by L. A. Fiore
“There was extensive internal bleeding when you were brought in. We weren’t able to save your spleen. Your stomach was nicked but we were able to stop the bleed and you have a concussion.” He took my hand then continued, “The damage was some of the worst I’ve ever seen and the fact that you’ve recovered as much as you have in such a short time is nothing short of a medical miracle.”
“But?” I whispered.
“Shock to the abdomen can be very destructive. There is so much soft tissue that gets shredded, especially in the case of a gunshot.”
“What are you saying?”
“Your uterus suffered trauma. It’s possible…” He paused for a moment before he corrected himself. “It’s highly unlikely you’ll be able to carry a child to term.”
I didn’t understand him at first, couldn’t process those words. When I did, that I would never carry Greyson’s children and that our love would never result in the children we both so desperately wanted, I couldn’t hold back the sob. I turned my head into my pillow and cried, for the babies I would never have and for the dream of a life that would never be.
Two months after the shooting I was home, but I wasn’t healing. There were scars. I hadn’t looked, but I felt them. Walking was hard, the muscles of the abdomen played such a part in the body’s function and mine were weak from disuse. I needed physical therapy to build up those muscles so I could walk without struggling. But it wasn’t just the physical problems; I couldn’t find my words. The doctor had said it was natural after a concussion, but being someone whose life was centered on words, not being able to find mine scared me. What if I never could? A depression settled over me. Greyson was trying, but not even he was able to pull me from my funk.
He entered my room carrying my lunch. Instead of the upbeat man who had been trying with no success to get me out of this bed, he looked defeated. “You should have started therapy weeks ago.”
I turned from him, couldn’t bear to see his disappointment. “I don’t want to.”
“You need to move, get some fresh air, see your friends, eat something.”
“No.”
“I know you’re hurting, but this isn’t the way to handle it.”
He was right. It still pissed me off. “What the hell do you know about what I’m feeling? You weren’t the one who was almost killed, the one they couldn’t make whole again.”
He got right into my face. Even depressed, I saw his unfathomable pain. “Every time I close my eyes I see you on the ground, your blood pouring from you, your eyes closed, your breathing so shallow.” He turned from me and walked across the room pulling his hand through his hair in frustration. When he glanced back, there were tears in his eyes.
“I thought you were dead and I realized that I didn’t want to go on if you weren’t here, but you lived, Alexis.”
I couldn’t stop the tears that rolled down my cheek.
His own eyes were bright. “I need you to come back to me, beautiful. You’ve been through hell, but I need you to fight, to find your way back.”
“I have scars, so many, inside and out.”
He closed the distance. “And I wish to fuck I could take them from you, that it was me not you, but…” He touched my chin, “You lived, you’re here and that’s all that matters.”
“I’m having trouble remembering things, words. I can’t find my words, Greyson.”
His eyes grew bright because he knew what they meant to me. “We’ll find them. Together.”
Greyson
It was hard watching Alexis struggling. Something we take for granted, walking, it was a chore for her. It took her four times as long as it should and when she reached her destination she was exhausted. We set up one room as a therapy room. Three times a week a therapist worked with her. She’d eventually get her body back. It was her mind though that was the hardest to witness. Words on her tongue, words she knew but couldn’t find, the frustration and fear that she never would. She was working with a cognitive therapist, one who specialized in concussion patients. She was very confident Alexis would get back her words, but it was going to take time.
I was making dinner, Alexis was peeling the potatoes. “I can’t give you children.”
I stopped slicing the onion and let the pain move through me. We hadn’t discussed it. I wanted children with her, but I wanted her more.
“There are other options for us.”
“I wanted your children,” she said softly.
I didn’t want a pregnancy that could put her at risk, but she seemed to need to hear it so I said, “The doctor said it was unlikely, not impossible.”
Her voice grew bright. “Do you really believe that?”
I turned to her; her eyes that had been dull had a light in them. It tore me up to see her putting so much stock into something that was likely never going to happen, but she needed to heal and if this helped her then I’d lie.
“Yes.”
“Maybe we could do a…” Her nose scrunched up. I’d seen that look more times than I wanted in the last few months. She was struggling to find the word. “The um…in our bedroom. The…”
“Mural?”
“Yes, mural. Maybe we could do one for the baby’s room.”
My hand tightened on the handle of the knife as rage for the fucker who shot Alexis burned through me.
Silenced followed before she offered softly, “I’ll be right back.”
She didn’t come back, so I went in search of her. She was in our room, sitting on the bed. Her head was down and she was weeping. Instinct was to go to her, but she needed to let it out. If I approached, she’d suck it back up. I fucking wanted to weep seeing her in so much pain and knowing there was nothing I could do to take it away.
