath will not last long.

  Darkness falls against us as we sink deeper and deeper.

  Brett has disappeared.

  And all I can see is nothing. I’m cold.

  My eyes close as the truck sinks deeper.

  But something grabs my arm. Tugs on me.

  Am I dreaming?

  My eyes flutter open. Still underwater, but there’s a face. A hand that pulls me up.

  The face barely comes into focus, as the water creates a ripple effect.

  It’s William.

  No, no. It can’t be. He’s dead, I tell myself.

  William isn’t here anymore.

  It’s Shelby’s face that scares me.

  The terror in her eyes.

  Is she a reflection of me?

  But then I come to realize that they’re here to take me home. That I’ve died, too.

  Thirty-Seven

  Aaron

  “Hold on,” I say. “Is that … is that a man standing there on the side of the road with a young girl?”

  Ethan pumps the brakes a few times to signify to Ryan
that we’re coming to a quick stop. “Where?”

  “That … that’s William,” I say.

  “Who?”

  “Fucking long story. Pull over.” I jump out of the truck. “William, where is she?”

  William points toward the ocean. He doesn’t say anything, but they’re both soaking wet.

  I bend toward the little girl next to him. “Honey, let’s get you in the truck.”

  Ethan’s behind me.

  I walk them over to our truck. Put them in there with blankets.

  Eli and Ryan meet us.

  I call it in. “Troopers and paramedics are on their way,” I say to Ryan.

  Ethan and Eli are looking down the embankment, confused.

  I open the driver’s door and tell William and the little girl that we’ll be right back.

  William nods, holding his little girl, who’s curled up in his lap.

  “Aaron, are you okay?” Ethan says as the four of us trek down to the ocean.

  “We had to get them in the truck, Ethan. For fuck’s sake, they were cold.”

  “Who are you talking about?” Ethan follows behind me.

  But I ignore him.

  The hill is awfully steep, but I don’t give a shit. This is the only way down, and I need to get to her.

  We follow the broken trail of what looks to be a truck that’s gone this way. Over boulders, over steep terrain. It feels like forever.

  But, when the trees part, I don’t see anything.

  I see a cliff that leads to the ocean.

  In the darkness, frantic, I search with a flashlight on the cliff’s side.

  Aaron, Ethan, and Eli search, too.

  Panic and terror sit in my chest, my throat. My insides vibrate as if they were catching fire.

  But, back near a tree and still close to the cliff’s edge, I see a flash of color. Red maybe. A jacket? It leads to a heap, a pile of clothes.

  “Oh my God,” I say somewhere from my throat. “There she is.”

  The guys are calling behind me. I scream to call for the medics down here.

  When I reach Lydia’s body, I drop to my knees. She’s on her side.

  “Baby,” I cry. “I’m here.”

  She doesn’t respond. Her face is almost unrecognizable. I’m not sure where she’s hurt, but it looks like it’s all over.

  “What happened to you?”

  When I left her this morning, she was beautiful and breathtaking and in love.

  The blood and the bruising make her face look broken.

  The guys reach me as I whisper in her ear, “Stay with me, baby. Help is coming.” I kiss the bruises, the burgundy that covers her face. Her arms. Bruises in places I didn’t know could bruise.

  “Come on, brother. The medics are here.” I hear Ethan say as someone gently tugs on my arm.

  But I don’t budge. I just hover over her like a protective layer of skin.

  I move back only because Ethan has my arm, and I let the medics do their job.

  “How-how are William and the little girl?” I turn to the guys, nervously cross my arms, almost in a manic state, still watching the medics work on Lydia.

  “Who?” Ethan says.

  Ryan and Eli look at each other.

  “William and the little girl. Up top.” How can they not fucking remember?

  Ethan steps to me. “Aaron, there’s nobody up top.”

  How could he do this at a time like this?

  “Ethan, stop with the shit. I put them in the truck.”

  Ethan shakes his head. “Brother, you walked to the side of the road and walked back to the truck. Grabbed blankets. But there was nobody in sight.”

  I saw them. William and the little girl, just like I see Ethan, Ryan, and Eli right now. Clear as day.

  The medics get the stretcher underneath Lydia. She whimpers, and I rush to her.

  “A helicopter is coming for her,” a medic says.

  It’s been four days.

  Gwen and Lee came from their place just east of Portsmouth.

  My mom has Lilly. I’m sure she’s worried. Scared. I’ve traveled home twice to see her in the past four days. I needed to make sure Lilly was okay. She asked to come see her mom, but I know Lydia wouldn’t want her daughter to see her like this, so I told Lilly that because her mom was still asleep—even though it’s not fully the truth—the doctors want Lydia to wake up before she comes to see her. Lilly didn’t buy it, but she also didn’t say anything else.

  I sleep here, at the hospital, next to Lydia’s bedside.

  She’ll survive. Lots of bruising. Six broken ribs, a broken right arm, a broken leg, but she’ll be all right. And, after all this, her heart stayed intact and undamaged.

