Shift (The Disciples' Daughters #2)

by Drew Elyse

  “No. Ace.”

  Jesus, she’d scared the fuck out of me. “We’ll go later. I need to take care of you now.”

  “But—” she started to refute.

  “Later,” I insisted. “Right now, he’s getting the help he needs. We can’t do anything. I’ve got my phone. Anything changes, someone will call. Right now, you need to let me take care of you.”

  As lost as she was at the moment, that seemed to penetrate. She nodded, the movement restricted by my hold, but I felt it.

  I led her into the bathroom she and Emmy used, then stopped her in the middle. Kneeling down before her, I removed her shoes while I instructed her to empty her pockets. I was taking her into the shower with her clothes on and I’d help her undress there. It would be easier to clean the tub than the bathroom floors.

  I noticed she only took out keys, and asked, “Where’s your phone, baby?”

  “He took it. At the tree by Dad’s grave. He shot it.”

  Fuck. I got my own phone out and called Stone. They needed to grab that phone as part of the clean up.

  Only once that was settled did I lead Ash into the shower. Her body quaked, but I knew it had nothing to do with being cold. The water was hot and I had her close. She was shaking from the strain of holding herself together. Everything in her wanted to shatter and she couldn’t hold onto the pieces much longer.

  “You’re safe, Firefly. Let go.”

  She collapsed against me, her body too weak to keep up the fight. I held her up just long enough to get her soiled clothes off, then lowered us to the floor of the tub. There, she crawled into my lap and let loose. She sobbed and screamed, shook from the force of her emotion. I held on, even as that shit ripped my heart out. I held on to her because one of us had to.

  After the worst of her breakdown passed, I managed to get Ash clean and into bed. She crashed almost immediately, the day proving to be too much. I figured it was best to let her sleep, so I had. Once I was sure she was out, I went back to the bathroom and cleaned up. I tossed her shirt and mine; there was no getting that amount of blood out.

  I’d gotten a text shot out to everyone while I was cleaning. Ace was out of surgery and he would make a full recovery. I’d considered waking Ash to let her know, but decided against it. I’d have the news when she woke. That was soon enough.

  Before I went back in to lay beside her, I called Deni and asked if she could keep Emmy for the night. Slick had already been updated on everything, so she had been expecting it. She put Emmy on the line and I’d asked her if she was okay with it.

  “Yay! Sleepover!” had been her response. “Aunt Deni said she’d paint my nails pink!”

  At least I didn’t have to worry about one of my girls.

  “Okay, princess. You have fun, and I’ll see you in the morning, yeah?”

  “Okay. I love you, Daddy.”

  Fuck. Just hearing that had made it easier to breathe. After everything that had happened, I wouldn’t have thought it was possible, but she even made me fucking smile.

  “I love you, too, princess.”

  With the knowledge that our daughter was settled, I’d gone back to my woman. She had still been out, thankfully. In sleep, she’d seemed at peace. It was almost like none of it had happened, like she’d wake up without any of that shit in her head. I fucking hated that I couldn’t make that true.

  She’d been asleep for several hours when my phone rang. She didn’t even stir, but I stepped out of the room before I took it.

  “Yeah?”

  “How’s Ash?” Roadrunner asked.

  “Asleep. Broke down not long after we got back, then crashed.”

  He sighed. I knew what he was feeling. There was no telling what shape Ash was going to be in when she woke up.

  “Fucks me to say it, but you should wake her up. Ace is coming off the anesthesia. He’s stirred a couple times, askin’ for her.”

  Fuck. I didn’t want to wake her and force her to face this shit. Still, he was probably right. As useless as it made me feel, being able to see Ace alive and awake would probably do more for her than I could.

  “Right. You’re probably right,” I gave him. “I’ll get her up now. Be over there when we can.”

  “Right, brother. Just see to her. Ace wakes again, I’ll tell him you’re bringing her.”

  I hung up and pocketed my phone. It took me a minute to go back to the room and open the door. I knew waking her was the right thing, I knew it was what she would want, but that didn’t make it easy.