Alexis 2017
For months and months I lived rehab. I was bone tired, physically and mentally, but every day I pushed myself. I was walking again without getting winded, had even gone for a few walks with Greyson around our neighborhood. The words were harder, it was slow going and I got frustrated a lot and scared, but my therapist was determined to get me all the way back. And Greyson was as good as his word. He was with me every second. I wouldn’t have gotten through it without him.
I stood in front of the mirror looking at myself in the black sheath gown. It had been a long road, but physically I was back. I had scars, a reminder of how quickly life can be taken…like my mom’s, a reminder to cherish every day. My words weren’t quite there yet, but every day I saw improvement. The family was here; we were going out to celebrate life. I felt Greyson and turned to see him leaning against the doorjamb. “You look beautiful.”
I walked to him and he smiled at the sight before he closed me in his arms. “I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t push me.”
“You would have found your way.”
I touched his face. “It took me a while, but I’ve realized something.”
He touched my lower lip with his thumb. “What?”
“I’m here and whole, for the most part; our dream is different, but we’re still living it.”
“Yes we are.” He pulled his hands through my hair and just stared then he stepped back and took my hand. “Everyone is downstairs.”
We hadn’t had sex since the incident. It had been far too many months. I ached for him, knew he had to be aching too. “When we get home…” I traced his mouth with my tongue.
He looked heartbreakingly beautiful in that moment. Even his eyes seemed to brighten. “When we get home,” he promised then led me downstairs.
There wasn’t a dry eye in the room when I walked into it. With tears in his eyes Grant said, “There’s our girl.”
I couldn’t taste him enough, my mouth dragging over his shoulder and up his neck. He was pounding into me, my hips lifting to take him deeper.
“Don’t stop, please don’t stop.”
His mouth found mine, his tongue sweeping and tasting before stroking my own. My fingers dug into his ass when I hit the edge and tumbled off. He pu
lled from me, seconds before his head was between my legs. He hadn’t come yet and he was working me back up again. His tongue teased my clit, licking my opening, slipping into me. Desire coiled in my gut as I started the rise again. He brought me to the brink before he moved back up my body and slammed into me, his cock going so deep I came on a scream. He followed shortly after.
I wrapped my legs around him. I didn’t want him to move. “I’ve missed you.”
He brushed my hair from my face. “I was always here.”
“I’m sorry.”
His jaw went tight. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
“I retreated.”
“You had a reason.” He touched my cheek but I couldn’t read him.
“What are you thinking?”
“Just so fucking grateful you’re here.”
“Thank you for never leaving my side.”
“I’ll never leave your side.” He sealed that vow with a kiss.
Greyson
I stood in Captain Samuel’s office, my focus out the window at the birds fighting over a piece of pretzel. Alexis was with the twins. She wasn’t ready to hear the details of her attack. As it happens, neither was I. Samuel’s words were circling around in my head, words that when I let them penetrate were going to change everything.
“Her name is Millie Ward. She had a wall in her apartment, pictures of you. She said she was your biggest fan. Clearly she needs help. Her attorney is arguing not guilty by reason of mental defect. The DA has requested a competency hearing and will push for institutionalization over imprisonment if needed. Bottom line, Millie Ward will be locked up for a very long time.”
My hands curled into fists in my pockets. Sick or not, that woman almost killed my wife. And as horrifying as that thought was, there was another that damn near gutted me. “And you’re sure she isn’t the same woman from San Francisco?”
“No. Candace Miller is living in a halfway house. Her doctors have found the right meds for her and she’s living a productive life. I don’t need to tell you. Celebrities are often targets for disturbed people, a way for them to live vicariously. Most know where the line is, some don’t.”
Standing in that office, the numbness started, creeping over me like a cancer. It hadn’t been a random act of violence like I had thought, or linked to her father. Alexis had been targeted, singled out and all because of me.
I left the police station, but instead of going for Alexis, I went home, to our bedroom and stood looking at her painting. It was my favorite because it was Alexis. Not just the girl I saw that first day, but the one formed by the story of us, every road, every path, every choice, every high and every low. She was vulnerable and strong, sweet and sassy. She made me laugh, she made me burn; she could make me angry and at times she brought tears.
I walked to my studio and it was there, surrounded by what I thought was the dream, but was really what led me to the dream that it hit hard and fast. My girl had been shot, she almost died; she’d lost her words, her confidence and her humor because of me. The rage came then. One easel went flying to splinter against the wall. Some random nut almost took her life. Seeing her lying in her own blood, a canvas followed the easel. It wasn’t just one disturbed woman. How many others were out there? When would the next one show up? And would Alexis live through it? That thought broke something inside me. I trashed my studio, roaring my anguish with tears of rage streaming down my face. I had spent my life trying to take the pain from her eyes and because of me she not only had that pain, but now she had scars inside and out. I dropped to my knees, my chest heaved in and out. I understood then, in that moment, I understood why her father had left. What he was feeling because I was feeling it too. I had to let her go and just the thought left me dead inside.
