by Autumn Avery
“This way,” he whispers, pulling me away from the mayhem, leaving the hangar behind us. We make our way down the slope of the hill, and I see a nondescript sedan parked under the overhanging branches of a weeping willow.
For a moment, my body freezes. I can’t move. All of the chaos has caught up to me, and it’s like my brain has short circuited. I can see Joey standing in front of me, and I can see his mouth moving, but all I hear is a deep, vacant hum with the occasional crack of thunder.
Gun fire, I am able to correct myself.
Joey moves forward, his lips moving. My eyes begin to focus on his lips, and slowly his voice begins to seep through the droning sound of the night.
“Mia! Come on!” He’s shouting.
I feel his hands on my shoulders. He shakes me hard, and I snap out of my stupor.
“Joey!”
“Are you with me, Mia?” he asks.
“Y-yes,” I stammer. “Yes!”
“Okay, come on. We have to get out of here!”
Joey races to the car and opens the passenger door for me. I manage to move with him to the car, and sit as he guides me in with his hand on my arm. He slams the door behind me and races around to the driver’s side. I feel something wet on my arm.
As I look down, I see my arm covered with blood.
Am I bleeding?
I hear Joey get in the car beside me and twist the key in the ignition. The engine leaps to life and the tires spit rocks as he steps on the gas.
Joey is panting heavily beside me. The car hits a bump as we skid onto a road and pick up speed.
Joey parks the car in front of my house and climbs out quickly. I’m right behind him as we rush up the steps. My hands are shaking, and I fumble with my keys trying to get them in the lock. I drop them twice before I get us inside and slam the door.
I’m stuck for a moment. My eyes seem unable to focus on anything, and all I can do is listen to the sound of my own breath. My head nods in rhythm with each exhalation, and I look down at my hands like they belong to someone else. It isn’t real, what just happened. None of this is. I’m just getting home from working a shift at Gina’s…
“Shit,” I hear Joey curse, snapping me slightly out of my stupidity as he stomps into the kitchen. I hear the water running.
It’s then that I realize my shirt sleeve is still soaked with blood. I look down at my arm and roll up my sleeve, checking for a wound. But I don’t see anything. Maybe I’m bleeding somewhere else. I look at my legs. But they’re fine. I check my other arm. My hands. I lift my shirt and check my stomach. But nothing. I’m fine.
What the hell is going on?
“Joey, I think—I think I’m hurt,” I call to him. There’s no response. I make my way into the kitchen to find Joey leaning over the sink panting heavily. And it’s then I realize the truth.
It’s not my blood. It’s Joey’s.
He has a wet dish towel in his hand and is pressing it against a wound on his stomach that seems to be pouring blood.
“Joey!” I shout, leaning over, pressing my hand against his. “Are you—did they shoot you?
“It’s all right,” he wheezes, his breath raspy and heavy.
“How is it all right?! Joey, we have to get you to the hospital!”
“No!” he shouts. “No, Mia. We can’t, there’s no time. Look, it’s just a graze. I’ve had worse.
“What?”
“Just bring me some hydrogen peroxide.”
“I-I—,” I stammer like an idiot, feeling myself freeze up again.
“Mia!” He snaps at me through clenched teeth. “Hydrogen peroxide! In the bathroom!”
“Okay!” I say, racing away from him, down the hall and into the bathroom. I almost rip the door off the cabinet getting it open, and fumble through all the junk I’ve stuffed in here. Finally, I find the little brown bottle, snatch it, and race back into the kitchen and find Joey slumped down on the ground, leaning against the wall.
“I’ve got it. I’ve got it!” I say, squatting down beside him. He’s torn a hole in his shirt and I can see the outline of the wound beneath his hand.
“Okay,” he says, struggling for breath. “I’m gonna lift my hand up, and you just pour it all over the wound. Got it?”
I nod, having never been more anxious in my life. What if I screw this up? Why aren’t we bringing him to the hospital? Would he even make it?
