by Rosa Foxxe
“Help me!” I screamed. A strong hand gripped my arm and I looked up through blurry eyes to see my father, his face contorted. “Daddy, help me,” I said, my voice dropping to a pleading whimper. He nodded and pulled out his phone. As he dialed he crouched beside me.
“I need an ambulance to Walter Hall, this is an emergency - a man has been shot.” Hot tears continued to pour down my face. I choked back another sob. My entire body was shaking and I was losing my grip on Tom. The blood was coming faster again. He would die if I could not keep the wound shut. Two hands pressed on top of mine, securing the scarf over Tom’s wound. My father frowned, his lips pressed as tightly together as his hands pressed over mine.
“Stay strong, Michelle, we’ll save him.” I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. We sat together in silence, listening to the noise around us. The crowd was starting to calm down. The guards were in place. At one point, one of my father’s guards tried to take him away from me. He refused. But even that seemed so far away. My entire focus was on Tom’s heartbeat, Tom’s breathing. I had to focus on Tom. I would not let go of him.
Then the ambulance was here. The paramedics pulling me off Tom even as I begged that they did not. I had to stay. I had to help. He would die without my scarf. Tears filled my eyes again. I was passed to warm, strong arms. I turned and cried into them. And Tom was gone. Gone to the hospital without me, no matter how much I wanted to go with him.
“Sweetie, it’s all right, they’ll save him,” said a low voice in my ear. It was my father. I didn’t want my father. I wanted Tom. I wanted his laughter and his quirked eyebrows, his strange way of smiling, and his surprise at everything I could do. I wanted Tom to tell me everything was going to be okay. But he couldn’t. Because Tom was gone. He was gone to a hospital with paramedics who didn’t know him. Would they know to tell him he was safe if he woke up? If. The word echoed in my mind. Loud and silent at the same time.
“He’s going to die,” I said. “I just know it.” My father pulled my closer and kissed my forehead.
Chapter 10
The night was long, made longer still by the fact that my father took me back to his home. The police wanted to talk to me but I refused. I knew nothing. I hadn’t even seen the man properly before he’d attacked my father. There was nothing I could tell them they wouldn’t learn from anyone else. If they still wanted to talk to me when Tom was better, then fine.
Back at my father’s, I wanted nothing more than to collapse and sleep until I could see Tom. It was only once I stood in my childhood bedroom that I realized I was soaked in Tom’s blood. I spent the next twenty minutes scrubbing it off in the shower. The water ran bright red, then pink, and then finally clear. I turned the water to hot and let it burn into my skin. It couldn’t wash away the feeling of blood on my hands. They still felt coated in the sticky, hot blood as it poured out of Tom’s chest.
The feeling consumed me as I stood in the bathroom, staring at my reflection. All I could see was Tom. Tom bleeding out as his blood poured over my hands. As his life drained out of his shoulder. I shuddered, jerked forward, and vomited into the toilet. Everything I’d eaten that day came up in rushes of burning and stink. I cringed, flushed the toilet, and wiped off my mouth. My throat burned from vomiting, my stomach burned from the sudden convulsion, and my eyes burned from the tears that stung them.
Shutting off the light, I crawled into bed and pulled the covers up to my chin. Sleep came quickly with my exhaustion, but my dreams turned to nightmares in minutes. I dreamed of gunshots and darkness, of blood pouring down walls and of a gravestone that I could never quite read the words of. When I woke up the next morning I was even more tired than when I had fallen asleep. I needed to be awake, however, because I needed to talk to my father.
I pulled a housecoat over my nightie and slipped silently out of my room. A woman with towels was rushing down the hall, her shoes clicking on the ground as she ran.
“Have you seen my father?” I asked. The woman jerked, one towel slipping, and nodded.
“Yes, he is in his study,” she said.
I gave the woman a weak smile. “Thank you.” She rushed off again, towels in her arms. The study was on the lower floor and it took me a moment to place it in the wide expanse of my childhood home. In a moment, however, I remembered where it was and slipped off to the door, rapping it gently before sliding inside.
My father was sitting in the plush chair behind his desk. The back of the chair was to me, but I could tell from the noise that my father was speaking with someone on the phone.
“I don’t care how you do it, just do it,” he was saying. “No, I won’t be coming in for a while. I have other things I need to take care of.” I winced. That sounded ominous. My father hung up and turned. He started when he saw me and I realized he probably hadn’t heard my knock.
“Hello, father,” I said. Then I winced again at my formal tone. “Dad,” I corrected with a nod.
He nodded in return. “How are you holding up?” he asked, gesturing toward a chair in front of his desk. I took the seat, grateful because my legs had started to weaken.
“I’m…” I paused, letting the sentence roll over in my mind. I sighed and closed my eyes, leaning back in the chair. “Not well, actually,” I finished. “I’m worried. I’m worried about Tom, about the attack, about you, about everything.”