  “Hey,” Lydia whispers brokenly.

  I jump up and walk to her bedside. “Hey, baby.” I reach down and gently kiss her neck.

  We haven’t talked much because I want her to sleep.

  “What … what day is it?”

  “Tuesday,” I whisper, wanting to touch her but not wanting to hurt her.

  I’ve been wanting to talk to her about William. Ask her if she remembers anything from that night, but I don’t want to trigger any bad memories, so I keep my questions quiet.

  “When do I get to leave?” she asks.

  Just as she asks this, her doctor walks in.

  “Well, good morning, Lydia. Aaron. Lydia, how are you feeling today?”

  She tries to laugh but winces. “Like the truck keeps running me over.”

  Dr. Kilgore laughs. “Well, that’s normal. If everything goes all right today, we’ll release you and allow you to go home to Granite Harbor tomorrow.”

  I smile down at Lydia, who tries to smile back.

  “Sound good?” Dr. Kilgore looks from Lydia to me and back to Lydia.

  “Yeah, that sounds real good.”

  After a few more questions, Dr. Kilgore leaves.

  “Where’s my baby?” she asks. “Where’s my Lilly?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. “What happened to Brett?” Lydia asks as my heart sinks.

  “Found his body and the truck.”

  Lydia looks down at her nails. The dried blood still a strong reflection of her trauma.

  I don’t ask her if she’s all right. I know this is going to take time. Instead, I sit down next to her on the bed.

  She slowly nods. “I need to see Lilly.”

  Lydia hasn’t seen herself in the mirror yet.

  “I know you do. But I’d say, give it a few more days.”

  “You keep saying that. Why?”

  I kiss her neck again.

  “Aaron, why?” She tries to pull away.

  I search for a polite answer.

  “How bad is it?” She suddenly realizes it’s her face, as if she remembers. “Give me a mirror.”

  I stand and walk to the counter. In a drawer is a mirror. I grab it and walk it back over to Lydia.

  “Before you look in the mirror, Lyd, I need you to know what a fighter you are. How you came out on top because of your love for your daughter. This reflection that you’re about to see is the face of a fighter who wouldn’t give up.” And, with that, I hand her the mirror.

  Lydia takes the mirror and looks into it.

  She doesn’t move.

  She doesn’t breathe.

  She stares back at the warrior I see.

  I see two women.

  The Before Lydia and the After Lydia.

  With her free hand, she gently runs her fingers over her cheeks, her fingertips brushing over her tender purple skin.

  I know Lydia sees this as something she had to do. Something she’ll minimize as a task. Something she’ll most likely shove back into her mind and add to the trauma she suffered for years. But maybe she won’t.

  “Lydia,” I say, “you need to talk to someone about this.”

  Her eyes don’t leave the mirror. “I know,” she whispers. “I know.” Slowly, she sets the mirror down. “I need to see Lilly.”

  “Ok
ay. I’ll go make a call.”

  Gwen peeks in the door. “There’s my girl.”

  As I walk past, I tell Gwen that I’m going to call my mom and have her bring Lilly.

  Gwen bites her lip, just as her daughter used to do. “Sure that’s a good idea?” she whispers back.

  “Yes, Mother. I can hear you guys, you know. I’ve been able to hear you every time you guys whisper in this godforsaken room,” Lydia says.

  Gwen and I laugh. Look back at Lydia.

  “Actually, it’s not funny. A catheter discussion between my boyfriend of barely a few months and my mother isn’t a conversation a woman wants to hear.”

  Now, we really laugh.

  Even Lydia, who grabs at her ribs, laughs, too. Her face is sore, so she barely smiles, but her laugh is genuine.

  I make the call and have my mom bring Lilly in. It’ll take them about two hours of travel time to get here.

  Sleeping isn’t something we’ve been able to do well, so when I hear my phone ring and see it’s my mother, I know they’re here.

  On the other side of the bed, Gwen knits, and Lee reads the paper.

  “Yeah, hey,” I answer. “You here?”

  “Yes, out in the hallway. Dad and me and Lilly,” my mom says.

  I go out of the hospital room and walk to Lilly. I try not to allow her tears to creep into my mind, but here this little girl is, staring at me, tears streaming down her face. I wrap my arms around her.

  She whispers, “I’m ready to see my mommy.”

  “Okay.” My voice is broken from my own heart. “Okay, sweetheart. Let’s go see Mommy.”

  Thirty-Eight

  Lydia

  When I first see her face, her tears break my heart. My mother and father have left, so it’s just Lilly and me.

  Lilly’s steps aren’t careful or calculated. As the tears stream down her face, she runs to me and throws herself into my good side. The side without the broken ribs. Lilly burrows her head under my chin and begins to weep, and I do, too.

  “It’s all over, baby. It’s all over.”

  “Mommy,” she tries to speak through her sobs. “Please, Mommy. What happened?” Lilly pulls her head from me and stares at my badly bruised face. My swollen eyes. The burgundy color of my skin, remnants of a life not just lived for, but fought for.