Savior (The Kingwood Duet Book 2)

by S. L. Scott

  “Oh.” I hate that my mind continues to replay that day. The littlest things have become tragic reminders that haunt me.

  I take his offered hand and follow him to the door a nurse is holding open. He whispers, “You okay?”

  “Yeah . . .” Despite trying to tamp down the memories and pretend it didn’t happen to lessen everyone else’s worries, I’m struggling to hide the pain I endured. I’m being forced to remember because of common things like dirt. I can’t fall victim to that day again. Not when Alexander needs me to be strong.

  I’m settled onto an exam table while Alexander sits in a chair. The exam room is small but not entirely uncomfortable. Alexander is texting on his phone when I squeeze my eyes shut, my mind insistent on bringing back the pain of reliving every painful minute of that day . . .

  The brown leather is scuffed beyond polishing, the leather lifting away from the black soles. I shouldn’t know this. I’m too close, my body curled on the ground as I protect not myself, but a life I want to share with my love. I use my arms in a failed attempt to block the next blows, but they come anyway. Every kick, I hear the internal screams.

  I won’t survive this.

  He wants to kill me.

  No one could do this to a stranger without intent to finish the job.

  The job.

  It’s me.

  Is this his job?

  Why me?

  Why . . .

  Something cold startles me, my eyes flying open as I gasp for air. The doctor is standing over me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m Dr. Whitley. Are you all right, Sara Jane?”

  Alexander stands behind him, but rushes around to the other side of the exam table and takes my hand. When I fail to speak, my words caught in the torture of my memories, he says to the doctor, “We should probably go ahead and start so I can get her home. She’s not been sleeping well.” When Alexander looks back at me, he leans down and kisses my cheek before taking his thumbs and rubbing them gently over my face, wiping the tears away. “You’re safe, baby.”

  My conscience is an ocean of guilt that engulfs me and “I’m sorry,” comes with a sob I can’t hold in any longer. I don’t care that we have an audience. I don’t care that I’m in a flimsy exam gown. My body begins convulsing with every cry and I wrap my arms around my middle and roll to my side. “I tried. I tried so hard to save the baby.”

  Alexander’s body warms me as he covers me, his arms wrapping around me like a safety blanket, holding me to him. “Please don’t cry.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry . . .”

  “Shhh.” With his head tucked between my shoulder and my head, I feel the shake of his body.

  “Chad died because of me. Our baby died because of me. I almost died because I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t sto—” My body is wracked with pain as it overwhelms me, the memories my penance for living a life that I let slip into darkness, all the good dripping through my fingers. All the promises we made in our innocent love are convoluted within a twisted, starless night that refuses to show us the sun. Are we closer to hell than the heaven we once believed was possible?

  His tears are a harsh reminder that I brought this man down. When he needed me most, I took away hope. I let it drain from our bodies in the outskirts of town that fateful day when the present cut our future short. His voice chants his pain while he tries to comfort me. “Don’t cry. Don’t cry,” he pleads against my neck where the moisture gathers. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  Words that could heal before are used in stark contrast now. An apology never owed to me but should be given to him, to our baby, paid to clear a conscience. I owe him, but he’s apologizing to me. He should never. Never.

  I failed him.

  I look past Alexander to the doctor and communicate that we need a minute. Thankfully, he leaves the room quietly. This is mine and Alexander’s moment, and he hates an audience.

  Moving my arms, his head squeezes into the small confines of my hold. “Why are you sorry, Alexander?”

  He looks up, his hands grasping my face within his hold. His nose presses to my nose as his forehead leans against mine. “I’m sorry for not answering your call. I’m sorry for making you believe you could save me when I couldn’t save you. I’m sorry for coming into your life and destroying it.”

  “Stop.” My arms are wrapped around his head, his burdens weighing us both down. I kiss the top of his head, and whisper, “Stop, Alexander. Never say that again.”

  His eyes meet mine. The brightness of the blue is striking, causing my heart to skip beat. “But if—”

  I cover his lips with mine, absorbing his pain and swallowing his defeat. With my eyes closed, I will my strength—any I have left—to leave me and go to him. Go to him. Please. Give him the strength he needs to save us both from this hell.