He lifts his hand and blood pours from deep cut in his side, at least five inches long. My stomach turns, but without hesitation, I pour peroxide all over it. He gasps and slams his fist against the cabinets in pain.
“Fuck!” he shouts, his voice raspy and strained.
My heart catches in my chest and I suck air, forcing myself not to lose it. He needs me right now. He was there for me, and now I have to be there for him.
“Okay, okay, okay,” he says, his chest heaving. “Do you have a sewing kit?
“You’re joking…” I can’t believe what he’s saying. He’s not going to really…
“No. I’m not joking, Mia. I have to take care of this.”
“Joey, let’s just take you to the hospital!”
I feel his hand grip my arm and squeeze tightly. I can’t imagine the pain he’s in. “Mia, there’s no time. Go get me a needle and some thread. Hurry.”
My mind is a mess as I stumble down the hall to my room. I haven’t used my sewing kit in years and have no idea where it is. I rip through my closet, hurling clothes and shoes all over the floor. Not there. I curse myself for being such a slob.
I check under my bed, but there’s just more shoes. Why do I have so much crap? When I need to find something, I can’t. And this is important. I rip through my dresser, checking every drawer. Nothing. What if I can’t find it? What is Joey going to do? I start to panic and run my hands through my hair, fighting to remain calm. My heart feels like it’s pumping battery acid through my veins. I whirl around, trying to think where it could be.
Then I see it.
On top of my bookcase.
I step on the bottom shelf and reach up and grab at it, but my hand is barely working, and I end up slapping it off onto the floor.
“Shit!” I shout, scrambling to pick everything up. I just grab everything I can with both hands and run back into the kitchen, dumping it on the floor in front of Joey. He looks like he’s barely breathing.
“Joey!” I shout. He snaps out of it. His eyes open and he looks up at me.
“Are you with me?!” I shout.
“Yes. Yes.” He sees the sewing kit on the floor. “Okay, take a needle. A thin one, and thread some string through it.”
I sift through the disaster of threads, bobbins, and needles, pricking my fingers several times until I find a the thinnest one in the pile. I lick the tip of a spool of white thread and try to thread it through the eyelet. But no matter what I try, I can’t do it. I was terrible doing this when I thought I wanted to sew, and now, with all this pressure, with Joey bleeding…I just can’t. My fingers slip and I scream.
“Mia,” Joey says firmly. I look at him and see the need on his face. “You can do this. Just calm down. You’ve got it.”
Even now, he’s there for me, and I feel his hand move to my leg and squeeze it gently. I look down at the blood pouring from his wound and then back at the needle. With a deep sigh, I focus, bringing the eye of the needle to the thread. And this time, it works. I thread the needle and pull the string through.
“See? I told you.” He struggles to smile up at me. “Pour peroxide on the needle and thread.”
I do, soaking everything thoroughly.
“Now…you’ve sewn before?” he asks me.
“Yeah, curtains! And they were terrible!”
Somehow, he manages to chuckle, and I almost feel better. But when I look down at his wound, I feel my stomach turn.
“You can do it, Mia. Just pretend you’re doing curtains. It doesn’t have to be good. It just has to hold.”
“Joey, I—“
<
br /> “You can do this, Mia. You’re strong. I need you. Now come on.”
His eyes lock with mine, and I feel that spark between us that I know will never die. He protected me in Paris. He protected me tonight. He took a bullet for me, and now it’s my turn to protect him. I take a deep breath and slide the needle into his skin.
He grits his teeth as I pull the string through. I try to remember the curtains as I go back and forth across his wound. No seamstress in the world would praise me for this job, but it’s working. His wound is closing, and the blood isn’t pouring out as badly.
Joey leans his head back against the cabinets as I finish the stitch.
“Pull…tight,” he says. I do, and the wound closes. I feel an enormous sense of relief flood through me, and when I look at him I see him smiling. It’s barely a smile, but it’s there. He’s hurt. He’s exhausted, and his eyes slowly close. I put my hand in his, squeeze tight and lean in and kiss him on the forehead.
