by Odette Stone
“I’m a bit cold,” I wasn’t lying. My entire body felt cold, but not because of the temperature of the room.
“I can warm you up.”
I turned and flashed him a sassy smile, even though my heart felt limp. “After pizza, you can do your best.”
Chapter 40
A week later, I stood outside work, looking for Porter’s truck. Usually, if he couldn’t get parking in front of my building, he parked and walked over to meet me.
He was running forty-five minutes late. I checked my phone for the tenth time. No texts, no calls.
And I had already sent him multiple texts.
Me: Are you tied up?
Me: Want me to take a cab home?
Me: Should I wait here?
Me: I’m going to take a cab home, okay?
I canvassed the street, wondering what had happened. This wasn’t like Porter. He was meticulous about picking me up, making sure I was okay. He never let me out of his sight when I went out in public.
I thought his protective behavior was overboard, but now, when he wasn’t around, with no word from him, I feared that something was wrong.
Maybe his phone had died.
Maybe he’d been in a fender bender.
Maybe someone had attacked him and hurt him.
Panic made my throat tighten to the point of pain. What if something had happened to him? I wondered what to do. Should I stay here and wait? Should I go home?
What if he was lying unconscious at home, unable to move? What if someone attacked him in the garage and he was lying there bleeding to death? I needed to help him, right?
My mind was going into overdrive.
I decided I couldn’t stand, waiting around. I hailed a cab and checked for any accidents along the way home. I saw nothing, and the cab driver pulled up in front of my building.
I paid the cab and checked the garage.
Porter’s truck wasn’t parked.
He failed to pick me up.
And he had talked to Felicia two days ago.
Maybe he was with Felicia.
I squared my shoulders and went upstairs, wondering if I’d find his boxes still in my apartment. Is that how he’d eventually leave me?
Would he simply disappear one day?
My phone rang. It was Porter. “Beth, are you coming down soon?”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I’m at your work. Waiting for you, but I’m about to get a ticket. You need more time?”
“What are you doing there?”
“An hour ago, you sent me a text telling me you’d be an hour late.”
“I sent you no such text. In fact, I waited 45 minutes for you to pick me up. You didn’t answer my texts, so I grabbed a cab.”
“I haven’t had a chance to check my phone, I’ve been driving, but I did get the text saying you’d be late.”
“If you got a text from a woman telling you that she was running late, then you either got your texts or your women mixed up, because I didn’t send you anything like that.” I was breathing hard. I hated this. I wanted to cry. I didn’t want it to end like this. With lies. And deceit.
“Where. Are. You?”
I walked into the bedroom and kicked off my shoes. “I’m at home.”
“I need you to leave your apartment and go stand in the lobby. I’m on my way.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I scoffed, hating that he was going to use my fear to cover up his lies, “I’m here, and there’s no one here.”
“Beth. I need you to get the fuck out of that apartment.”
Someone grabbed me by the throat. It was a big arm, hauling me back. I screamed as my feet kicked and flailed in the air. He had a knife, and it was pressed against my throat. This was like that moment in the restaurant bathroom, only I knew the outcome would be much worse.
I was going to die here.
Of that, I was certain.
Something came over me. Something that said I wasn't going to die without a fight. Maybe it was Porter in the back of my mind, or the way his scent lingered in the air, but I felt him here, and it gave me strength.
I drew upon that strength and slammed the heel of my foot on the top of his foot. He grunted in pain. Then, with a scream that sounded borderline feral, I head-butted him back, hitting him in the nose.
I caught him off guard, and I stepped wide, catching him off balance. The knife waved dangerously in the air. I kicked him in the nuts and felt something warm burn my side.
My fingers clawed at his eyes, scratching, gouging, working to blind him. He howled in pain, staggering back. Someone was screaming, so loud, it was hurting my ears.
Was that me?
Was that sound actually coming out of me?
I jumped with all my weight back onto his foot and clawed down his face. His arms came up in self-defense, and one hand grabbed me by the throat. I was a wildcat. Kicking. Kicking. Kicking. Knees up. Scratching.
He bent over. I must have connected with his balls.
And then he tipped back, his face a bloody mess. “You’re a crazy fucking bitch.”
I glanced down. There was blood. So much fucking blood. Where was it all coming from?
“I’m just getting warmed up, asshole,” I wavered towards him.
“Fuck you.” He disappeared out of the bedroom.
I fell to my knees, looking down at my dress. A growing stain, so bright, so red, was spreading across my yellow dress.
Too much blood.
I held my side, looking around the room. Something was ringing. I could see the light of my phone. I felt so weak. So tired. I crawled to my phone and swiped to answer.
“Porter?” I wheezed.
“Oh, fuck, Beth,” Porter sounded so intense. So angry.
“Hey,” I said, falling onto my back, looking at the ceiling of my bedroom. I was pretty sure I was in shock. “Some guy attacked me in my bedroom. With a knife.”
“The police and ambulance are on their way.” Panic laced his voice, and so much emotion I couldn’t decipher accompanied it. “Okay? Hang on.”
