Keeping King

by Anne Jolin

  Gripping me by the shoulder, Jami sighs. “She’s fine, but we don’t know details yet.”

  My knees threaten to buckle, and I embrace Hannah, as much for my own comfort as it for hers.

  I should have taken her home.

  We stay like this for quite some time, still in the midst of chaos, both Hannah’s and Lennon’s sobs fading to hiccups. Beth, Peyton’s roommate and Hannah’s sister, comes barreling through the police perimeter, with a scary-ass, tuxedo-wearing motherfucker in tow.

  “I was so scared you had been home when the cops called!” Hannah rushes out, tears spilling down her cheeks again. “I called Mom and Dad. They are on the next flight home from Ontario.”

  Beth is as pale as a ghost. “Peyton,” she chokes out before her strength comes crashing down in the arms of her sister.

  “Shhh,” Lennon whispers to her. “She’s okay. Peyton’s fine.”

  When Beth snaps her head up, I follow her manic gaze towards the ambulance. It’s positioned sideways near the front door of the condo, but I can’t see inside. It’s flanked by three police cars. Walking directly towards us from it is Greyson and in step with him is said scary-ass motherfucker.

  Greyson stops, addressing us. “She has a broken arm, three cracked ribs, and a concussion from being knocked out. Aside from that, she’ll have some nasty bruising, but she’ll recover fully from the attack. We’ve given her some painkillers that have knocked her out, and we are going to take her to the hospital now. You guys can meet us there. That girl is tough as nails,” he praises.

  The relief amongst the others is palpable, but not for me.

  Shifting my weight back and forth between my feet, I glance back at the ambulance constantly. The emotions waging war inside me run from flaring rage to insufferable guilt. I feel like I’m going to collapse on the bloody driveway.

  Beth eyes Jackson and furrows her brow. It’s always a little awkward when we’re all together, being that Jackson and Hannah used to date and she’s now knocked up with Greyson’s child.

  Reading into her expression, he sighs and delivers an explanation he shouldn’t have to give. “I was with Jay when Hannah called. Came in case I could help.”

  “Thanks,” Beth shrugs weakly.

  “Babe,” scary-ass motherfucker says. “I’m sorry, but the cops need to show you what’s inside.”

  Everyone in our group, besides me, seems to have suddenly realized he’s there, and they shamelessly stare at the poor bastard. Although it seems an ill-timed moment for introductions, Beth delivers them nonetheless. Turns out, scary-ass motherfucker is actually named Braxton. He must be the new boyfriend Peyton was talking about at the shop.

  After I agree to meet them at the hospital, they disappear through the front door of the condo—a place a never want either of those girls to step foot in again. Ever.

  “You can see her now,” a nurse says as she walks into the waiting room. “She’s still unconscious, but we’ve set her up in a private room as a favor to Mr. Holt. If you’d all follow me”—she gestures towards the hall—“I’ll take you to her room.”

  Standing up, I hesitate before falling into step behind my friends. To be honest, I feel like a bit of an asshole for even being here. Peyton and I have known each other for two years, but I’d hardly say that we’re friends. When she arrived on scene, all violet eyes and tiny waist, I was interested. Of course I was—I’m a fucking red-blooded male for Christ’s sake. But the moment she opened that sweet mouth, I knew I’d never touch her.

  My hands had already graced the flesh of someone with innocence like that. My heart had already known what it felt like to be loved by someone that special. Peyton was the kind of woman you marry—the kind you held on to and never let go of. But that didn’t matter. The part of me that wanted to be loved died when she did.

  It was my fault.

  I couldn’t save her.

  Crossing the threshold into the white hospital room, my stomach turns at seeing her lying there.

  I could have prevented this.

  Ignoring the questioning looks of my friends, I grab a nearby chair and drag it to the edge of her bed. While I stroke her honey and caramel hair, I dip my head down, grazing the shell of her ear with my lips as I speak.

  “I’m so sorry, sugar,” I confess, fighting against my own memories. “I’m here now, and I’ll protect you.”

  After kissing her cheek, I sit, folding my upper body across her lap, and resting my head on her thighs.