  Our lips caress each other in our seamless way, giving and taking comfort. This is our life.

  Inhaling his breath, drawing in his every heartbreaking emotion, I breathe out an inner hope that climbs from the depths of my sorrow. I refuse to give up what I fought so hard for—life.

  Pure.

  Simple.

  Love.

  Laughter.

  Alexander.

  Life.

  I vowed my life to him long before now, our love and losses forever bonding us. Even our baby. Knowing the burdens Alexander bears and my struggles don’t have to be carried alone, I see the way to healing. There’s only one path for us.

  “There is only us. You are my gentle and kind knight. My dark and determined king. My sweet and romantic Alexander. You’re everything to me, and I’ll accept nothing less. Do you hear me? Do you understand?” He takes a deep breath, no doubt trying to recalibrate his thought processes.

  “Never less. We owe each other nothing less than everything.”

  A small smile, a small victory won in the tiny exam room of the doctor’s office. What started as my heart finally caving to the pain and shattering on this table turned into vows that may never be spoken in a church, but are laid at our feet to move forward. And we will. We will move forward. Grieve our losses, but move forward, stronger than ever. Because we are one.

  “I love you.” Standing, he repeats, “I love you.”

  There’s a light knock on the door. The doctor comes inside with a box of tissues, handing them to me. “Everything okay?”

  Dabbing the tissue under my eyes, I attempt to reassure him. Actually, we are okay. “We’re fine.” I blow out a long breath. “I’m sorry. I think that was a long time coming though.”

  He nods. “No apologies needed. What you experienced was very traumatic. Everyone deals with extraordinary situations and grief differently and on their own timeline.” His hand pats my forearm, comfortingly. “I’m glad you could release some of it.”

  I smile, feeling lighter already. “Me too.” Turning, I look at the quiet, stoic man next to me. “Alexander?”

  A small grin appears, and I can see the lightness returning to his body, his shoulders not so low anymore. Running the back of his knuckles over my cheek, he says, “Always so worried about everyone else.”

  “Only you.”

  “Over yourself when you should be focused on getting better.”

  “How can I get better when you’re not?”

  Leaning over me, he kisses my forehead, and then looks at the doctor. “She’s impossible. She’ll put everyone else’s needs before hers, even at a detriment to herself.”

  “She’s a strong woman.” Turning to me, the doctor says, “He’s right, Sara Jane. Please preserve your energy for healing.” He grabs a tablet from the counter behind him and scrolls on the screen. “From the form you filled out, things sound like you’re exactly where we want to see you. There is little to no swelling. And if you’re generally experiencing little to no pain, we should be able to reduce the pain medication, but let’s do that slowly. Reduce it by fifty milligrams every third day. We
should have you off them after another week.”

  “Okay.” I hold Alexander’s hand.

  “I’m going to take a look at the stitches,” Dr. Whitley says.

  I lie back and stare at Alexander as the doctor lifts the gown and lowers the bandage. “It’s looking good. You can stop bandaging the area and let it breathe a bit. The skin might pucker a little when it dries up, but that’s to be expected. Just keep an eye on it, and use vitamin E cream twice daily. If the pink area of the incision turns darker red or redness spreads wider, call us.” Nodding, I exhale when the gown is lowered. He adds, “The only reason to find blood at this point is if there’s a tear. You can add some tape to the area if it’s very minor. Other than that, call us.”

  He offers me a hand up so I’m sitting. “Are we done?” I ask.

  “Yes,” he replies with a smile. “Keep up the healing. You’re doing well.” Turning to Alexander, he shakes his hand. “Make sure she doesn’t do anything too strenuous.”

  A flash of surprise hits Alexander’s eyes, but before he confesses his guilt over our sexual activity, I say, “Got it. Thanks.” As soon as he leaves, I add, “He wasn’t questioning that.”

  He laughs. “Sorry. I felt like he could see my thoughts and knew.”

  “He can’t. He’s a doctor not a psychic.”

