Lightning Strykes

by Sherryl Hancock

  Quinn nodded, taking the jacket that Xandy handed her to put it around Remington’s shoulders, since it was currently near freezing outside. She and Xandy walked with her as she strode toward the dock area where an Escalade had been brought around. Remington got into the Escalade, once again without putting Wynter down. Wynter was in and out of awareness. The paramedics and given her a painkiller, saying she was likely to have a nasty headache later.

  A few minutes later, Remington carried Wynter into the inn and up the stairs. Quinn unlocked the room door and pulled the bed covers back so Remington could lay Wynter down carefully. Only then did she feel the deep ache in her wrist. She clenched and unclenched her hand feeling sharp pains as she did.

  “You okay?” Quinn asked, seeing Remington’s movements.

  “Yeah,” Remington said, nodding, “thanks.”

  “Good work tonight,” Quinn said, grinning wryly.

  “Just another day at the office,” Remington said, curling her lips sarcastically.

  Quinn laughed at that. “I’m gonna get you some ice for that wrist,” she told Remington.

  “Thanks,” Remington said, sitting on the bed and leaning down to unzip her boots.

  Quinn left and came back with not only ice in a bag for Remington’s wrist, but a bucket of ice, a glass, and bottle of Knob Creek bourbon.

  “I know it’s not your favorite… but it should do the trick,” Quinn began as she put ice in the glass, and poured the bourbon.

  “I’ll take it,” Remington said, grinning as she put out her hand.

  Quinn handed her the glass with a grin. Remington drained the glass immediately and held it out for more. Quinn poured obligingly. After two glasses, Remington set the third glass of the amber liquid down on the nightstand.

  “Wrist is hurting less already,” Remington said, grinning.

  “Amazing,” Quinn said, chuckling. “Alright, I’m gonna get out of here and go do some damage control. You need anything?”

  “No, I’m good, thanks,” Remington said, leaning her head against the wall behind the bed.

  Quinn left and Remington settled herself against the pillows, sitting up with her left leg lying flat on the bed and her right knee bent with her foot on the bed. She looked down at Wynter and unzipped her boots, doing her best to take them off one-handed, since her wrist had begun hurting again. She pulled the covers up over Wynter and settled back against the pillows again, her arm up over where Wynter’s head lay on the pillow. She fell asleep that way, unaware her name was becoming a household name overnight.

  Wynter woke slowly the next morning, feeling groggy. It took her a few moments to remember what had happened. She remembered being onstage, and seeing Remington moving toward the back part of the stage, looking up toward her, but not at her. Then she remembered her boot catching on something and suddenly she was falling. She couldn’t remember if she’d screamed or not. Then somehow Remington was holding her. She remembered feeling Remington’s arms under her, and being jostled as Remington carried her somewhere. She then remembered looking up at Remington and hearing people screaming and the sound of a siren.

  The next thing she could remember was Remington’s voice talking to her, the soothing tone of Remington’s accent, her gold-green eyes looking very worried as they stared down at her. She’d been so close to her, her face right next to hers and her voice had been so soft, so soothing. Wynter remembered wanting to ask Remington what she was saying in Creole, and did she realize she was speaking Creole, but the words wouldn’t come out. She remembered feeling completely mesmerized by Remington’s voice, by her eyes, by her words, even if she couldn’t understand most of them.

  It suddenly occurred to her that she’d fallen from the highest part of the stage, and that had to have been twenty feet. Remington had caught her… She had saved her life… That thought was still bouncing around in her head as she opened her eyes and looked up to see Remington looking down at her.

  “You saved my life…” Wynter breathed her blue eyes wide.

  A grin tugged at Remington’s lips. “Bonjou,” she said softly.

  Wynter blinked a couple of times. “Bonjou,” she repeated, her accent surprisingly perfect. “Now tell me how to say thank you.”

  “Mèsi,” Remington supplied.

  “Mèsi,” Wynter repeated seriously. “Now tell me how to say I owe you my life.”

  Remington narrowed her eyes slightly. “Mwen dwe ou lavi m ',” she said slowly. “But you don’t,” she added.