  She was still curled up on her right side, facing the side of the bed. As I sat on the edge, she had no reaction to the movement. I ran my hand through her hair and her eyes pinched tighter.

  “Ash,” I called. Her body pulled in so she was fully in the fetal position. A defense mechanism. It may not have been a conscious choice, but she was fighting me. She was trying to stay asleep.

  With a gentle shake against her side, I repeated her name. A little groan was her response.

  “Baby, you’ve gotta wake up.”

  Finally, her eyes blinked open. There was still a tinge of redness to them. She looked adorably confused at first, but harsh reality only took a moment to settle in.

  “Ace?” she questioned with fear.

  “He’s alright. The surgery went well, and he’s supposed to recover fine.”

  She released a heavy breath, and whispered, “Good.”

  “That’s why I’m waking you. He’s coming off anesthesia. Roadrunner said he’s woken a couple times and is asking for you. You want to go?”

  Her answer was immediate and definitive, even though she didn’t say a word. She was up, getting out of the bed and heading for the closet to get dressed.

  A nurse led us through the ICU to Ace’s room. I just saw her, yet I couldn’t tell you what she looked like from the front. I couldn’t tell you how to get back to the waiting room, or how to get out of the hospital. I just knew I was holding on to Sketch and he would take me where I needed to go.

  We stopped and I realized we were outside a sliding glass door. There was a curtain pulled closed, so we couldn’t see inside. That was good. The rooms would probably look like exhibits at an aquarium otherwise.

  “Ash?” Sketch called to me. I looked up at him. “Did you get that?”

  “What?” I asked, my head turning to find the nurse already moving down the hall.

  Sketch gave me a look that told me he was worried. I was kind of worried, too. I’d been feeling so much before I went to sleep. Too much. Then, I woke up and…

  I didn’t really feel anything.

  “We need to wash our hands and shit before we go in,” he explained.

  “Oh, right.”

  He led me through the sliding door, which opened into a little alcove with a sink station and cabinets. There was equipment and things I had no idea how to work and wouldn’t touch. I washed up after Sketch, putting all my attention on the task. I had to do well. I had to get clean. I had to…

  “Fuck, baby. Stop it,” Sketch ordered, dragging me away from the water with both my wrists in his hands. His touch stung, but I didn’t understand why until I glanced down.

  My hands and forearms were bright red. I’d rubbed them raw. I could feel the relief of getting them out of the water that had obviously been too hot.

  “Ow,” I whispered.

  “What’s in your head?” Sketch questioned.

  I kept my eyes on my hands. “I just needed to get clean. I have to be clean to go in there.”

  “Look at me, Ash,” he told me. He seemed to be saying that a lot. I did, and noticed the way his brow wrinkled. I tried to reach out and smooth it down, but he still had a hold of my wrists.

  “Why are you holding my arms?”

  “Because I need your attention. I need this to get through whatever wall you’re putting up right now.” I didn’t get what he was talking about, so I cocked my head. He ignored that move and went on. “You are not dirty. You don’t need to get
clean. You don’t need to do this to yourself,” he said, punctuating his words with a small shake of my arms.

  My eyes moved from him to my arms again. Suddenly, I wasn’t looking at my arms reddened from scrubbing them. I was looking at my arms covered in Ace’s blood.

  I blinked the image away, but couldn’t get it out of my head. Even though I saw I was clean, I still couldn’t shake the memory.

  “Firefly,” Sketch called my attention back to him, “you’re clean.”

  I stared at my arms another moment. He was right. They were clean. I was clean.

  It took a while of repeating it to myself, but the image in my head faded back until it was gone.

  “I’m clean,” I finally said aloud.

  Sketch nodded, then released me, but grabbed onto my hand to center me. Being quiet, likely in case Ace was resting, he led me into the room.

  Ace was in the bed, his eyes closed. He looked totally normal, like he was just sleeping. All the white and light colors, however, the very clean looking equipment around him beeping every so often and lighting up, looked so out of place around a man I was used to seeing in all black, grease on his body somewhere, usually surrounded by the mess the Disciples seemed to make wherever they were. It all just seemed odd. Wrong.