  I would not be doomed to repeat the same ill-fated mistakes again.

  Fuck no. This time, I’ll burn the whole goddamned city down to the ground to protect her.

  Casualties be damned.

  BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

  Consciousness slowly floods my system, and I wince when I feel it—the pain. The light behind my eye lids is bright, and I can feel the IV in my hand. Hospital room. This I’m familiar with. My stomach feels heavy, like there’s something on it, and I can hear people whispering throughout the room.

  Opening my eyes hurts like a motherfucker. One is nearly swollen shut and the other is dry.

  “She’s awake,” a man’s voice says somewhere to my left. I think its Greyson, but I can’t be sure. It’s taking me a while to gather my bearings.

  Looking around the room, I see each of my friends. Lennon and Jami are asleep on two chairs in the corner, Jackson is standing and looking out the window, and a pregnant Hannah is sitting next to my bed in a chair. I watch as her boyfriend returns to the room flanked by a doctor and Colt.

  Someone’s missing . . .

  “Beth,” I croak, my throat dry.

  I know she had some sort of fancy gala with her new beau, but something is nagging at me, and I pray desperately that she wasn’t home. That ex-boyfriend of hers is a nasty, stalking asshole, and I wouldn’t put it past him to break into our house.

  “Shh, Pey. She’s fine,” Hannah assures me, running her hand over my head. “She had to give a statement to the police. She’ll be here soon.”

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I say a blessing that she wasn’t there. I feel the weight on my stomach move.

  “Uhh . . .” I whisper, my eyes flying from the tattooed arm around my waist to Hannah and back again.

  The upper body of Jayden King is draped across my lap.

  “He’s been beating himself up all night,” she says sadly.

  “He thinks it’s partially his fault,” Jackson quietly pipes up from across the room. “One of us should have made sure you got home safely with everything going on.”

  Sighing, I shake my head. “This isn’t anyone’s fault,” I tell them, doing my best to put all the weak energy I can muster into the statement. “No one could have predicted this.”

  The head on my lap stirs, and this time, I allow myself to run my hand over his shaved head and take him in. The face I saw mere hours ago now looks tired, and I ache at the thought of him thinking he holds any responsibility over the fact that this happened.

  Colt comes to stand beside Hannah, resting his hand over mine. “You did good, slugger. Real good,” he whispers proudly.

  The detective shield hooked into is waistline and the gun on his hip pull me back into the reality of why I’m surround by dearest friends.

  “Is he . . .” I start to speak, but my chin begins to wobble, so I stop before redirecting myself. “Did you catch him?”

  “No,” Colt bites out angrily. “He was long gone by the time the first cop arrived on scene.”

  I nod. I figured as much.

  As if anticipating my next question, he fills in the blanks. “Given the evidence found at the scene, we believe he was there to deliver a threat to your roommate, Bethany Rhodes. Our best guess is the assailant bypassed your alarm system and used a window in the spare bedroom to gain entry to the condo. We don’t believe he ever intended on being interrupted during this process and that, when you came home, it startled him and he panicked.”

  Squeezing his hand with m
ine, I smile at him to continue. I know that this isn’t his jurisdiction, being that he’s a narcotics detective, but I assume they’ve let him deliver the information given our unique relationship.

  “We’re searching a lead on your roommate’s ex-boyfriend, but so far, everything is coming up dry.” Colt frowns. “Can you identify him?”

  I shake my head. “No. It was dark and he was wearing a mask. I can only tell you that he was big and he did not hit like a girl,” I laugh, trying to lighten the mood, but it falls flat when I wince at the pain that screams out from my rib cage.

  “I hate to ask you this”—he shifts from one foot to the other—“but I need to get your statement.” Then he asks everyone who is awake if they would prefer to leave the room for this portion, but they all agree to stay as I relay the events up until my blackout.

  As I explain what happened, Colts writes everything down as if he’s going to snap the poor pencil in half as he does it.

  “I’m proud of you,” he says, leaning forward to press a kiss to my forehead. “I have to take this to the lead detective on your case, but I’ll be back later.”

