Aftermath

by Rachel Trautmiller

  Living with her brother at the age of forty-two. Having no say in Ariana’s life. Or her own. And no idea what normal looked like anymore.

  If someone had told her years ago, this was how her life would play out, she’d have laughed. Baker Jackson’s? Maybe. He was reckless. On more than one occasion, in his youth, she’d bailed him out of a close call.

  Sure, she’d chewed him out a time or two, but for the most part, embraced her role as the family’s champion. Their mother had left a void. Lilly filled it.

  And, like an old dream, she could remember it, but the edges were fuzzy. If she reached out, she might be able to touch it with her fingertips before it fluttered away again.

  But it would disappear. It always did.

  On several occasions, she’d convinced herself she was still sleeping. Still unaware, floating, feeling the occasional hand in hers. Dreaming of her family of four.

  Not two.

  She’d woken from one nightmare to enter another. Nothing was right. Her body was different. Hair longer. A giant scar she still saw even after hiding it behind bandannas and headbands. And hats. She’d even consulted a specialist about hair transplants and been unable to follow through with treatment.

  It would erase the surface blemishes while leaving the inside the same ugly shade. She touched her stomach. Another jagged defect crossed the area, hip bone to hip bone. One she couldn’t hope to cover with anything but a one-piece swimsuit.

  Baker Jackson sent a glance backward, his gaze traveling over Lilly and then Amanda, before bouncing back. As if to say, behave.

  As if she were no better than a five-year-old.

  Then he and Ariana entered a hospital room, their steps slowing. Two nurses buzzed around the bed, checking monitors and settling their patient. Their movements brought back memories. Her patients. The camaraderie of Labor and Delivery. New life. Scared, first time mothers. The pros with three children already at home.

  L & D had its sad moments. Preemies that fought for life in the NICU. Stillbirths that left families with an empty crib and a funeral to plan. Twins born, one of them not making it.

  Emergency C-sections that added a family member and took another. Young mothers giving up their newborns in hopes of offering a better life, via adoption, than they, themselves, could afford.

  Lilly stopped inside the door. A ventilator pumped air into the man’s lungs. Gauze wrapped around his head, pieces of dark curly hair peeking out. Stubble lined a swollen chin. One eye was purple and huge, the other not far behind. Judging from the packing in his torso, the surgery wasn’t complete. It meant he’d crashed on the table and they’d brought him back, but needed to let his body stabilize.

  Tubes snaked from every spare inch of flesh. Catheters, an IV, feeding tube and monitors. He looked like Frankenstein’s science experiment on a heavy dose of crack.

  Breathing took more effort than normal. Something pricked the back of her eyes. Lilly grabbed for the nearest object and met a solid door.

  For her, this moment trumped every nursing memory she had. Didn’t know why. Couldn’t summon up the strength to process the sudden brick wall she was smashed against.

  She tried to swallow past a sudden tightening in her throat. Had she looked like this, at first? Had Jeff seen her and experienced this crushing anxiety growing upward and promising suffocation? The knowledge that there was no way she’d ever return to full function. Or at all.

  Did this man—Jonas—have anyone who would sit at his bedside? And wonder. Agonize. Remember better times. And pray for more. Hope for something far out of reach. Or would they fail in his biggest time of need?

  “You okay?” Amanda’s voice was soft. Full of genuine warmth.

  It grated on Lilly’s nerves, even as her brain told her to reach out and take this bit of friendship. Every muscle in her body clenched.

  She hated that anyone had witnessed this moment in her life. Current and former. Tried praying for patience that had deserted her long ago. “No, I’m not okay. My daughter was attacked.”

  Softness lingered in the other woman’s eyes. “I meant right this second, Lilly. Of course, I know you’re not okay with the events of today. Nobody would be.”

  How did she do that? Care despite a bag of bad apples rotting at her feet. Amanda was the quintessential good girl. Always compassionate. Somebody else’s needs foremost in her mind.

  But she was also a fighter. Anybody who talked to her for ten minutes could see that. She didn’t know how to cower away from one without a clear winner. Might step back and revamp, but never quit.