I heard a horn blaring. “Get the fuck out of my way,” he yelled.
“Don’t get into an accident,” I said slowly.
“Baby, I’m on my way. I’m three minutes out.”
His horn blared some more.
“I fought,” I said, fighting the blackness that was closing in on my vision. “I fought so hard, but nothing slowed down. It all sped up. Why didn’t it slow down?”
“Sweetheart,” his breath was harsh in my ear, “tell me you’re okay.”
I raised my head and peered at my stomach. My dress was drenched in blood. “I think he stabbed me. I think I’m dying.”
“No, fuck that. You’re not dying, okay? You fucking stay alive. That’s an order!”
“I thought you were with Felicia,” I whispered. “I thought you were leaving me, but maybe I’m the one leaving.”
“Beth! Beth, baby, stay on the phone with me, okay? No one is leaving anyone.”
“I did something stupid.” I laid my head back, fighting to stay awake. “I broke the last rule. I don’t think of you as a friend. I think I like you. A lot. Which is so stupid of me, and I feel embarrassed, but since this might be our last conversation, I wanted you to know.” I started to cry. “I want you to be happy.”
“Beth,” he yelled in my ear. “If you leave me, I’m not going to be happy, so stay the fuck alive.”
I tried to keep the phone by my ear, but I felt weak. I blinked, and then darkness came over me.
Chapter 41
Beep. Beep. Beep.
I opened my eyes. I was in a bed in a strange room. A man in green scrubs stood at the foot of the bed, writing something in a chart.
“Hey,” I said, my voice hoarse.
He put the chart down and moved to stand beside me. “How are you feeling, Beth?”
My body hurt, but my mind felt alert and awake. “Who are you?”
“I�
�m your surgeon.”
“What happened?”
“You got stabbed.”
“I know that. But what happened after that?”
He pulled the stethoscope from around his neck and began to listen to my chest. “Deep breaths, please. The blade of the knife slightly nicked your liver. We went in laparoscopically and stitched you up. Barring the possibility of an infection, I expect you to have a full recovery.”
I swallowed. My throat felt dry. “Is anyone here?”
He stood back up and looked at the monitors above my head. “Your parents are here. And there is also a furious, terrifying guy, who has been raising hell since you were admitted. He’s terrorized my nurses, and he threatened to kill me if I didn’t save your life.”
Porter was here!
“I don’t think he actually would’ve killed you.”
The doctor gave me a look. “I’m pretty sure he meant it.”
“Good thing I lived then, hey?” I awkwardly joked.
“Tell you what. You can see them for five minutes, and for my own personal safety, you can show them that you’re alive, but then you need to get some sleep.”
Mom wept when she saw me. She sat beside my bed and held my hand while tears poured down her face. Meanwhile, Dad stood on the other side of the bed and stared down at me like it was his mission to look devastated.
“Beth…” He swallowed. “I’m so sorry. So sorry.”
But the one person I was interested in leaned against the far wall. His arms were crossed, and he had the worst scowl on his face. He didn’t speak. He just stared at me.
Porter was beyond pissed. I could feel the anger rolling off him in waves, and he was doing nothing to hide it.
“Mom,” I said weakly. “I’m fine. Okay?”
She shook her head, unable to stop crying.
I turned to my dad for help. “Doctor said I’m going to make a full recovery.”
He blinked at the ceiling as he fought tears. I had never seen my father show any emotion. Certainly not tears.
“Dad, come on,” I said softly.
He struggled to gain composure. My eyes were drawn back to Porter, whose t-shirt was covered in dark brown stains. My blood. He hadn’t moved an inch, and his eyes never left my face.
His stare was cold and hard. Fuck. I remembered Emily telling me that Jackson had two modes. One was normal, tough guy Jackson. And the other mode she called his SEAL mode.
She told me Jackson got this edge, this energy, that could clear rooms and make grown men shit their pants. I studied Porter. He was in full-on SEAL mode. He was edgy as fuck, and one wrong look, one wrong move, and a beast would be unleashed.
“Mom, Dad, can you give Porter and me a moment?”
They’d been dealing with Porter for who knew how many hours. It was telling what those hours had been like, because without saying another word, without looking at him, they stood and vacated the room.
I laid there and evaluated him. If looks could kill, I’d be dead a hundred times over. “You’re pissed."
He stared at me, blinking, but other than that, he didn’t move a muscle.
“I fucked up.” I bit my lip. “You warned me, and I ignored your warning.”
He swallowed but didn’t even blink.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
His voice was cold and clipped. Emotionless. “I wasn’t there to protect you. You dropped your phone, and I could hear your screams. You sounded like you were being murdered. And I had to hang up. I had to hang up on you to call 911. And when we got to you, you were no longer conscious.”
“Do you hate me?”
He didn’t move. He stood there, arms crossed, staring down at me.
“Okay, “ I said, my voice cracking. “I understand.”
The nurse pushed in the door. The moment she saw Porter, she stopped in her tracks and started to back out of the room.