  My eyelids are starting to feel heavy from whatever pain medication they gave me, but the doctor insists, “I will need to go over the extent of your injuries and any home care, Miss Callaghan.”

  “Okay,” I say but gesture in the direction of my sleeping friends. “Would it be all right if we waited an hour or so? They are in desperate need of sleep.”

  “Very well,” the doctor nods curtly. “I’ll come back.”

  Greyson opens the door, following the doctor out, and minutes later, he reenters with a gorgeous but disheveled-looking Beth. Her knees start to buckle at the sight of me, and her boyfriend, Braxton, snakes an arm around her waist to hold her up. Black tears are streaked down her pretty face as she clutches her heels in her hand.

  “Come here,” I say quietly from across the room.

  Braxton kisses the top of her head, nudging her forward encouragingly. She sits down slowly on the bed, careful not to jostle it so she doesn’t wake Jayden up from his position on my lap.

  “I’m so sorry,” she sobs, looking over my body and pink cast.

  “Beth, look at me,” I tell her sternly. She’s already been through so much. “This is not your fault.” I wince as I attempt to sit up and my hyperaware roommate doesn’t miss it.

  “But you’re—”

  Slipping my free hand into hers, I give it a squeeze. “They’re only bones and bruises. They’ll heal with time,” I assure her.

  Leaning forward, she buries her face into my hair and sobs again. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Shhh,” I coo, stroking her hair.

  We lie like that for a while. I hold my closest friend as she cries tears of misplaced guilt into my hospital gown. Finally, she sits up, wiping her eyes.

  “Beth?” I ask her, and she nods. “The man inside our house wasn’t there for me.”

  “I know,” she whispers.

  “You’re not safe there anymore,” I say on a shaky breath, my lip beginning to tremble. Not out of worry for myself, but out of worry for her. She’s in so deep, and it terrifies me.

  “You can stay with us,” Lennon whispers in a sleepy voice.

  “No,” Braxton rumbles. “She’s moving in with me.”

  Beth morphs from her sad features, grabbing a pissed-off-looking Braxton by the forearm and dragging him out into the hallway. Raised voices float in as they clearly argue about her living situations, and eventually, Hannah slips out to aid her sister as the doctor returns.

  “Would now be a good time?” he asks.

  Seeing that Jackson left while I was talking to Colt and, aside from Jami and Jayden, everyone is awake, I nod.

  “You sustained multiple injuries during your assault, and we’ve been giving you morphine for the pain.” He pauses as Jay lifts his head from my lap. “You have three cracked ribs, a broken arm, and a severe concussion.”

  Each of my friends winces while he describes my injuries. They aren’t used to this, but I am.

  “You’ll be severely immobile for several weeks as your ribs heal, and each day, they will need to be re-bandaged. We will keep you overnight, and someone will wake you periodically due to the severity of your concussion. As for the broken arm and contusions, those will heal with time. I would strongly suggest you have someone stay with you while you are healing. Even simple tasks will now seem much more difficult.”

  I’ve done it alone before; I can do it alone again. “I’ll be fine.”

  “The hell you’ll be fine!” Jay booms, kicking his chair out from underneath him. “You’re moving in with Jackson and me. Tomorrow.”

  What the hell? He pays no attention to me for two years, and now, he thinks he can boss me around like some protective older brother?

  “I’m not a porcelain doll, Jayden. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I don’t need a babysitter.” I pause to consider my next statement, but I decide that, if I’m being bold, I might as well go in for the big money. In for a penny, in for a pound and all that shit. “Especially you.”

  “I don’t give a flying fuck!” he roars, placing his hands on either side of my head.

  I squirm on the bed—well, as much as someone with three cracked ribs can squirm. His proximity alone is making me uncomfortable. I can’t live with him for crying out loud!

  “I really don’t think that’s necessary. They won’t come back for me,” I plead.

  Leaning down so his face is right in front of mine, he nearly growls as he speaks. “I won’t take the risk of you being collateral damage. Jackson’s already packing your shit, sugar, so let it go. It’s happening,” he states matter-of-factly.