“But mostly Tom,” my father finished. I winced for the third time that morning. That was true, but I doubted I had been so transparent. And if I had, why was my father so observant now? He leaned over his desk, his hands folded together and his gaze locking with mine. “Michelle,” he said in a low, concerned tone that made me duck my head in shame. “What is going on between you and Tom, be honest with me.”
“Is he okay?” I asked, answering his question with one of my own. “Is he going to be all right? Have you heard from the hospital?” I studied my hands as they shook in my lap and refused to look up. My father sighed.
“Yes,” he said. “I heard from the hospital and Tom is going to be fine. He is injured, and they do not know the exact permanence or extent of his injuries at the moment, but they got the bullet, closed the wound, and stopped him from bleeding out.” I relaxed deeper into my seat with a quiet exhale. Thank God, I thought, I had been so worried about him and it turned out he was okay. There was nothing more I could have asked for. “Now, answer my question.”
I thought about it. Of course, I already knew the answer to the question. I was in a relationship with Tom, though I did not know the emotional extent of it. It had been solely sexual at first, but now it seemed so much more important than that. I cared for Tom, though I did not know if I loved him, I hadn’t known him long enough to really think about that. But did Tom care for me as well? And did I really want to tell my father? He would fire Tom in an instant.
“Yes,” I said after a pause long enough to speak for itself. “There is something going on between me and Tom.” I scrubbed a hand over my face and forced myself to look my father in the eye. “I’m not going to lie and say I was going to tell you. Frankly, it wasn’t your business anyway.”
My father frowned. “He is my employee and that makes it my business.”
“He was doing his job, wasn’t he? He was protecting me from those stupid people who were after you. Now that the guy is dead, Tom’s job is over, Dad. It doesn’t matter now what we are.” The words came out more sharply than I intended, but I held my ground. My father’s frown deepened, but for a moment he said nothing.
“I would like you to know, before you go at me again, that a week ago, or even two days ago, I would have told you that this was unacceptable and I would have fired him,” he said. I opened my mouth to protest. “But,” he continued, cutting me off. “I’ve seen the way you two act now. I saw how he didn’t hesitate to save me. I saw how worried you were. And, frankly, I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”
“Oh?” My voice was small and seemed to get swallowed up by the dimly lit room.
“Well,” said my father after a long pause. “What do you say we go see Tom?” I looked at my father and smiled, my eyes shining – though I’d never admit it. It took only a few minutes for me to get ready, and then together my father and I headed for the hospital.
Neither one of us spoke on the way to the hospital, though I could tell my father was thinking about something. Most likely, that something was myself and Tom, and while he seemed accepting, I was still dreading the moment when he and Tom came face to face.
My fears were short lived. Within minutes, my father and I were being lead into Tom’s room. I gasped when I saw him. He was bare from the waist up and a heavy bandage was wrapped around his shoulder. His arm was in a sling as well and various things were hooked into him. I recognized a heart rate monitor and an IV drip. The other two were a mystery.
“Tom,” I whispered, a hand flying over my mouth. I rushed to his side as his eyes fluttered open and wrapped my hands around his unencumbered one. “How are you?”
He smiled, running his thumb over my hand. “A little worn down, but otherwise all right,” he said. He tried to turn toward me, but pain contorted his face and he eased himself back down. “Okay,” he conceded. “Maybe not all that well.”
“You are so stupid, you know that?” I asked.
“It’s my job to protect you, part of that is protecting your father. I did my duty, and I will stand by that.” He locked eyes with my father. “I’m proud of my actions, even if they did land me in a hospital bed.”
My father shook his head and stepped up to the end of the bed. “My daughter has informed me that the two of you are in a relationship.” Tom pressed his lips tightly together, but he didn’t drop my father’s gaze. “Before this, I would have had you fired in an instant. But, seeing how she cares about you, and seeing how you care about her, I can’t hold it against either of you.” He sighed.
“I love her,” said Tom. His voice was firm but I saw his hands were shaking. He turned his head to look at me. “I love you, Michelle, and I would do anything in the world to make you happy.” I smiled, my eyes watering. Hearing those words, my heart made its decision.
“I love you too,” I said, and they rang true despite their sudden revelation. “And I’m so glad you’re okay.”
“If you are able to work again, I would be happy to welcome you back to my workforce,” said my father. Tom and I smiled at each other and he pulled me in for a gentle kiss. It was chaste, but I could almost feel the joy of my father’s acceptance in his touch. I smiled into the kiss and pulled back to rest my forehead against his. Tom was alive. He was alive and he was in one piece. Not only that, but my father was fine with our relationship. I couldn’t have been happier. Everything had fallen into place.
“Thank you, sir,” said Tom. “For your blessing.”
My father snorted. “Please, if I said it was a blessing my daughter would have my head for the insinuation that she was to be given away. Though, that is essentially what it is.”
