by S. L. Scott
Langley says, “I’m sorry about Mrs. Kingwood.”
Mrs. Kingwood. The name doesn’t harken back to my mother, but teases and taunts knowing it might not be my Firefly’s one day. Coughing, I swipe away the tears that fall in front of them. Fucking humiliating. “What else do you need?”
“Mrs. Kingwood’s car was found off Devil’s Curve near Century Street. That seems to be on the way to your home, but from her parents’ statement, she was no longer living in the area. When did you get married?”
“What the hell? I know where I found her, where her car was. Why aren’t you trying to find the guy who attempted to kill her? Why are you wasting time interrogating me instead of chasing leads?” God, I am so angry. “This is just like my mother’s case,” I mumble.
“Your family has a lot of enemies,” Brown adds. Asshole.
“My father had a lot of enemies. My wife does not.”
Staring at me, he adds, “You’re a lot like your father. Arrogant with a giant chip on your shoulder like the world owes you something just for existing.”
“It doesn’t?” I ask, cocking an eyebrow.
A nurse pops her head out the door. When she sees us, she says, “Mr. Kingwood. They’re coming out of surgery.”
Sara Jane. I rush to the sliding glass doors.
Before I have a chance to go inside, Brown adds, “Don’t leave town.”
Glancing back, I catch the expression in his eyes. He doesn’t believe me. My heart is beating so quickly. Spending the rest of my life in prison wasn’t part of the plan when I started searching for answers regarding my mother’s murder.
I stand at the nurses station and wait. My senses are heightened from the adrenaline coursing through my body, and my defenses are sky high. I should be nervous or anxious or threatened or worried. I’m none of those. I’ll take them on with every dollar to my name another day. I just need my Firefly to be okay.
The Graysons are huddled together, Sara Jane’s mom crying on her husband’s shoulders. His hate permeates the air and I turn my back, swallowing hard. I understand their pain, but it still feels insignificant to my own. I know the truth. I know she was shot because of me, or my father, because of the Kingwood name. I dip my head down and rub my forehead. Fuck. Fuck.
I push away thoughts of Chad and the visions of Sara Jane on the ground curled to her side, grayer by the second as blood drained from her small frame. Her words echo through my brain. “It’s been good. So good living this life with you.”
“Please let her be okay,” I whisper to the darkness invading my head. “We have so much more life to live. I will do anything if you let her live.” I’m not even sure who I’m begging, but I pray my prayers will be answered.
Langley and Brown saunter in like they’ve got a solved case on their hands. Brown grins, the smarmy fuck. Out of the corner of my eyes, I watch as they go to the Graysons. Turning my back, I listen carefully, trying to eavesdrop.
“His story checks out so far, Mr. Grayson,” Langley says. “We’ll get more information when he gives his statement.”
My story checks out. I didn’t even give much of a story. Lazy cops.
How is that even possible?
I shouldn’t have glanced over because her father stands stiff in disbelief, and I look away from his death stare. “That can’t be. I know he’s part of this. My daughter has always been too good for him.”
Langley replies, “That’s unfortunate, but since they’re married, even more so.”
“Married? They’re not married.”
I walk away, the knives of his spite stabbing me like daggers to the back.
“Kingwood?” her father calls.
Saved just in time by the nurse who says, “Right this way.”
I start down the corridor, but to my back, Sara Jane’s father yells, “What have you done to my daughter, Kingwood? You will not get away with this. I swear over my dead body you will not get away with this.”
The cops are telling him to calm down while the nurse guides me through a set of double doors and into a smaller waiting room. “Wait here. The doctor will be right out.”
Her father’s threat still rings in my ears, her mother crying softly behind him. Despite the savage actions of the last few hours, I’m not a monster. I know they love her, even if they don’t show her. “Nurse?”
“Yes?”
“Her parents should be here. They’re still in the waiting room.”
She nods. “I’ll bring them back.”
“Thanks.”