  Sketch led me to a chair beside the bed, pulling it out a bit so I could sit. He stayed beside me, half standing, half sitting on the arm of my chair. I felt a vague sense of surprise that the flimsy looking thing didn’t give out under him.

  I wasn’t sure what to do. It felt wrong to disturb Ace while he was resting. He needed rest, right? But he’d been asking for me. Maybe he wanted to know if I was there.

  “Talk to him,” Sketch said, settling the internal argument for me.

  I inched forward until I was right on the edge of my seat. Reaching between the bars raised along the side of the bed, I placed my hand on Ace’s.

  “Ace? It’s me…Ash…” I started, not sure what to say. “Can you wake up for me? I want to talk to you and know you’re alright.”

  I didn’t get any response, so I decided to keep talking.

  “I’m so sorry this happened. He shot you, and it’s my fault. You shouldn’t have gotten hurt. You were just trying to protect me. I never wanted this to happen. I…”

  Ace’s hand moved a bit under mine and I froze. In a raspy voice, he said, “Christ, woman. I took a bullet. No big deal.”

  I let out a little sob and he opened his eyes some to look at Sketch and me.

  “You’re okay.”

  He looked at me like I was nuts. “They didn’t tell you that?”

  “They did.”

  He shook his head and flinched a bit at the movement. Then, to Sketch, he said, “You need to control your woman.”

  Still crying and not at all able to get it under control, I snapped, “Well, excuse me for being grateful to you for saving my life.”

  I started to pull my hand away, but he grabbed onto it. I stopped and met his eyes. His were serious then. “I’m glad you made it out alright,” he said.

  “Thank you for protecting me.”

  “Anytime.”

  Sketch placed his hand on my back before he spoke. “Thank you, brother.”

  My tears kicked up a notch.

  Ace tried to shift, but ended up stilling on a wince. After a second, he said, “Way I hear it, your woman saved us both.”

  I tensed.

  “Yeah, she did,” Sketch agreed.

  What?

  “No, I didn’t,” I rushed out. I looked at Ace, and said, “You took out the other guy,” before turning to Sketch, and finishing, “and you guys were already there before I…”

  I couldn’t say it. Even in my head, I couldn’t finish that thought. The image of having the gun trained on Barton popped into my mind, but I shut it down before I could relive the moment any more.

  “You incapacitated him,” Sketch reminded me. “Unless Ace was the one who put the bullet in his arm.”

  I didn’t confirm that, but Ace took it upon himself to do so. “Wasn’t me.”

  “You hadn’t done that,” Sketch went on, “the two of you might not have been there when we showed up.”

  “I…” I didn’t know what to say. They were making it out like what I did was good.

  “You saved my ass and yours,” Ace filled in. “You struggle with that shit at all, you remember my ass is here because of you. You’re still here next to my brother, able to go home to your little girl, because you acted.”

  That wasn’t true. Well, okay, maybe it was true for getting his gun and disarming Barton, maybe he was right that doing so saved us both, but there was more to it than that.

  A moment passed before Ace spoke again. “Fuck, I’m goin’ down again,” he muttered. His eyes were already half closed. “Fuckin’ drugs.” He faced Sketch, and ordered, “Get her home, and tell the boys I want that sexy fuckin’ nurse in here next time I wake up.”

  He was falling asleep even as he spoke and faded out completely just after he was done.

  “Come on,” Sketch said, holding out his hand for me. “Time to let him rest. We can come back tomorrow.”

  He led me out of the room, making sure to shut the sliding door and curtain behind us, then through the maze of hallways I really hadn’t taken in on the way here. Eventually, we made it into a waiting room where several of the Disciples were seated.

  Roadrunner came my way and pulled me into his arms.

  “I’m so fucking glad you’re alright,” he rumbled.

  I squeezed him tightly, and murmured, “I’m okay.”

  “Couldn’t take losin’ you, too.”

  My heart broke. This man who had been such a huge part of my life had lost his best friend, and I’d gone and left right after. I knew he meant he was glad nothing worse happened with Barton, but I understood in that moment how much deeper it went.