“Is visiting time over?” I asked. I needed him out of here before he told me he was done. I didn’t think I could handle it if he told me that. I needed to gain some strength before he told me he was done with me.
“Yes,” she said timidly.
I looked back at Porter. He pushed himself off the wall and, without looking back, walked out. I started to cry, wondering if I would ever see him again.
The nurse rushed to my side and placed her cool hand on my forehead. “Are you okay?”
I shook my head, as tears squeezed out of my eyes. “I think he’s going to leave me.”
She looked dumbstruck at my reason for crying. “Why don’t I give you something for the pain. It’ll help you sleep, okay?”
I nodded. “Please knock me out. I don’t think I can take this.”
She thought I was talking about my wound, but I was talking about my heart.
I woke up, disoriented. I pushed open my eyes through the haze of drugs they had pumped into me. The room was dark. Something big and warm was holding me.
Was I hallucinating?
“Porter?”
Stubbled lips grazed my temple. “Go back to sleep.”
I snuggled back against him. Porter had climbed into my hospital bed, and he was big spooning me. And it felt so damn good.
“Are you still angry?”
A long beat passed. “Anger doesn’t cover it.”
I fought sleep that tried to tug me back under. I had so much to say, but the words in my brain weren’t escaping. Random, weird thoughts flitted around in my head, like fireflies buzzing in circles.
Time did not slow down when I fought. Ask Porter why.
That text wasn’t from me.
What does a liver do?
Did they catch that guy?
Where was Felicia? Did he see her?
Did someone call Detective Christensen?
Would he stay?
“Please don’t leave,” I mumbled.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“Promise?”
“Go to sleep.”
And then those fuzzy, buzzing thoughts faded and everything went dark.
Chapter 42
“For only being four days post-op, you’re healing at a remarkable rate,” my doctor said after examining my wound. “You’ve no sign of infection, and your liver panel is perfect. I think tomorrow, if you have a good night, we’re going to discharge you.”
Mom leaned forward in the chair. “We’ve hired a team of private round-the-clock nurses.”
The doctor glanced at me, unable to hide the fact that he thought she was going overboard. “That’s not a bad idea for the first day or two. A nurse can help you change your bandages and help you manage any pain, although, at the rate you are healing, you’re going to be fine.”
“We’ve also hired a full security team,” she added.
“Why?” I asked, baffled.
“Porter insisted on it, but your father agreed.”
I observed my mom. She looked disheveled and tired.
I waited until the doctor walked out before I asked my mom, “Are you okay?”
“It’s been a strain. Your father feels horribly guilty.”
“This isn’t Dad’s fault.”
“He knows you tried to talk to him. He feels terrible that he didn’t make time for you.”
“I don’t blame him.”
She shook her head. “If it wasn’t for Porter, I simply don’t know how we’d have coped. That man has been an absolute rock.”
You mean the man who hasn’t come by to see me yet?
It confused me that Porter was still very much on the scene, working with my parents, planning my life for when I got out of the hospital, but except for that first night that he climbed into bed with me, I hadn’t seen him.
When I wasn’t sleeping or reassuring my parents, I spent the rest of my time thinking about him. My phone call with him after I had been stabbed was a bit fuzzy, but I was reasonably certain that I had confessed my feelings to him.
And I recalled him being pretty
upset over me getting attacked, which could possibly be interpreted as him caring a bit for me, but now he was avoiding me. How many awful moments had I thrust him into?
Anyone else would have disappeared a long time ago, yet he continued to rise to the occasion. I couldn’t figure out if that was because he cared or if he was simply a man of exceptional character.
Mom interrupted my thoughts. “Your apartment is much too small for all the staff, and I was hoping to bring you home to our place, but Porter made alternative arrangements.”
“Oh?”
“Emily has offered you use of her penthouse until you make a full recovery.”
Thank fuck.
“Mom, you should go home and get some rest.”
She fought tears and shook her head. “Sorry.”
“Mom, it’s okay to cry.”
“Porter said under no circumstances are we to upset you or bother you.”
“It doesn’t upset me if you cry.”
She sniffed and stood. “I have to go to your apartment and supervise the team that’s moving some of your stuff over.”
“Mom, go home and rest. I can deal with that in a day or two.”
“Porter said that he didn’t want you to have to go back there until you’re fully recovered. He thought the crime scene would be too upsetting.”
“Is there anything he hasn’t taken care of?” I joked to cover up my bewilderment.
She took my question seriously. “No, I think he’s covered pretty much everything. He’s… he’s a good man, Beth.”
Why did she choose to realize that when the end felt so near?
“How are you feeling?” Dad asked, standing in front of the couch the nurse had settled me onto.
“I’m good.” I looked around the vast sitting room in Emily’s penthouse.
Roo and Mom sat on the opposite couch. Porter leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, his face devoid of expression. This was the first time I had seen Porter since I had been discharged, and he still looked as pissed as he did that first night in the hospital.
“I want to make a family announcement.” Dad cleared his throat, glancing at Porter.
I furrowed my brows. “Okay.”