  “Mwen dwe ou lavi m ',” Wynter repeated perfectly. “And yes I do,” she added sitting up, looking into Remington’s eyes. “That part of the stage has to be twenty feet off the ground. I would have died,” she said, “but you caught me… How did you catch me?” she asked then, shaking her head in wonder.

  Remington looked back at her, her eyes searching Wynter’s. “I saw something on the stage but I wasn’t sure if I was seeing it or if it was a trick of light… I started to walk back toward that spot. I was in the right place at the right time.”

  “Remington, you caught me,” Wynter said in awe. “You saved me.”

  Remington’s look flickered and her lips twitched. Then she chuckled. “Well, that is what you’re paying me to do, you know.”

  “Right, catch me when I fall twenty feet,” Wynter said in a deadpan voice. “I’m sure I saw that in the contract somewhere,” she said, narrowing her eyes at Remington.

  “It was in the fine print,” Remington said, grinning. “Under that five percent other duties as required.”

  “Catching random falling objects?” Wynter asked.

  “Yeah, somethin’ like that,” Remington said, her eyes sparkling.

  Wynter surprised her by reaching up to touch her cheek, laying her palm flat against it, her eyes staring into Remington’s.

  “Thank you,” she said, her tone very serious.

  She then leaned forward and kissed Remington’s lips softly, then put her forehead against Remington’s chin and her other hand on Remington’s chest, right above her heart. Remington’s hand covered Wynter’s hand on her heart, and then touched Wynter’s back, moving back and forth soothingly.

  They sat that way for a long while. Wynter feeling a sense of unreality, but at the same time a sense of completeness, like she was exactly where she was meant to be at that moment. Remington felt a sense of calm that she hadn’t felt for a long while, the stillness of the moment, and the sincere gratitude she’d seen in Wynter’s eyes served to cement her commitment to Wynter Kincade in whatever form that took.

  The silence was broken by Remington’s phone ringing.

  “It’s Lauren,” Remington told Wynter, reaching over carefully to pick it up, wincing as her wrist screamed at her.

  “What’s wrong with your hand?” Wynter asked, immediately concerned.

  “It’s fine,” Remington told her, handing her the phone.

  Wynter set the phone aside and reached for Remington’s hand.

  “Remi, it’s swollen…” she said, carefully lifting it. “Oh Jesus, that bruise is black!” she exclaimed.

  “It’s okay,” Remington said gently. “I smacked it on the scaffolding, its fine.”

  “Remi, you might have broken it,” Wynter said, refusing to let her hand go. “Did the paramedics look at it?”

  “They were kind of focused on the girl that fell,” Remington said, smiling.

  “And of course you didn’t bother to mention getting hurt yourself…” Wynter said.

  “I didn’t even remember it until we got you back here, to be honest,” Remington said.

  “Well, it needs to be looked at,” Wynter said, as she looked around her.

  “What are you looking for?” Remington asked, grinning.

  “My phone,” Wynter said.

  “It’s probably still at the auditorium,” Remington said. “Things were just a tad hectic last night.”

  “You don’t say?” Wynter said narrowing her eyes.

  “Quinn
might have picked it up when she went back, but that’s also probably why Lauren is calling my phone. BJ might have called her.”

  “I’m not worried about that,” Wynter said, shaking her head, as she picked up Remington’s phone.

  “What are you doing?” Remington asked.

  “Calling Quinn,” Wynter said putting the phone up to her ear.

  Remington watched her with a look of mild amusement on her face.

  “Hey Rem, how’s Wynter?” Quinn answered.

  “It’s me, Quinn,” Wynter said. “Remi needs a doctor, her wrist looks bad.”

  “I, uh,” Quinn stammered, “okay, I’ll get someone out here right away.”

  “Thanks,” Wynter said, smiling.

  Five minutes later, Quinn and Xandy were at the door and Wynter let them in. Xandy hugged Wynter.

  “You scared a lot of people to death,” Xandy told Wynter.

  “And you’re bloody famous,” Quinn told Remington gleefully.

  “Excuse me?” Remington said, looking surprised.

  “Oh yeah,” Quinn said, “you are all over the news, all over the papers, all over the Internet… You may have actually broken the Internet.”