It had been a week since learning the part I played in Alexis’ shooting, a week to get things in order. I stepped from my studio; Alexis was playing with Buggers. I felt the hit we’d felt so long ago. I loved her; I would always love her. I reached her in two strides, grabbing her to me, my mouth closing over hers as I tore at her clothes, needing to touch her, memorize her, savor her. Surprise turned to hunger as she kissed me back. We didn’t get to the bedroom, I dropped her on the stairs, lifted her hips and slammed into her and then I stilled, committing the moment to memory, how she felt, how she smelled, how she looked with love and longing in her eyes. I pulled my hands through her hair. I’d always loved her hair, the silky strands that were a palette of colors. Her eyes, so expressive and always with that hint of sadness, sadness I was now responsible for, her lips, the curve of her cheek, the beautiful line of her throat.
She touched my face as concern clouded her expression. “Are you okay?”
“I love you. I have from the first moment I saw you.”
She smiled as she remembered too. “Despite my unfortunate means of transportation.”
“I even love that fucking bike.”
“What’s going on?”
I moved my hips, slowly, drawing out the pleasure. Concern turned to passion. She was my only focus. I brought her to that peak, and then I pushed her over it and even as her body hummed with pleasure I started all over again. I loved her all night; I had to get in a lifetime’s worth.
Alexis
Something was going on with Greyson. There was a shadow in his eyes since he visited the detective. Whatever he learned he didn’t like. I had hoped he would have talked to me, but he was being unusually quiet. Last night he had loved me like he had a time limit, a desperation about him that both scared and worried me. We were supposed to be heading to Paige’s, some downtime with our family, but Greyson and I needed to talk.
“What’s going on with you?” He was in the kitchen when I hunted him down. “And don’t say nothing because even though I can’t read you as well as you read me, I know something is wrong.”
He turned and leaned back against the counter. The pain in his eyes was palpable. I stepped closer, he said, “The woman who shot you…”
I stopped moving. Instinct was to tune out. I didn’t want to be reminded of that night.
“She was a fan.”
It took me a minute to follow his logic. “Not a fan, a disturbed woman.”
Pain switched to anger in a blink. “Whatever the fuck the semantics, she shot you because of me.”
“Is that what this is about? You feel responsible for some random woman shooting me?”
“I am responsible.”
“How the hell are you responsible? Did you give her the gun?”
“What the fuck, Alexis?”
“Unless you handed her the gun and told her to shoot me, how the hell are you in any way involved?”
“Why are you being intentionally obtuse?” he growled.
“I’m being obtuse? You’re the one taking responsibility for something you had nothing to do with.”
He moved into my face. I’d never seen him like this. We rarely fought and when we did it was over in minutes. Not now, he was livid, his anger was eating him alive. “If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have been shot. Don’t you get that?”
The first thread of fear moved through me.
“I don’t.”
He pulled his hand through his hair in frustration and put the distance of the room between us. “She isn’t the first one. She won’t be the last.”
That fear grew stronger. “What are you saying?”
“Being with me puts you in danger.”
“So what’s the alternative?”
He looked at me and though he said nothing, I read him loud and clear. That fear made me weak in the knees.
I could hardly get the words out; they were words I never ever thought would apply to us. “You’re leaving me?”
His shoulders tensed and he dropped his head. “You almost died.”
“I lived.”
There were tears in his eyes when he lifted his gaze. “Next time you might not be so lucky.”
“What next time?”
It was like a switch, fury rolled over his face. “Exactly. There won’t be one because I’m removing myself from the equation.”
My own temper stirred. “Removing yourself from the equation? It’s that simple for you, to just walk out.”
“Simple!” He grabbed my hand and pressed it to his chest where his heart was beating hard and fast. “Every fucking beat is for you, but I will not sit in another hospital room watching as machines breathe for you.”
I tried to reason with him. “Listen to me. Leaving isn’t the answer. Life without you isn’t a life. We can figure this out without you being so rash.”
“Rash? Every time I close my eyes I see you lying in a pool of your own blood. To know I was in any fucking way responsible for that…it’s killing me.”
“It was horrific, but it should bring us closer not pull us apart.”
“Easy for you to say. It wasn’t because of you it happened. Reverse it, Alexis; I was the one shot by someone targeting you. Tell me how you’d handle it.”
I wanted to say I wouldn’t fucking leave, but I got it. Like my father, he was determined to protect me even if that meant hurting me.
“My dad did this. You know how I struggled, still struggle, with his choice. You’re making me live that again, but this is far worse because you are my life. Every moment since I was sixteen you have been part of me and now you’re removing yourself from the equation, but that equation is our life.”
“Yes.”
“No! I won’t let you.”
He was resigned. Here was the fucking stubbornness his mother had warned about. I understood now why she wanted to rip out all of her hair. Fucking hell, but this was madness.
