by Marie James
I couldn’t read his face, but I know he’s not happy about whatever information just came across his phone. My pulse begins to race, because I know, even though he didn’t say anything, that whatever it is has something to do with Kid.
My palms grow sweaty, and I can’t control the tremble in my hands.
Kincaid comes back, but calls to Emmalyn from the doorway.
“Babe,” he says getting her attention with his deep voice. “I need to talk to you.”
She sighs and gets up from the table, leaving me alone with my heart thundering in my ears.
Unable to sit still, I also get up from the table and head out to the main room. I pace for what feels like hours. I see the droop of the plants in the corner. These are clearly part of the forgotten project Emmalyn had going on. I grab supplies from the side porch and water the plants, if anything just to keep my hands busy while I wait for Kincaid to show his face.
I know something is going on. I know he may feel like I have no business knowing what that is, but that’s not going to keep me from demanding he tell me. I pace even more until both he and Emmalyn walk through the doorway.
My heart drops again when I see the duffle bag in his grip. He has one arm around Emmalyn, and I can tell she’s been crying. I swallow roughly, knowing in my heart I’m about to get horrible news for the second time in less than two months.
“Tell me,” I say through sobs I’m not even trying to control. “Please, tell me what’s going on,” I beg Kincaid as he gets closer.
My feet are planted in the exact same spot I stopped in when I saw them walk in the room. I’m afraid if I try to move I’ll fall on my face. I have no idea how I’m even standing right now.
Emmalyn releases her hold on Kincaid’s arm and wraps her arms around my shoulder.
“He’s fine,” he says knowing exactly what I’m talking about.
“He’s not hurt?”
He looks at me like he’s trying to decide what information to give me and what he needs to leave unsaid. “He hit his head,” he explains. “He’s in the hospital, but he’s going to be just fine. I’m going to Vegas to get him. We should be back tomorrow.”
“He’s fine?” I ask needing to hear him say it again.
He nods, and I feel like a huge weight has been lifted from my shoulders. Kid is okay and will be back tomorrow.
Emmalyn releases her grip on me long enough to walk Kincaid outside. I fall unceremoniously into a chair, suddenly feeling exhausted. I don’t think Kincaid would lie to me, but I still feel like he’s not being one hundred percent truthful. The sinking feeling in my gut has changed from worry to a sense of foreboding, as if things will never be the same again.
***
“Hey,” I hear Em’s soft voice say as I feel a gentle shaking of my shoulder.
I open my eyes, realizing quickly that I had fallen asleep on the couch while waiting for her to return from outside.
I wipe away a tear that has begun to roll down my cheek.
“None of that,” she says with a slight chuckle. “You heard Diego. He’s going to be fine.”
“What aren’t you telling me?”
She shakes her head in confusion. “Your eyes were red and puffy. It’s worse than Diego let on isn’t it?”
She shakes her head and lowers her eyes to her clasped hands. “It’s not that,” she says softly.
I wait for her to speak, and each second that ticks by seems like years.
“We decided we were going to try to start a family. It,” she pauses and tries to hide her pain. “It just didn’t happen this time.”
“Oh, Em,” I say wrapping her in a hug. “Was this the first month you tried?”
She nods and wipes the tears from her cheek. “I mean, I shouldn’t be upset. I know these things take time, but I was hopeful.”
I have no clue what to say to her. This isn’t a situation I’ve ever been involved in. The only people I knew of that had gotten pregnant were high school girls, and they were upset that they were pregnant, not that they weren’t.
I don’t want to tell her everything will be okay because neither one of us knows that for sure. “Maybe next month?”
She smiles weakly. “Maybe next month,” she concedes.
“And just think,” I say with a light laugh, “tons more practicing between now and then.”
She laughs and wipes the last tear from her face. “Could you imagine a baby around this house of bikers?”
“Honestly, no I can’t,” I say.
“I bet they’d all turn into the big softies we know they are.”
I smile wide. “And Snatch can teach it boy-band songs!” She releases the last of her sadness, and we begin to talk about what life would be like with children around.
I want to ask her about the club girls and some of the not so appropriate behavior for children that I’ve seen, especially in the kitchen in the morning, but I don’t. That’s a bridge they’ll have to cross when and if a baby is even here.
I don’t have an issue with children, but being only seventeen, almost eighteen, they are nowhere near my radar.
“So, Kid is okay?” I ask once again just to verify.
“Yeah. The hospital called some line set up for the members to get ahold of the guys here and left a message. The doctor told Diego he hit his head pretty hard, but he seems okay for the most part.”
“For the most part?”
“Diego said he seems a little confused, but the doctor assured him that it’s normal with a head injury like he has,” she explains.
I have to focus on the fact that he’s alive and will be home tomorrow. Everything else I will take as it comes. If I have to play nurse until he’s one hundred percent, then I guess that is my cross to bear.
I give Emmalyn one final hug and get up from the couch.
“What do you plan to do?” Em asks reaching out for my arm before I can walk off. I shrug because I don’t have any plans. I never have any plans. “Wanna watch some TV since both our men are gone?”
“Our men?” I ask with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t know about that. He hasn’t made any type of declaration.”