I try to sit, but my knee begins to bounce, the motion uncontrolled and erratic, so I stand back up and pace. Fuck. What’s taking the doctor so long? I see a man in scrubs coming down the hall. Exhaustion is carved into the lines around his eyes. Sara Jane’s parents rush to him, her mother pleading for answers.
I exhale slowly. They love her, like I do, I remind myself. So I steady my splintering emotions and try to gain some patience. The doctor glances to me. “Mr. Kingwood. Mr. and Mrs. Grayson. I’m Dr. Curtis. Sara Jane is in recovery, but I wanted to update you on the surgery.” He sticks an X-ray up on a light board. “As you are already aware, Sara Jane was shot in the abdomen. This is usually a fatal point of entry due to the rapid loss of blood. In her case, she’s very lucky because it hit right about here.” He points to a section on the X-ray. “The liver was struck in the top right portion, here. We stopped the bleeding and removed a small part of the damaged liver.”
Her mother asks, “Lucky?”
“I say lucky because if you’re shot anywhere in the torso, that’s the place to be hit. Any other organ would have shut down. Add in rapid blood loss and unless a doctor is on the scene, a patient is harder to save.”
“She’ll recover?” I ask quietly from behind her parents.
“She is in recovery now. We’ll be monitoring her closely over the next forty-eight hours for potential infection, organ function, and stability. She’s been through something very traumatic. She’s on her own timeline as to when she wakes and heals and recovers. We’re hopeful. The liver is also the only organ that can regenerate, so to answer the earlier question—lucky.”
“So she’ll . . .” Her mother’s hands tremble matching her voice.
“Yes, Sara Jane is strong.” The doctor’s eyes meet mine again, and a tight, but small smile appears. “She’s a fighter.”
He comes over to me and shakes my hand, the other covering the top of mine. “If you have any questions, or concerns, don’t hesitate to tell the nurses or the doctor on call.” After shaking each of her parents’ hands, he adds, “I’m going to get some sleep, but I’ll be back in tomorrow to check on her. In the meantime, I suggest getting some rest. I’m sure this is a trying time on all of you, but she needs to be surrounded by your strength.”
“I want to be here. When can I see her?”
His smile grows. “Touch base with the nurses regarding where you’ll be and they’ll make sure to contact you when it’s okay to see Mrs. Kingwood.”
“Grayson,” her father scowls.
The doctor backs up, obviously not wanting to get involved in this feud, and says, “You can wait here or in the main waiting room down the hall. I’ll see you in the morning.”
There is nothing to keep this war from raging now that we’re alone. A gasp is heard from her mother when her father flies into action. No punches are thrown, but in seconds I’m slammed against the wall, my shirt fisted in his hands. “I don’t know what you did to my daughter, but I know she’s in there fighting for her life because of you.”
“For me.”
“What?” A snarl sits angry on his lips as he tries to take me down through a fury-filled glare. “What did you say?”
“For me. She’s fighting to live for me.”
“You cocky son of a bitch.” I’m pulled forward and slammed again. I could fight him. I could, but it’s not the right thing to do. I would do exactly the same if I were in his shoes. So I let him vent his aggression and
I take it, needing the blows to wake my wilting faith. I’m empty without her.
He’s distraught as he slings insults at me from the way I’m dressed to my hair getting longer. I’m called a hoodlum, a gang member, a menace to society, a derelict, and a danger to his daughter. It’s then I realize he will never understand what Sara Jane and I are, what we mean to each other, that we only exist because the other does.
She was coming back to me.
How can he not see it in my eyes? How can he be so unaware of my pain that she’s having to fight for her life and regret that it’s because of me, engulfing me? So I’ll take his insults. I’ll take the pain. I’ll take it all if it gives me back my soul.
Despite the pride I felt that she was strong enough to leave, to walk away that dark night in December, I took it all back the second I found out she was coming back to me. My selfish love for her mattered more, until now.
What have I caused?
What have I done?