His head lolls to the side, and he passes out. I sit there a long time, holding his hand in mine, feeling its warmth and the steady pulse of his heartbeat.
He’s still alive.
He’s still alive, and I saved him.
Chapter 10
“Mia, this is insane.”
I look up as Cassidy’s disapproving face as she sits with me in Joey’s hospital room.
I’d called the ambulance and had him brought here to St. Christopher’s. I told them he’d tripped and fallen on a fence. I could tell they weren’t buying it, but they were really busy and didn’t seem to want to argue, so they admitted him and gave him a room. At least that’s what it seems like. For all I know, Joey owns this entire hospital. I doubt it, but it wouldn’t surprise me. Nothing would surprise me at this point.
Dr. McGregor had commented on the nice job I did with the stitches.
“You sure you aren’t a nurse?” he’d said with a smile.
“I used to stitch curtains,” I’d told him, with a feeble attempt to smile back. He redid them while Joey was passed out, but told me if I hadn’t done what I did, he more than likely would have died from blood loss.
“Private jets? Paris? A mysterious wife? A secret baby? Being shot at?! I mean, what the fuck is this?” Cass says loudly.
I chuckle, half from exhaustion and half from how reliable Cassidy is. She’s always looking out for me, and I knew she’d react like this when I told her about the night’s events.
“I know,” I mutter, looking down at my hands, still red with Joey’s blood. I’d scrubbed them the best I could, but it’s still there. But the truth is, I don’t mind. I look over to the bed where Joey is sleeping soundly, recovering from his injury.
Joey’s breathing is slow and consistent now, but I’m still on the edge of panic. Everything is okay now, I try to tell myself. He looks peaceful.
The men with guns are gone, and it looks like Joey is going to be okay. I know everything is okay, but the rest of my body needs some time to catch up.
“Do you like, want some tea or something?” Cassidy asks me. “Or a sedative maybe? I’m sure there’s some pills around here somewhere”
I snort a pathetic laugh and smile, “That would be great.”
“Which one? The tea or the sedative?”
“Both?”
She smiles and heads into the hallway. I look at Joey, feeling how right it feels to have him here. Of course, these aren’t the best circumstances, but seeing him sleeping peacefully on the bed just sends a warm feeling through my stomach.
Cassidy pokes her head back into the room.
“They have Jasmine or something called…Hojicha?”
“Jasmine is fine,” I answer. She disappears, and I hear the sounds of the microwave from the little kitchen down the hall. My hands are still shaking when she returns with the steaming mug and sets it in front of me.
“Thank you,” I say softly. It’s then I notice how cold my hands are and wrap them around the mug, feeling its warmth against my skin. The smell of the tea is comforting and reminds me of young days as a kid, coming in from sledding and warming up with a blanket and a warm mug. It still comforts me, and with the first sip, I instantly feel myself calming down.
I close my eyes and inhale deeply, feeling the warm liquid as it makes its way down my throat and into my stomach.
“So what the Hell are you going to do?” Cassidy says, reminding me of where I am and what’s going on.
“About what?” I ask.
“About what? About everything! About the shot, bleeding man who took you to Paris? About Ian?”
“Oh, God.” I realize I haven’t even thought about Ian since this all began. But all the events that have occurred since Joey came back into my life have made me really understand that I made the right decision telling him not to propose to me. He’s a wonderful man, but he deserves a girl who really loves him. And that’s not me. My heart belongs to another.
But I still need answers. I can’t leap into this headfirst without answers. Joey is every bit the mystery he was when he first arrived, and more. There were so many things I needed to ask him, but it will have to wait. He has to rest. He has to recover. But when he wakes, we will need to have a talk.
“I don’t know, Cass.”
“I mean, you’re going to tell him to get lost, right? You can’t have this in your life. Being shot at? And he’s married too? I mean, come on. You’re gonna kick him out, right?”