“Oh please,” she says lacing her arms through mine. “You know as well as I do that Kid is totally head over heels for you.”
I huff out a laugh. “Well, at least I only have a handful of days before he can finally put into action everything I’ve been begging for.”
Emmalyn stops in her tracks. “We need to plan a party.”
“We do not need to do that,” I say.
“You only turn eighteen once,” she says.
I shake my head and begin walking toward my room. “You only turn every age once, Em.”
“We totally have to have a party for you!” I ignore her for the most part; then I hear her whisper. “Just leave it up to me, Khloe. This will be the best birthday party you’ve ever had!”
I smile and nod because I know there’s no stopping her. What I don’t say is the last birthday party I had was when I turned nine, and my parents were dead a month later, so she doesn’t have to reach very far to make it better than that.
Chapter 28
“White male, mid-twenties,” I hear a distant voice say. “From the look of the dried blood, I’d say he was injured hours ago. Name on the ID is Wyatt Hertz.” Who the hell is Wyatt Hertz? That name’s not familiar at all.
“Stats?” another voice asks.
I’m jostled and can feel a sense of weightlessness before my back meets a hard surface.
“BP one sixty over one ten. IV started and neck stabilized in the field. Pupils are fine but extensive bleeding from the wound in his head.”
Every part of my body hurts. I don’t remember what went down, and I’m unable to determine the extent of my wounds. My guess would be an IED. We’re always as careful as we can be when we head out with the unit, but shit happens, more times than we like to think about.
I can’t open my eyes, and I pray I’m not blind. It’s o
ne of my worst fears, that and getting my dick blown off in an insurgent attack.
I hear more voices around me, and I can’t identify any of them. I try to sit up, but strong arms hold me down.
“Okay, Mr. Hertz, try to stay calm. We’re going to give you something for the pain.”
I feel a sharp pain in my arms, followed by a mild burning, then absolute nothingness.
“You said housekeeping found him?” I hear a vaguely familiar voice say.
The voices sound so far away, but I know they are right next to me. I’m beyond disoriented, and the throb in my temples is enough to make my stomach turn.
“Yes, sir. We’ve kept him sedated. He’s rather,” the voice pauses. “Unruly when he wakes.”
I hear a deep masculine chuckle. “I can see that. Prognosis?”
“Same as what I told you over the phone this morning. All of his scans came back normal. We were able to close the wound on his head with a handful of staples. His blood pressure was a little high when he was first brought in, but it’s leveled out now.”
“Brain damage?” the familiar voice asks.
“The scans are super clean, but we can’t rule anything out until he wakes up.”
The unfamiliar voice drones on and on until I’ve heard enough.
I shift my body sluggishly. “If he starts to get out of hand we’ll have to give him more sedative,” the voice warns.
“I can handle him.” That voice.
“Lieutenant?” I mutter hoarsely.
“I’m here Kid.” I feel a strong hand on my shoulder. “You need to calm down, and I’ll explain everything, but if you give these nice people any more trouble, they’re going to load you up with more drugs.”
I nod my head. Well, I feel like I’m nodding my head; I can’t really tell with how foreign my body feels right now.
I open my eyes a tiny slit, but the lights are too bright and slam them back closed.
“It’s too bright,” I manage to say.
“That’s normal as well. Sensitivity to light after a head injury.” I see the bright light from behind my eyelids dim.
“How many men did we lose Lieutenant?” I squint up at him.
“Look at me, Kid.” I turn my head to him, but it doesn’t go unnoticed that my surroundings don’t look like a military hospital. Those places are made for nothing but efficiency; this place is almost too nice.
“Am I already in Germany?” I see the confusion in his eyes, and it makes me even more confused.
“What do you think happened?” Diego “Kincaid” Anderson, my Lieutenant on this mission asks.
“An IED? You tell me, L.T. How bad is it?” I clear my throat. “They didn’t shoot my dick off did they?”
He laughs humorlessly, and dread washes over me.
“It wasn’t an IED, Kid. You’re in Vegas, not Germany. BT is fine, but it seems you got banged up pretty bad from a fall in the hotel.”
I shake my head. “I don’t…” I let my voice trail off. I’ve never been so confused in my life. I have no clue what the hell I’d be doing in Vegas. I have no idea who this BT person is.
I feel a rough pat on my shoulder. “Just take it easy, Kid. We’ll get it all sorted out.”
I give in to the sleep that is creeping into my brain. Things will make more sense after I wake up.
***
“What are you saying?” I ask Kincaid again, scrubbing my hands down my face.
My hands run over the unfamiliar skin. I have a beard. They say I’ve been in and out for two days, but that doesn’t explain all of the hair on my damn face. I know shaving it will be the first thing I do. This bastard itches like crazy.
“You remember the MC?”
I nod.
“But you don’t remember being in Vegas?”
I shake my head no. I try hard to remember, but it seems thinking literally hurts my head. Every attempt to recall the missing pieces of time makes the constant throb in my head turn into more of a blast of pain. I wince and drag my heavy hand to the front of my head.
I see Kincaid’s eyes dart to the doctor standing on the other side of my bed.