  The playfulness is so welcome in my heart right now and feels like it’s healing me in ways untouchable before. Hope returns as I open the window of my soul and let the sunlight pour in.

  Hand in hand, we walk out of the doctor’s office. My heart feels lighter. Who would have guessed the appointment would provide more than just a follow-up for my physical wound, but give us the opportunity to release our emotional pain? Finally.

  22

  Sara Jane

  The penthouse is quiet but I’m wide-awake. The curse of sleeping too much during the day strikes again. Alexander wanted to stop by and we stayed. I’m with him, so I don’t have any complaints other than insomnia right now.

  Making my way into the kitchen, I start the single-serve coffeemaker and sit at the bar waiting for it to brew. The sound of coffee percolating is soothing in the dark. With just enough light from the night flooding the open living area, I look around. Really look around while sitting on a barstool waiting. I think about today and how releasing our innermost fears and feelings feels like we’ve freed our biggest burden into the wild.

  Although I wish it didn’t have to play out in a doctor’s office, I’m glad it’s happened, that we could be that deeply honest with each other. Maybe we really can move forward like we both want.

  He still wants answers regarding his mother though. Who wouldn’t? I would never deny him the basic ability to mourn, knowing what happened the night his world changed forever, the course of his life altered. But where does it end? His death? Mine? How can we move forward if he insists on repeating the past?

  “One sugar or two?”

  Alarmed, I turn around, putting gentle pressure on my side protectively. Jason. He stands in the kitchen with a smile that reminds me of simpler times—him behind the counter of the town’s convenience mart. He’s not in that black and white trucker hat, or even a shirt right now, but the smile on his face is easy and welcoming, the way his shoulders are strong but relaxed—so damn comfortable in his own body. I ask, “What are you doing up?”

  “I don’t sleep a lot.” Moving my mug from the machine, he asks, “One lump or two?”

  “Two with a little cream.”

  “If I remember correctly, it was a lot of cream.” He adds the sugar and then pours the cream in, care taken in each step. He’s easy on the eyes and so damn charming. A welcome distraction from my thoughts before they get too carried away with worry.

  Wonder why he doesn’t have a girl, or maybe he’s one of those men who have one in every city. “How many hearts have you broken?”

  Milk-chocolate eyes shine in amusement even in the low light. “Who says I’m a heartbreaker?”

  “Oh, I know you are. I’m just trying to figure out how many innocent hearts you’ve stolen.”

  He laughs, carrying my coffee over. “I’ll make a coffee for myself. This list may take a while.”

  I laugh this time, but keep it down. It’s still the middle of the night. “Want to join me on the balcony?”

  “Be right out.”

  When I walk outside, I find the quiet peace I need. The balcony high above the street gives a false sense of privacy and the stars feel so close I reach up just to see if I can touch them. Smiling, I laugh at myself before sitting and taking a long sip of my coffee. When the door opens, Jason comes out, leaving it ajar.

  He stands, keeping space between us. Probably wise. Alexander would not be happy if he found us out here alone. Guilt starts to work its way into my psyche, but I inwardly protest. I’m not doing anything wrong. I wouldn’t, so I take another sip and look at the stars.

  His deep voice, a slight accent detected, fills the silence. “How’d you get here, Sara Jane?”

  My name still sounds so foreign coming from him, almost wrong in some aspects. Those aren’t the aspects I need to forget about though. It’s our past that needs to go. What happened back there, the lives we were once leading are gone to cover up reality. This is our life, the one I was meant to live. I need to stay in the present. “Alexander drove me.”

  On the tail of a deep chuckle, he says, “Nice try.”

  Hiding the truth will be hard, and is it so wrong of me to not want to lie to him? “I once fell in love with a damaged boy.”

  “What became of him?”

  “He became a hopeless man.”

  “I never thought of him as hopeless.”

  “Maybe that’s me sometimes.”

  “Why would you give up hope? It’s one of the easiest things to hold on to.”

  Reading the sensitivity in his eyes, I know I can trust him. “I thought . . . I don’t know what I thought, but I’m starting to worry that the answers he’s searching for won’t cure him.”