I grinned at my father. “Maybe just this once, I’ll let it slide.” I winked at him and my father smiled, shaking his head at me.
A knock on the half-open door startled us. A doctor stood in the doorway holding a clipboard. He raised it in a half-hearted greeting before sliding in. I sucked in a breath. This was the moment of truth. How injured was Tom?
“Sorry to break up your party,” said the doctor. “But I thought you might want to know how your friend is doing.” He turned to Tom, who nodded. “Tom is stable, as you can tell, and his injuries will heal. However, the bullet did quite a bit of damage. Although he will heal, it will take a great deal of time, and he will never regain full control of his left hand again. The control he has as of now will become more refined, but I doubt he’ll be able to squeeze his hand into a proper fist again. We’ll put him in physical therapy once his arm is healed to help stimulate his hand, but I make no promises.” Tom nodded, his uninjured hand tightening into a fist between my own. I pressed my lips tightly together and tried not to look panicked. Tom was losing control of his hand? But that would mean…
“I suppose that means no more bodyguard work, then,” said Tom, finishing my thought for me. The doctor nodded - his expression sympathetic.
“I’ll leave you to think, please, take all the time you need, and let the nurses know if you need anything.” He nodded and ducked back out the door.
Once he was gone, Tom let out a low sigh and his entire body slumped against his elevated hospital pillows. “I can’t say I’m surprised, really,” said Tom. “I can barely feel my left arm anymore, and I know I can’t pull my hand into a fist. I’ll just be glad if I can move it at all after all this.” I nodded.
“Whatever you need, I’m here for you,” I said.
“As am I,” said my father.
Tom smiled at both of us and turned his good hand over to curl around my own. “Thank you, but, for now, I’m just glad to be alive.”
“So am I,” I mumbled, curling close to him and resting my head on his shoulder. And I was. Even if Tom could never work as a bodyguard again, he still had his life, and he had me. We’d figure the rest out.
Epilogue
The early morning sun shone brightly, reflecting off the ocean as it brushed against the white sandy beach. I leaned against the balcony railing, staring down at the beach not a two-minute walk from the hotel. My housecoat – the only clothing I wore – fluttered in the morning breeze. But I was alone outside, so I didn’t worry if I accidentally flashed the ocean.
“Michelle?” The low, grumbling sound of morning voice roused me from my staring. I turned and cracked a smile at Tom, who was half sitting up in the lush bed in our hotel room. The sheets slid down his shoulders and bare chest, revealing a patchwork of scars. The newest was the scar on his left shoulder, where a bullet had struck him and then been dug out by paramedics. He smiled when he saw me smiling and rubbed one eye. The beginnings of a beard marked his face, aging him in a rough, outdoorsy sort-of way.
“Good morning,” I said. My voice was gentle and just loud enough for him to hear.
“Good morning,” he replied. A yawn escaped him and he stretched upward, shaking off the sleep that no doubt still clung to his skin and his mind. “How long have you been up?”
“Long enough to know you drool in your sleep,” I replied.
Reflexively, he wiped off the side of his mouth with his right arm. “You already knew that, though.”
I leaned against the door frame, folding my arms loosely beneath my chest. “Yeah, I did. Never gets old though.” I didn’t bother to keep the fondness from my voice. Even now, several months after Tom had been shot, I still couldn’t shake the feeling that I could lose him any day sometimes. It wasn’t a constant, nagging thing though, but it was there from time to time. That feeling had made me realize a few things. First, that I loved Tom, though I had admitted that to him back at the hospital. Second, that I didn’t want to spend my life without Tom. And third, that so long as Tom was around, I didn’t have to worry about my father constantly nagging me. Without that nagging, we’d grown closer. He’d even sprang for this lovely vacation so that Tom and I could spend some time away from the paparazzi who were so intent on discovering the secrets behind the senator’s daughter and her new beau.
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“What are you thinking about?” asked Tom, no doubt seeing the faraway look in my eyes.
“Just… what brought us here, I suppose,” I replied.
He laughed. “Yeah? Are you thinking about when we first met and you snapped at me? Or when you snuck off on your own?”
“No, more like the first time we went running and how you couldn’t keep up,” I teased.
A snort. “You would focus on the one time I couldn’t keep pace with you.”
“Yeah, I would.” We smiled at one another.
“Why don’t you come join me?” he asked. I crossed the room, letting my housecoat pool on the floor as I did. Tom wrapped me up in his warm, strong arms as I curled back up in bed with him. It was still early, and though I wanted to do a lot of things today, for the moment I was content to remain curled up in this comfy bed. Even now, wrapped up in his arms, I took note of the way Tom was healing. His physical therapy had done wonders, but I could feel how his left hand had a looser grip than his right. I shook off my cataloging and went back to enjoying the moment.