  Huffing, I purse my bottom lip. There’s not a chance in hell I’m sharing a bed with him. No way.

  “I want my own room.”

  “Sug—” he argues.

  “My. Own. Room,” I growl back at him. “Or no deal.”

  If he’s going to boss me around, I’m going to boss him around. The door swings both ways, Mister ‘I’m the king of the castle and you’ll do whatever I say even though I normally never give you the time of day.’

  Kissing the top of my head in a gesture that alarms me, he sighs. “Fine, sugar. Your own room.” Then he sits back down in his chair beside my bed.

  I’m hardly surprised by the looks on everyone’s faces. They scream, What the hell was that all about? and I don’t blame them. I don’t even know what it was all about. Quite frankly, if I hadn’t been trying not to pout like a child at being bullied into becoming the third member of the three musketeers, I’m certain my face would look like theirs too. Right now, my best guess is that it looks like a slapped ass.

  Everyone stays for a while longer. Lennon advises that she’ll cancel my clients at work, and Braxton offers to have my things shipped to the guys’ house. I try to argue with him, but it’s useless. Apparently, he is having Beth’s things packed up and moved on Sunday, so it won’t be a bother. The man’s a little intimidating, but it hardly seems like a reason to dislike him. Especially when it’s obvious he’s completely head-over-heels in love with Beth.

  Finally, the nurse returns and kicks everyone out of the room so I can get some sleep. She tops off my morphine, and as I drift off to sleep, I can’t help but wonder what in the name of all that’s holy I just agreed too.

  Living with him.

  I can live with someone I have a crush on and not get hurt, right? Wrong.

  Shit.

  I’ll stay until I heal. One month—two tops—and then I’m gone. Long gone.

  Back to being a lone wolf. The leader of my own pack. The outsider . . . Wow, these drugs are good.

  “Ouch,” I groan as Colt takes a hard turn around the corner. “Think we could take it easy there, Mario Andretti?”

  His deep chuckle fills the hospital lobby as he pushes my wheelchair around like it’s an Indy 500 race car. “Sorry, slugger.”

>   Rolling my eyes, I fight the urge to turn around and sock him in the chest. To say I’m a little bitchy might be putting it mildly. I was supposed to be discharged yesterday, but they determined that my concussion was still fairly severe and kept me another night. Needless to say, my normally sweet demeanor is a little bit sour today. That and they’d taken me off morphine, switching to something hardly as enjoyable.

  I slept through most of my visitors yesterday. The drugs didn’t allow me much conscious time. Jackson brought over my Kindle sometime after lunch, and when I could, I read.

  If I’m being honest, it’s truly my lack of one visitor that really has me feeling a little like Meryl Streep in The Devil Wears Prada—a.k.a. nasty. Here he’d gone, demanding I become their new roommate, and then he never bothered to visit me. Not all day Saturday or this morning. Not saying that I wanted him to, but a part of me couldn’t ignore the way a small seed of disappointment would curl around my heart when the door opened and it wasn’t him.

  I suppose some naïve, rose-coloured-glasses version of myself hoped the gesture meant that my feelings for him weren’t entirely one-sided, but that notion died just as quickly as it had surfaced. I’d do well to remember that this arrangement is one of duty, obligation, and misconstrued, false guilt.

  When Colt stopped by this morning after I’d been handed my discharge papers, I jumped at his offer to take me home. Or, well, my temporary home, rather. It seemed like a much less embarrassing option than calling Jayden to come and get me.

  “Can you stand?” he asks.

  Rolling my eyes, I stick my tongue out at him.

  “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  Leaning forward, he offers his arm for support, and despite my small show of strength, I take it. Once he’s eased me into his truck, he shuts the door behind me. Then he takes off to return my wheelchair. Sighing, I pull out my iPhone, which Jackson also delivered, and turn it on.

  Forty-five missed calls.

  Six voicemails.

  Twenty-two text messages.

  Lord love a duck!

  I answer in order of importance. Truthfully, nearly ninety percent of them are Lennon, Hannah, or Beth, which makes the task hardly that difficult. Just as Colt slides into the driver’s seat, a new text messages comes through.