  “You’re enjoying that way too much, babe,” Xandy told Quinn.

  Quinn smiled with her tongue between her teeth.

  “Don’t mind her,” Xandy said, smiling at Remington as she walked over to where she sat on the bed. “She’s just happy she’s not the only white knight around now. Now let me see that…” she said, her tone softening.

  Remington smiled softly, as Xandy took her hand ever so gently. Wynter watched, seeing how easily Xandy handled the steely retired MMA fighter.

  “Oh, Remi, this looks really painful… the doctor is coming to take a look soon, but I wouldn’t really be surprised if you broke it.”

  Remington’s lips twitched, then she looked over at Quinn.

  “Have you talked to BJ?” she asked.

  “About ten times now,” Quinn said, grinning. “He thanks you for saving his star,” she said, winking over at Wynter, “and warns you to get ready for fame once more.”

  “I purposely got out of that business,” Remington said.

  “Yeah, well, save a rock star, get famous,” Quinn said, smiling benevolently. “That’s apparently the way to fame these days.”

  “And you’d know,” Remington said.

  “Indeed,” Quinn said, glancing over at Xandy. “Is it too early for a drink?”

  “Yes,” Xandy said. “Quinn, it’s only ten.”

  “It’s five o’clock somewhere…” Quinn said, grinning mischievously, holding the bottle of Knob Hill up to Remington, who nodded.

  “Don’t you even think about it!” Wynter warned the Irishwoman. “If she needs painkillers she can’t be drinking.”

  “Sorry Rem,” Quinn said, shaking her head as she opened the bottle.

  Xandy reached over taking the bottle out of Quinn’s hands. “You need a clear head for today, babe.”

  “Damn…” Quinn said, grinning unrepentantly. “Oh, and BJ said he’s cancelling the next two shows, so Wynter can recover.”

  Wynter shook her head. “I’m fine, if he starts cancelling shows that affects everyone…”

  “I think they’ll understand,” Xandy assured her.

  Wynter looked at Remington, who nodded. “Well, let’s see how Remi is, but if she’s okay, I don’t want two shows canceled on my account.”

  In the end, Remington’s hand was surprisingly not broken, but badly bruised. The doctor recommended a brace for her wrist until the bruising subsided and prescribed painkillers, which Remington refused to even have filled.

  “Remi…” Wynter had begun, her tone worried.

  “Wynter, I’ve dealt with a lot more painful injuries and still fought,” Remington assured her. “I’m okay.”

  “Fine,” Wynter said, “then I want to head back up to New York today to make tomorrow night’s show.”

  “No,” Remington said seriously, “you do need to rest.”

  “I’m fine,” Wynter said.

  “Really?” Remington said, narrowing her eyes slightly. “Your head hurts, doesn’t it?”

  “Why do you say that?” Wynter asked.

  Remington looked back at her, her look saying really? “You mean besides the fact that you answered a question with a question?” she said wryly. “Your eyes are darker than they usually are and that usually indicates pain.”

  Wynter pressed her lips together, looking away.

  Xandy grinned, glancing at Quinn who nodded.

  “Alright, let’s say one show,” Remington said then. “You guys can make that up easy once we’re done in Pittsburgh.”

  Wynter looked pensive, looking at Quinn, then Xandy, and lastly Remington. She sighed, nodding.

  “Okay, you win, one show,” she said.

  Remington looked over at Quinn. “Call BJ.”

  “You got it,” Quinn said.

  “I’m going to go get you some ice for your wrist,” Xandy said.

  “And some for the Knob Hill?” Remington queried hopefully.

  Xandy looked back at Remington, seeing the wistful look on her face.

  “Fine!” she said, shaking her head.

  Wynter finally called Lauren back to tell her that she was fine and that all the news reports were accurate. Before long, however, Lauren couldn’t seem to keep from making a nasty comment about Remington’s face being everywhere all of a sudden, like she was “some kind of star.”

  “She saved my life, Lauren,” Wynter said, sounding appalled at Lauren’s attitude.

  “Oh don’t be all dramatic,” Lauren said, her tone placating.

  “I gotta go,” Wynter said her tone turning cold suddenly.