  “Then why do you stay?”

  Staring at him, I give him my full truth. “You ask that as if I have a choice.”

  “You’re different here.” He leans on the rail but glances my way. “You were always a bit reserved, but you had spirit, a fight in your eyes.”

  “A lot has happened since then. One of my best friends was murdered in front of me, and I barely survived. I might be out of fight these days, Jason.”

  “No, you still have it in you. You just need to find it again.”

  “Where do you suggest I look?”

  “Inside.”

  “Just that simple?” What started out feeling like a judgment has turned into something solid, something I’ve probably needed to hear all along.

  Resting his lower back on the railing, he looks at me, sees into my head, and hopefully sees the real me inside the confusion of who I’m supposed to be—everyone’s expectations are bearing down. I’m unable to breathe anymore. “Fuck ’em. You be you, Sara Jane.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know who I am anymore. I used to be my father’s daughter, a good student, and Alexander’s girlfriend. Now? Now I’m living in a manor with a woman who I highly suspect hates me, and I’m recovering from a violent attack. Later today I’m attending Chad’s funeral and facing my best friend who blames me for his death. I’m not sure if I want to be me right now, but more than that, I’m not even sure who I am.”

  “I know you, the real you. You may have gone by a different name, but that was you under all that Alice.”

  “Alice was an illusion. Similar to Eric, I suppose.”

  “You’re damned if you do and damned if you don’t. Break the rules. Do what you want to do and stop trying to make everyone else happy.”

  “Is that what you did?”

  “Didn’t this whole conversation start because I’d left a string of broken hearts in my wake?” He chuckles. “If that’s the case, I’m definitely not making others h
appy.”

  “You don’t seem like the kind of guy who sticks around, so why are you still here? Be honest with me. Please.”

  “Because you are.”

  My mouth remains open from his confession. I stand, leaving my coffee to get cold and move to the opposite side of the balcony, needing the space.

  I stare at him.

  He stares at me.

  Neither of us moves.

  After a minute and a good long hard look at him, I whisper, “You can’t say things like that.”

  “I just did.” He doesn’t whisper.

  “You shouldn’t.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “I do.” Turning away from him, I lean on the railing and look out at the twinkling lights that dot the cityscape.

  “Why do you care?” His voice is close, so I turn to keep my eyes on him. “If it means nothing to you, if I mean nothing to you, why do you care what I say?”

  “Because I love Alexander, and it’s disrespectful to him.”

  When I dare peek at him, the pressure from the weight of his body leaning on the rail defines his well-sculpted arms in the moonlight. I shouldn’t be noticing that. An emotion that’s hard to place settles over his expression. “What is love anyway?” I sense melancholy in his question.

  My defenses are up. They have to be around him because he’s quick and clever. I snap, “More than lust or a one-night stand.”

  Cocking a smirk, he says, “So you’ve thought about me . . . in that lust and one-night stand kind of way. Good to know.”

  “I didn’t say that. And hate to disappoint you, but I’ve never thought of anyone but Alexander in that way.”

  The laughter that escapes him feels too big for the space. Like everything about him, his mood grabs all the attention. His charms permeate the air—the smile, the jovial remarks, the honesty. His eyes, and the way they look at me, like only one other man has ever looked at me. I see why women would fall so easily for him. I’m just not one of them, and I’m starting to wonder if we can remain friends.

  “Come on, Sara Jane, it’s just us out here. Imagine we’re back in the mountains, hanging out at the diner or grabbing a beer at Growly’s. Imagine you didn’t have to wear this pretentious noose around your neck and you could just be you again, or even Alice.” Shifting his weight, he angles toward me and I angle away, but keep my eyes on his, taking in his every word as if I need the advice. “I see how you pretend around him. I see how you struggle on the inside. You love him. I get that. Sometimes I think it’s so engulfing you’re drowning in it. But we don’t find love. It finds us. It shouldn’t smother us. It makes us better even under circumstances that would be more fitting in another time or place. So why don’t we keep pretending there couldn’t have been more if we’d had more time together. It’s easier for you that way.”