  She and Baker Jackson were very much alike on that point. They’d both stand their ground until drained of every ounce of blood. Every breath.

  Lilly used to be like that once. And then she wasn’t, because of a decision that hadn’t been hers. “Stop pretending like you understand. Stop trying to help. You’ve done enough. I’m not sure why you don’t get that.” The words floated to her ears as her own. The truth trapped air in her lungs.

  She clenched her hands. Bit down on her tongue until she tasted blood. Waited for Amanda to strike back. Hoped the other woman might deliver the slap Lilly deserved.

  Would she feel it?

  The grip of Ariana’s earlier embrace surfaced on her skin as if the teen had her in a tight hug right now. Lilly resisted running her hands across her body for confirmation her daughter hadn’t flown across the room for another soul-crushing hug.

  Amanda didn’t move. Empathy turned to blankness on the other woman’s face. “Message received. Let me do my job. Then, I’ll be out of your hair.” She didn’t wait for a response, but walked toward the hospital bed. Patted Ariana on the back. Took a breath and pulled out a notepad.

  Lilly should apologize. Take every last word back. Explain that she wasn’t herself. Only a shell of who she’d been. And that she couldn’t grasp that same woman again. The one who could carry on a conversation with anyone. Saw the best in people. And loved seeing a need and filling it.

  She raised a shaky hand. Rubbed the tips of her fingers across her clammy forehead.

  Right now, the person she needed even more than her infallible husband was herself. Jeff may have thrown his truck into a tree on purpose, but she was no better. The deserter stamp was squarely on her own forehead. And she’d done nothing to remove it.

  Only tried to mark everyone else with the same, inkless brand, so she wouldn’t have to analyze her actions.

  Her brother’s gaze found her. Disappointment, and a hint of something else, pinned her to the spot. As if he knew every dark, ugly thought she had.

  Hot lava gathered in her stomach and surged upward. When disappearing sounded like the best option out of this nightmare disguised as a second chance, she moved toward the bed. One unsteady step at a time.

  She couldn’t leave Ariana. Not now.

  The heavy smell of antiseptic and bleach burned her nostrils. Brought back a heavy dose of memories she had difficulty sorting through.

  A strong hand, sure tune and incoherent words whispered into her brain. She couldn’t make them go away. They resurfaced. Every. Single. Day. The decibels much louder than everyday life.

  A sniffle—her daughter’s—snapped her attention from the tiled floor, at her feet. Twisted at the remains of her heart.

  “So, he’s in an induced coma?” Ariana’s voice warbled. Her eyes were red and puffy. “How does that help?”

  “It gives the brain and other internal organs a chance to heal without the body performing radical triage.” Again, the voice bounced around as her own.

  Shock covered Baker Jackson’s face. She could feel its weight all the way to her toes. Questions filled Ariana’s. Had she been so absent the sound of an educated reply knocked their socks off?

  Okay, no one needed to answer the question for her.

  “So, it will help him get better?” Worry clouded her baby’s beautiful eyes, a mix of blue-green passed down for generations. Or forever, if her father told the s
tory. According to him, Adam or Eve had the gene and every Robinson family member since. Not quite blue or green. Not hazel.

  Lilly cleared her throat. “That’s always the hope.”

  Ariana scanned the man in the bed. Lilly found herself doing the same. And following the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Trailing over muscles resting beneath tanned skin to wounds that would heal. And a brain that might not.

  “Will he remember anything?” Ariana licked her lips and turned back toward her. “Mom, do you remember anything?”

  A collective gasp had gone through the room, so audible the gentleman in the bed should have stirred. In her ears, her heart beat too loudly. Her tongue had grown a size and was stuck to the roof of her mouth.

  Her brother’s gaze hadn’t left her. Amanda even turned in her direction.

  So many answers. So much confusion. A haze of voices. A whistled tune she couldn’t place. What were they waiting for?

  Her. They were waiting for her.

  “No, honey. I don’t.” Not if she could help it.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  IF AMANDA DIDN’T get out of this hospital in the next five minutes, she might lose it. Scream in Lilly’s face. Use the same ugly words the other woman had. Trash the items around her to let out some of her frustration. And have a good cry to release the panic still swimming in her bloodstream.