  “You’ll never lose me again,” I told him. “I’m sorry I left before. It was a mistake. Hoffman is home. It always has been.”

  He held me close for a while longer before he stepped back. “Long as you know that now. Ain’t no way I’m letting you leave with Emmy,” he joked.

  “The two of them aren’t going any-fucking-where,” Sketch put in.

  I glanced over my shoulder at him, seeing his temper rising at the mere idea of me leaving. Despite all the crap rolling around in my brain, despite being sure I’d never been more exhausted in my life, I smiled at him. He didn’t hesitate to step in close and wrap his arms around me from behind. I felt him rest his chin on the top of my head.

  Oh yeah, this was home.

  The rest of the guys—Stone, Tank, Gauge, Ham, and Daz—took their turns to check on me and tell me in their own ways they were glad I was okay. Including Daz’s touching, “Be a damn shame the world had one less gorgeous fuckin’ woman like you in it.”

  I cried the whole time.

  It was after three in the morning and I was outside on the deck, staring into the dark yard and seeing the occasional little light of a firefly. I couldn’t sleep. I’d tried. Sketch and I had gone to bed pretty much immediately when we got back to the farmhouse. He’d only delayed it to feed us both.

  We’d both fallen asleep quickly, but I woke an hour later. Then, an hour or so after that. And it kept happening.

  Every time I fell back asleep, I’d end up back in those woods at the edge of the cemetery, the gun in my hand. Every time, I woke with a start as I pulled the trigger. It happened again and again. I couldn’t escape it.

  Eventually, sick of recycling the same dream, I’d gotten out of bed. Luckily, Sketch slept right through me waking each time and slipping out. I loved him, but I wasn’t sure I wanted company.

  I was outside for a while, trying to focus on the little flashes of light across the yard, not the mess in my head, when I heard the door open. Sketch had likely realized I was gone and went looking for me. I didn’t say anything and hoped he would just let me be for a while longer.


  “Wasn’t you,” a deep voice rumbled at me.

  I turned and saw Jager leaning against the siding next to the door.

  “What?”

  “Barton. Wasn’t you who offed him. I took the other shot. Hit him first.”

  He was trying to make me feel better. “You don’t know that.”

  “Yes, I do. I’m not saying I wouldn’t blow smoke up your ass about this just because you’re struggling, but I’m telling you I’m not. I’ve got more experience with a gun than you. I can track my shot. I hit him first.”

  I took that in, choosing to trust what he was saying. It didn’t make me feel any better. “It doesn’t matter.”

  He came over and stood beside me, but I kept my eyes out on the lawn.

  “Lost my whole family,” he said after a moment.

  My head flew his way, but he wasn’t looking at me.

  “What?” I whispered in horror.

  “Long time ago. House fire. Some asshole my dad laid off decided he wanted retribution. Drunk off his ass, which was why my dad fired him. Don’t know if he meant to hurt anyone, or just damage the house. Do know he did it on purpose.”

  Holy crap.

  “I was the only one who made it out. He started the fire at the furthest end of the house from my room. I lost them all that night, worst fucking way I could imagine.”

  He didn’t go on for a while and I knew it was because talking about it was killing him, even if he didn’t show it. My heart was bleeding for him to have experienced that.

  “If I’d known the motherfucker was going to do that before it happened, if he even threatened it and it was only a possibility, I would have killed him myself.”

  Oh, god. That’s where he was going with this.

  “Jager…”

  “No, Ash. You gotta hear this. It could have been just an off fucking chance he might do it and I would have taken him out without question. I would have had to do it myself to know it was done, and done properly. Nothing else would satisfy that fear.”

  I didn’t say a thing. I was too overwhelmed.

  “What I’m saying is, you don’t have one fucking thing to be torn up about. That asshole took a fuck of a lot from you and he threatened to hurt your daughter. You shouldn’t be losin’ even one fucking wink of sleep over the fact that you tried to remove him from this earth. You didn’t do it, I know that one hundred percent. But you shouldn’t even struggle with the fact that you tried. You were protecting your little girl. Ain’t one bad thing about that.”