Does our love come with a price so big that even I, a man with endless resources, can’t afford it?
Is it her life or nothing?
I’ve almost forgotten that David Grayson is using me as his punching bag. I almost believe this is part of my penance. He has me convinced of all my wrong doings. “ . . . I refuse to let my daughter end up like your mother.”
Like my mother.
My eyes snap to his. All control lost as I see red. Grabbing his wrists, I overpower his strength. “Don’t you ever talk about my mother—”
“You’re a wiseass punk who will not get away with this.” He attempts to move me by pulling me forward by the shirt, but with my hands wrapped around his wrists, I stop him then walk forward, backing him up to the far wall.
“I already have.” Releasing his wrists, I’m not going to quarrel with him. Not now. Not over Sara Jane. I will fight just like she will to survive, even if it means pissing a few people off. I brush past him and stop in front of Mrs. Grayson. “I’m sorry, but I need you to understand how much I love your daughter. She’s not a part of my life. She is my life, and I’m not willing to lose her. Not now. Not ever.”
She closes her eyes and shakes her head minutely. When she exhales and her eyes meet mine again, she says, “Please don’t block us from her life.”
Pain coats my throat. They think I’m a monster. They think I want to cause a rift between them and Sara Jane. They’re causing that. Not me. “I won’t. I give you my word.”
From behind me, her father spits, “Your word is as dead as your father and mother.”
My jaw tenses and ticks, my hands fist at my sides. Why did he have to go and say something like that? I turn to vent my real thoughts, how he pushed her away, how he sent her running right into my arms, how he closed off his affection for his only daughter because of who she loved. But Mrs. Grayson whispers, “He’s hurting. Please understand how much pain he’s in.”
“I’ll let that one slide,” I reply, not whispering. “I can’t promise you more than that.” I walk away before I rail on this guy. He may be her father, but he’s out of line. Down the hall, the cops are standing around like we live in the crime capital of the world. Brown’s fingers tap his gun as if that’s going to intimidate me. “Taking a break?” I ask, smirking as I pass.
“Keeping an eye out for criminals. Oh look. Found one.”
“You’ve got jack shit on me. You know why that is?” I stop in front of him and cross my arms over my chest.
“Why is that, rich boy?”
“Because I haven’t done anything wrong.”
Brown stares at me, then leans in, and whispers, “I have a hunch. Wanna hear it?” I don’t reply because I know he’s going to tell me his Scooby-Doo gang hunch anyway. “I think you’re responsible for Ms. Grayson getting shot. What d’ya think of them apples?”
“I think they’re as rotten as the person doling them out.”
Short sausage fingers land flat on my chest and I’m shoved. “You want a piece of me?”
My chest fills with anger. I want to rage on the world and my arms go out. I refuse to take anyone else’s abuse with the day I’ve had, but fortunately for Brown, Langley intervenes. “Stand down, Brown. Now.”
Exhaling through flared nostrils, I pop a smile into place. Just like Firefly’s father, this fucker’s not going to drag me into some fight that will land me behind bars before I have a chance to land an uppercut. “I’m going for fresh air anyway.”
Straightening my shirt, I walk away. My eyes stay on the short fucker until I pass. Our fates will tango no doubt, but I’m here for one reason and one reason only.
My life source is fighting.
For us.
My sweet Firefly.
4
Alexander
I sit outside on a bench, looking at the scuffs on the tips of my black leather shoes. The bottoms are worn from wearing them while riding my bike. It was the only sign that set me apart from the other rich kids where I grew up. Other than Cruise, no one rode motorcycles or had dealt with anything worse than getting a warning after getting busted for smoking, skipping school, sneaking out, smoking weed, getting drunk, or driving over the speed limit. The list could go on.
I have a car. I just don’t drive it much, preferring the freedom I feel on my bike. It wasn’t just my clothes or the bike that set me apart. None of them had lived, breathed, existed simply because their soul mate did. Not even now.