  And beyond making her look like a lunatic, it wouldn’t do any good. They were a mess of broken glass someone was trying to put together like a puzzle without a picture. The ambition was present, but the pieces too scattered. Missing. Lost forever.

  Jamming the same parts together over and over wasn’t the answer. A quick scan of the room told her Lilly hadn’t moved from the spot she stood near the end of Jonas’ bed. The other woman’s gaze hadn’t left the man in the bed, her eyes almost unfocused. Lips rolled inward and pinched tight.

  She’d been where Jonas was. Lain there and missed out on life. So, the direct anger wasn’t a surprise. If the positions were reversed, would Amanda have reacted any differently to the loss?

  Robinson had an arm around his niece. Whispered something to her. The teen wiped a tear from her cheek. Nodded. And still, Lilly didn’t move. Didn’t offer comfort.

  Amanda sucked in a stuttered breath. She couldn’t do this. Not today. Couldn’t play the ultimate mind-game of forgiveness and lending the other cheek.

  She pushed the same breath of air through her mouth and walked from the room. Forced herself to forget the hateful words carved into Jonas’ chest. The tubes snaking from his body. The guard standing in front of his door. How the FBI shut down one bay of the ICU at Mercy hospital. Nurses and doctors sworn to secrecy.

  Despite that, word would spread. And soon their perps would know he’d survived. How long before they came after him? How long before they figured out who Ariana was and where she lived? Would they catch her on her next walk home from school? Carve into her flesh and leave her to die?

  Her stomach gave a heavy roll. If she’d eaten anything in the last few hours, it might have made a comeback on the pristine hospital flooring.

  She reached the elevator banks and pushed the call button. Rolled her neck. A few minutes alone ought to help her get her head on straight. Figure out if Jonas’ attack was the byproduct of his current case or something else.

  Forget the fact that it could be Robinson lying in that bed. So still. Fighting for life.

  She clamped her eyes shut.

  A ding signaled the elevator’s arrival. The doors opened, revealing a pregnant woman and Eric Dunham. They held hands. Eric gripped a soda in his free one.

  Kelsey and Eric. Both part of the District Attorney’s office. The pair had gotten together sometime after Amanda had broken up with the lawyer, because of a deteriorating and ill-fitting relationship.

  And Robinson. Always Robinson.

  It seemed like lifetimes ago—a decision she still didn’t regret. It didn’t mean she needed another reminder of the past. She didn’t move. Couldn’t opt for the stairs without being rude, so she stepped into the elevator. Took a breath and tried to harness her inner tough girl. “Hey, guys. I guess congratulations are in order?”

  Kelsey beamed as the doors closed, taking away any escape. “Thank you. We just took a tour of the maternity ward.” She patted her protruding stomach. “Only four weeks left.”

  An image of Eric and Robinson, bound together by thick rope, popped into her mind. They were on fire. Both of them, Eric’s face covered in flames. The agonizing noise coming from his lungs...

  “Amanda?” A male hand waved in front of her face. “You okay?” Eric asked. His face was normal now. No fire. Very little scarring. Not like the puckered skin over Robinson’s ear and one patch at the back of his neck. The stubborn man had refused to see a plastic surgeon. Insisted it added charm.

  As if he needed help in that area.

  “Yeah. Sorry.” She hit the lobby button again. If it would speed up this trip, she’d punch the thing until it broke. “Long day.”

  “Your finger is all red.” Kelsey grabbed the hand with Robinson’s ring attached. Still the same angry sight as this morning. If she wiggled it around every now and then, the numbness ebbed a little. The rest of her, however...

  “What happened?” Eric asked.

  Leave it to the two lawyers to notice it. “It’s just a little swollen. No lawsuit in the making.” No big deal. The end of a story no one needed to hear.

  “What a relief.” Sarcasm dripped from Eric’s words. “The ambulance chaser in me wouldn’t have been able to resist putting together a solid case.”