I look down at my steaming mug of tea, but I can feel her eyes on me. She just wants what’s best for me, and everything she’s saying is right. Maybe I’m being a complete idiot. How could I possibly still be rationally interested in a man with so much going against him?
He’d left me once, who’s to say he wouldn’t do it again? He’d left me in Paris after getting us attacked, and then he’d got me kidnapped by a woman claiming to be his wife. He’d almost gotten me killed. Sure he’d rescued me, but I wouldn’t have even been in that situation if it weren’t for him. I would have been at home, safe and sound…
And wondering how to break things off with Ian, probably drunk, wallowing in my own misery like some sad pathetic high school girl who doesn’t know how to tell the guy who likes her that she doesn’t like him back. Every rational, logical part of my brain tells me that I should listen to Cassidy. I should wait for Joey to wake up and then tell him I never want to see him again.
But this isn’t about logic. This isn’t about being rational. This is about how I feel, and how I feel right now is that I never want to be away from him again. I want to wake up every day with him next to me, and go to sleep with his arm around me every night. I want to be there to take care of him when he needs me, and I know he’ll take care of me at all times.
Marrying Ian would be the safe choice. He’s a safe guy. He’s a great guy. But he’s not my guy, and I know that now. Maybe I’ve always known, and it took all of the recent events to really make me understand.
I look up at Cassidy, and she sees the look in my eyes.
“Oh, come on, Mia!”
“Cass—“ I say, trying to explain.
“Mia, this is insane! He’s married! He bailed on you for six years! He almost got you killed!” She makes a good point. But it doesn’t matter.
“I know, Cass! I just…I love him! I can’t help it. What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to be safe! I want you to be smart! I don’t want you to be blinded by private planes and five star hotels!”
“It’s not about that, Cassidy!” I shout. “Don’t be stupid! It’s about him! It’s always been about him.”
“Why? What is it about this guy? I’ve never understood what you see in him.”
My eyes move to the bed where Joey looks like he could just be sleeping peacefully. “I don’t know, Cass. I can’t explain it. I can’t explain it, and that’s how I know it’s love.”
She sighs deeply, but when I look back at her, I can see in her eyes she understands.
�
�You’re an idiot,” she says, but with love. I twist my lips at her in a goofy, pretend-mad face.
“So what else is new?”
Joey sleeps for another day and a half, and I never leave his side. It’s dusk when his eyes open, and I’m right there. I want to be the first thing he sees.
“Hey, you,” I say, smiling down on him.
“Where am I?” he says, looking confused.
“St. Christopher’s.”
“What time is it?”
“Seven thirty. You slept for a day and a half.”
His eyes open wide and he looks around, seeing the orange glow of the setting sun out the window.
“Jesus.”
“How do you feel?”
“Tired,” he groans, sitting up slightly, wincing from the pain.
“Careful,” I say, helping him adjust his position. “Don’t tear your stitches. You have real ones now but still. Be careful.”
He pulls the blanket down and examines his wound.
“The doctor said if I hadn’t sewn you up you would have died,” I tell him.
“You would make a good nurse,” he grins, shifting higher onto the bed so he’s sitting up. He grits his teeth as he swings his feet to the ground and moves to stand.
“Wait, wait, wait,” I say, holding my hands up in front of him. But he waves them away and pushes himself to his feet.
“It’s okay,” he says. “I’ve been through worse.”
“I don’t even want to know,” I say, rolling my eyes at his stubbornness as he stands. But then I realize something, and turn back to him.
“Actually. That’s not true. I do want to know. I want to know everything, Joey, and it’s about time you gave me some answers.”
“Do you have something for the pain?” he asks.
“Here,” I say, pulling two pills out of the bottle of painkillers and handing them to him. He takes a few and washes them down with a glass of water. I watch him, waiting for him to speak. He sets the glass down and stares at his hands for a moment.