  “What? Wait…” Lauren started to say.

  “Bye,” Wynter said, hanging up the phone before she had to hear one more word.

  Wynter and Remington spent the day in the room for the most part. They received visits from the other performers and band members. Remington received a great deal of accolades from everyone for her ‘great save.’ Wynter received a lot of comments about being the luckiest woman on the planet, and she agreed one hundred percent every time, looking over at Remington each time. By mid-afternoon a flat screen TV was brought up and connected through Wi-Fi, so they were able to watch some TV.

  Wynter started seeing all the news stories on the incident the night before. She saw the video of Remington lunging forward to catch her. It made her wince every time she saw it, because she saw Remington’s hand hit the scaffolding. It was indeed a miracle it wasn’t broken.

  “Strong Creole bones,” Remington said, winking at her.

  Wynter also saw the video where Remington pulled off her shirt to press it to her head. She glanced over at Remington at that point, and saw that Remington was pointedly looking down. Wynter reached out to touch Remington’s hand, her look searching.

  “There was a lot of blood. It scared the hell out of me,” she said simply.

  Wynter swallowed convulsively at the look in Remington’s eyes.

  Then Wynter saw the video of Remington talking to her, her head bent, her lips so close to her face. The audio was haunting because Wynter could remember hearing Remington saying those things; she could remember Remington’s voice so close to her and so soothing. Hearing it again and combined with everything else she’d already seen, it simply overwhelmed her.

  She moved to lie next to where Remington sat on the bed, putting her head on Remington’s knee.

  Remington glanced down at Wynter, seeing tears in her eyes. Without a word, Remington put her hand on Wynter’s head, stroking her hair, careful to stay away from the cut. Wynter put her hand on Remington’s leg, her hand alternately rubbing then grasping at the material of the yoga pants Remington wore.

  Remington’s phone rang and she glanced down at it, seeing that it was her father. She picked up the phone, smiling as she answered it. Wynter glanced up, seei
ng Remington’s smile, watching as she talked, only hearing Remington’s side of the conversation.

  “Alo?” she said. “Wi papa… pa gen okenn li se amann, she’s fine,” she said then, winking at Wynter, which told her that she was translating what she was saying to her father. “Mwen menm amann twò, I’m fine too,” she said then, chuckling warmly, “chans trape, lucky catch… pa gen li se amann, it is fine,” she said, holding up her wrist. “Mwen pwomèt, I promise… di manman mwen byen, tell Mom I’m fine… Wi mwen se tradui, yes I’m translating for Wynter,” she said then, winking at Wynter. “Wi, li se isit la, yes she’s here.” She laughed out loud then, nodding her head. “Wi, li te rete apre tout, yes she stayed after all… Ah, wi,” she said, looking down at Wynter. “My father says he’s glad you are okay.”

  “Tell him ‘mèsi’,” Wynter said, shocking Remington momentarily.

  “Li te di, ‘mèsi’.” She grinned then. “Wi, aksan li se yon bon bagay, her accent is good,” she said, “very good.” She smiled fondly then, “Mwen renmen w tou. Orevwa.”

  “Okay, I recognize that last word from one too many movies set in Paris… but what was that before?” Wynter asked.

  “Mwen renmen w tou,” Remington said, her hazel eyes looking down into Wynter’s eyes. “It means I love you too.”

  “Mwen renmen w tou,” Wynter repeated, once again her accent near perfect.

  “Are you sure you weren’t French in a previous life?’ Remington asked, grinning.

  “Why?” Wynter asked, smiling.

  “Because your accent is almost dead on,” Remington said, looking pleasantly surprised.

  Wynter shrugged. “I’ve always felt that if I was going to speak someone else’s language, I should give it the respect of doing it right, or not at all.”

  “Trè byen,” Remington said, inclining her head, surprised and extremely impressed by Wynter’s comment.

  “Mèsi,” Wynter said, smiling.

  “And a damned quick study,” Remington added with a smile, her eyes shining happily.

  The bus ride back to New York was uneventful, except for a conversation Remington and Wynter had about the accommodation arrangements in New York. They were sitting in the small media area next to the bunks. Remington was icing her wrist and the TV was on.