  Huh. Apparently, Kelsey was good for his humor. Good for them.

  The other woman swatted his arm in an oh-stop manner, a huge smile on her face. And eyes for only him as she hugged his arm in complete adoration. If they started in on some kissy-faced goo, she’d pull the emergency brakes, climb out of the hatch and pry the doors on the level above or below open.

  One more floor. Then she’d be free. She could make it. No problem. Small talk couldn’t be that hard, right?

  The weather was a great topic. Or sports. The Pilots had drafted a new quarterback. What was his name?

  She sighed. On a normal day, this wouldn’t be an issue.

  “That happened to me when I was first pregnant.” A conspiratorially huge smile lit Kelsey’s face. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

  Amanda swallowed back a groan. If she took out her gun, would one of them shoot her now?

  “No, honey.” Eric was shaking his head. Panic lined his face. “Amanda can’t have children.”

  Oh, forget it. She’d shoot herself. And save them all a lot of trouble.

  Shock covered the other woman’s face. Then sadness and sympathy. “Oh.” Her gaze lit on Amanda, then. “Oh. I’m sorry. I...”

  She could hardly explain that she believed things happened for a reason and she wasn’t the type to dwell over might have been. Not usually. Not in a circumstance where the outcome was so final.

  A solid ding filled the space and the doors opened. “No worries. Hey, enjoy that baby.” She stepped out. Nearly ran into Robinson as he stood with one arm against the wall next to the elevator.

  He heaved in a breath. “Took the stairs. Wasn’t sure I’d beat you.”

  She tried a smile and failed. A smart comment rolled through her brain about joining gyms. She held it back, sure it would fall flat right now.

  “You ran out without a goodbye.” His gaze flicked behind her. He straightened. “Hey, Eric, Kelsey. Long time, no see.”

  Amanda turned. What had she expected? That things would suddenly go her way? And the super polite DA and his wife would walk off without a word?

  The couple stopped in front of them, right outside the elevator. Blocking any escape out the hospital’s front doors. She could make an excuse to get back in the elevator...

  Forgotten purse. Keys. Sanity.

  Leaving Robinson to deal with an awkward conver
sation alone.

  “Same to you.” Eric stuck his hands in his pockets. “Been a busy year.”

  Busy didn’t cover it. Amanda bit the inside of her cheek. A few minutes alone. That’s all she’d wanted.

  Forget talk of the weather. Or sports. Right now, if she had to sit through idle chit-chat, she was going to throw the biggest hissy fit ever known to man. It already bubbled near the surface.

  “It has.” Robinson said. “I hate to cut this short, but we’re pressed for time. You know how it is.”

  Polite, but to the point. As if he’d known. His gaze snagged hers for a second, the message pretty clear.

  Trust me, I’ve got your back.

  Who could argue with that?

  “Right.” Eric gave a mock salute. “Gotta keep Charlotte safe.”

  If only he knew.

  Eric placed a hand on the small of his wife’s back. “It was nice chatting.” And then the couple moved toward the doors, passed through and disappeared from sight.

  “Oh, man. You think his shirts will be so tightly pressed after that kid arrives?”

  She stifled a laugh and shook her head. Faced him. “You always make everything look so easy. Hey-we-really-want-to-chat-but-maybe-next-time always works. On everybody. Doesn’t matter who it is or what’s going on. And if you need the exact opposite, you can get that, too.”

  “It’s a gift.” With a hand on her arm, he steered her in the same direction Kelsey and Eric had gone. “Relax. You can wipe the crap-I’m-trapped-in-an-elevator-with-my-ex-and-his-pregnant-wife from your face.”

  Oh, boy. He’d gotten that from one look? “It was more of me being unsure I could handle polite conversation right now. Get it straight.”

  “Why?”

  That angry-frazzled end of anxiety was fading—something being in his presence always accomplished better than a bottle of wine. It didn’t mean she wanted to talk about Lilly’s words. Not today. Probably never. “Shouldn’t you be with Ariana and Lilly?”

  “They’re still upstairs with Agent Dirk. You gonna spill the beans or what? Lilly said something to you again.”