From the moment I saw her, I knew Sara Jane was it for me, an angel in a Catholic school uniform, eating a candy bar. She couldn’t have been more innocent. Except she was. At seventeen, the girl had barely been kissed. It’s like she had been waiting to meet me, as if she had saved herself for me. How a girl who looked that good and smelled even sweeter remained untouched for so long was beyond me.
I would have loved her no matter what. She could have been a prostitute, and I would have only seen her halo. I was a ship navigating a stormy sea, but she called me to her lighthouse, a beacon shining in the dark. It was never about her innocence, or the sins I had inherited. The day I met Sara Jane was about two lives that weren’t meant for only one lifetime, but destined to be together forever.
Maybe that’s what had given me the confidence to break away from the kids I grew up with. I knew I was meant for something bigger than a life of partying and getting high socially.
I was meant for Sara Jane, and she for me.
“Mr. Kingwood?”
Without turning, my gaze rolls to a nurse I recognize, but haven’t spoken to yet. “Yes.”
“You may see your wife now. She’s asleep and could be for hours more. Her body’s been through a lot, but I know you’re probably ready, and if she wakes up, she’ll want to see you there.”
Standing, I casually shove my hands in my pockets. My shoulders feel so tense, they could hold up my ears. “Thank you.” I follow her to a different wing of the hospital. It’s quiet, so quiet I can hear the steady ping of electronic heartbeats as I walk past each room. “I thought she was in ICU.”
“She is. We need to go a little farther.”
She directs me to a locked door with a keypad above the knob for security. After entering a code, she holds open the door. “There’s gel to sanitize your hands on the right and check-in on the left.”
After checking in, I’m led to a smaller hall with only four rooms. No cops stand guard. They must feel the attack was random. This is good for my story, but I can’t help think about Nastas’ partner, Conner Johnson, and if he’s involved.
Lowering my head, I concentrate on the low hum of monitors. You would think they would be disruptive to the peaceful silence of the room, but they aren’t. The sound comforts me.
Her room isn’t large, and the lights are dim, but my sweet angel lies in the bed, her strong heartbeat echoing around the room. Every second, the beat hits a steady peak on the monitor’s screen. An IV is taped to her wrist, so I walk around to the other side and take her limp hand in mine.
&n
bsp; Exhaling my anger, her touch soothes me. This is what I’ve needed. For so long. To touch her soft, warm skin again.
The nurse says, “I’ll be right outside at the desk if you need me.”
“Thanks,” I whisper not wanting to wake Sara Jane.
Once we’re alone, I turn her palm up and lean down, studying her lifeline and tracing it with the tip of my finger. It’s too long, too consistent, too defined for her life to be cut short. With my lips against her soft skin, I let go—all the emotions I’ve held back from the moment I saw her on the ground, her life draining from her body. From anger to fear to a life of regrets for dragging her into my hell, I let them flow. My tears pool in her palm before I tilt my head back and stare at the ceiling through watery vision. I won’t be able to return them to the holes from where they leaked in my heart, but I don’t want to risk the chance of her waking up to me at my weakest. I have to be strong. For her, I will be. That’s what she needs from me, especially after her being so strong earlier today.
I won’t show her less. I will be everything she needs. A promise is made through the kiss I place on her wrist, a vow I intend to keep until my last dying day.
A nudge sends me to my feet, my fists fly up, my arms protect me. In my sleepy haze, I fight first. Catching my attention, the nurse jumps back. “I’m sorry.” Her voice is so low that I can hear my heart thumping in my chest.
Even in the dimly lit room, when her eyes glide to the right, my gaze follows. Sara Jane. My sleeping beauty. Hospital. “I must have fallen asleep. Sorry.” I lower my arms and try to regulate my breathing.
The nurse whispers, “I’m sorry to wake you, but the doctor will be in shortly to check on her. He asked to speak with you.”
Speak with me? My stomach twists, worry the rope that tightens the noose around my heart. “I’m sorry for scaring you. I’m on edge.”