“Memory loss isn’t uncommon for people with your type of head injury, Mr. Hertz.”
“That’s not my…” A throat clearing loudly on the other side of the room draws my attention. I see Shadow shake his head.
Ten-four. Fake name. Clearly I suck at this whole undercover mission thing. We’ve been on several missions since I got out of the Marines and joined the Cerberus MC, but nothing domestic. We’d always been overseas for the type of things we’d get called in to do.
I know they won’t give me full details until we’re away from the hospital.
“When do you think he’ll get his memory back?” Shadow asks from the doorway.
“Hard to know. Sometimes it comes back suddenly within hours. Sometimes the memories trickle in.” I see him frown. “Sometimes full memory is never recovered.”
“Is there anything we can do to help the process,” Kincaid asks raising his eyes from his cell phone.
“Immersion is best. He needs to be home, around people he knows. Doing things he’s always done. Don’t try to force it, but let it come naturally.” Kincaid nods. “The nurse should be by in an hour or so with his discharge paperwork. The staples will need to come out in eight days.”
“Thank you, doctor,” I hear Shadow say. I close my eyes to try to fight off the headache I can already feel inching inside my brain.
I hear the door close softly, and I know it’s only MC members in the room now.
Without even opening my eyes I ask, “So when are you fuckers going to tell what the hell is going on?”
“An old friend of mine, BT Urruela,” Shadow begins, “needed some help with a situation here in Vegas.”
“What kind of situation?”
“It’s not important, Kid.” Kincaid cuts in. “I sent you here to help him. You got hurt, and we’re heading back to the MC this afternoon. BT has managed to get inside of the SINdicate, so we’re coming back out to help him once we get you settled in at the house.”
I groan in frustration. I have no recollection of a huge chunk of the last year. The guys look the same but different. Kincaid even has a couple of new tattoos on his forearms that I don’t recognize. I believe them that my memory is not complete, but at the same time it’s hard to wrap my head around the fact that I’ve done, said, and experienced things in the last year that I don’t remember.
“Damn it,” Kincaid says standing from his chair. I see him look down at a phone but then pull a different phone out of his pocket. “Hey. You have to tell her to stop.” Silence. “No, he doesn’t have it yet. He’s not ready for it.” Silence. He sighs loudly and makes his way to the door. “There’s no sense in her texting so much,” I hear him say before the door closes behind him.
“What the hell is that about?” I look at Shadow.
“No clue, man.” Those are his words, but the look in his eyes says he fully aware of what the hell is going on. Like I said, this has to be the worst episode of the Twilight Zone.
“When do we head out?” I look down at the hospital gown I’m forced to wear. Thankfully the catheter and IV have been removed, but lying in the bed makes me feel helpless. I can’t wait to get back to the clubhouse and out of this damn place.
“As soon as they discharge you, we’re heading out. Jet is on the tarmac waiting for us,” Shadow says raising his eyes to the silent TV hanging on the wall.
Chapter 29
Kincaid said that they’d be back with Kid the next day. The day came and went, each hour spent watching out the window waiting for them to arrive. The sun rose and fell without that happening. Emmalyn doesn’t seem as affected, but I also feel like she’s hiding something from me. She’s not very good at it, and her eyes dart away each time I question her, but she’s not caving either.
I call his phone. Straight to voicemail. I’ve left several messages. I text. They go unanswer
ed. I’m thinking the worst here, and no one seems to be willing to give me answers. I’ve found myself creeping around the clubhouse, hoping to catch bits and pieces of information I know the others are keeping from me.
I’m sure I could catch someone slipping, but the only actual member that’s here is Rose’s husband, Doc, and he isn’t saying a word. He’s never been rude to me, but I feel like he’s of the opinion that I don’t belong here, which is making him keep his distance.
Chin in my hand, turned facing the window, I wait for them to show up. I feel the couch dip beside me, but I don’t even turn to see who it is. Em is the only one who approaches me without care. The other girls don’t avoid me really, but they don’t go out of their way to be friendly either. Maybe it’s my age; maybe they feel like I’m encroaching on their MC members.
“They’re still not here,” I tell Em stating the obvious.
“Diego sent me a text message a little bit ago; they’re on their way.”
I turn and glare at her. “You’re just now telling me this?”
“Khloe,” she says with a frown. “You knowing a couple of hours ago wouldn’t have made any difference.”
“I miss him.”
I pull my phone from my pocket and open my text app.
Emmalyn’s hand closes over mine. “Listen Khloe, Diego says he has some memory loss. They haven’t given him his phone back.”
That explains why he hasn’t messaged me back and why the calls continue to go straight to voicemail.
“He asked me to tell you to stop sending him texts and leaving voicemails.” She cringes having to deliver the news.
“How bad is the memory loss?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know,” she says softly.
I have a million questions, but I decide not to ask. She may not know the information, and if she did, I feel like she wouldn’t tell me the full truth.
Memory loss. Like he’s struggling with remembering what he had for breakfast? Or he can’t even remember his own name?
I swallow my tears and look back out the window. I can’t help but wonder if Kincaid knew this before he left the other day. He told me he was fine, and he may be physically okay, but memory loss- that’s not okay at all.
