Her eyebrows draw in as she purses her lips. Fire fills her eyes as she puts her sole focus on me.
“No, you made me suffer, now it’s your turn,” she says. Shifting the gun to me, she’s going to pull the trigger. I’m not sure which comes first; the loud bang or Marcus pushing me out of the way. I hit the ground with a hard thud, a sharp pain radiating out from my shoulder.
Marcus falls on top of me to shield my body with his. My eyes are squeezed shut and all I can do is pray. Just let us make it out of here alive.
Everything goes quiet, unnaturally so, before we hear an engine start. Marcus jumps off of me and grabs his gun off the floor on his way to the door. He raises his weapon, but lowers it again after a few seconds. “Fuck,” he mutters to himself. He comes back to me, his eyes widening in horror as he looks down at me.
“Oh, shit, babe.”
“What?” I glance down at my body and that’s when I see it. A bright red stain spreading inch by inch on my shoulder. My heart rate spikes again as does the pain the adrenaline in my body allowed me to ignore. “Oh God, I’ve been shot!”
“We need an ambulance right away,” he says into the radio attached to him. Bringing his focus back to me, he examines it. “I think you’re going to be okay. It doesn’t look like she hit anything important, but we need to stop the bleeding.” Panic sets in as I gasp for air. “Babe, look at me,” Marcus demands gently while pulling his shirt apart. My eyes snap up to his. He’s being strong for me, and I desperately try to hold on to it hoping to steal some of his strength. “I need you to breathe for me. Can you do that?”
I nod my head and focus on bringing air in and out of my nose. He bunches his shirt into a ball, then rolls me on my side. He places it behind my shoulder before rolling me on my back again. I suck in air through my teeth when I lie on it. The burning sensation is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before, and I grind my jaw to keep from yelling out in pain. “Your bodyweight is putting pressure against the exit wound, okay?” Again, I just nod as I try to breathe through the pain. Marcus strips off his vest before reaching behind him and pulling his undershirt off over his head. I wince once he uses it to apply pressure to the front of my wound.
My body starts to shake and I feel so cold. It becomes harder and harder to hold my eyes open no matter how hard I try. “Stay with me, babe,” he says, but I’m powerless against the darkness that overtakes me.
When I woke up from surgery, Marcus’s face was the first thing I saw. They had successfully removed all bullet fragments and stitched up the wound nicely. Right now, they’re keeping me to monitor my concussion and any signs of brain swelling from when Stacy slammed my head against the floor and knocked me out. Other than some scrapes and bruises, everything else is fine and I should make a full recovery.
Marcus hasn’t left my side since they wheeled me into recovery. It’s like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he’s not watching or touching me in some way. He’s been keeping a brave face, but I can see how much this affected him. I know this could have been a lot worse than it was, and all those fears play out in the depths of his eyes. So, while he’s reassuring me that everything is going to be fine, I think part of him says it to convince himself as well.
As much as I love his comfort and support, I needed a second to breathe and process everything that had happened. Between doctors and nurses fussing over me and him hovering, I just needed a minute to myself, so I asked him to get some coffee from the café downstairs. He’s been gone for a little bit and should return any moment, but the short break was a nice reprieve and opportunity to take in everything that’s gone on the last few days.
Marcus struts back in holding two cups of coffee. My mouth waters just thinking about the yummy goodness of caffeine hitting my tongue.
“Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again?” With a cheesy grin firmly in place, I’m powerless to stop the laughter that bubbles up from inside me.
“You’re such a dork,” I say with a smile. Moments like these make me forget we’re in a hospital because I was shot. It feels normal and natural, everything I crave.
“Yeah, but you love this dork.” He hands me a cup and says, “I wanted to talk to you about something.” It’s usually not a good thing when he begins his sentence like that. I sit up a little, a sharp pain zapping my shoulder when I accidentally dig it into the mattress. “While you were in surgery, I called your parents to let them know what was going on.”
He pauses to gauge my reaction, but I don’t have one. I’m not mad or happy he did it, just indifferent. On one hand, they’re my parents and should know that their daughter was injured, but on the other hand, I still feel like they’ve lost that right. “Okay,” is all I say as he continues to wait.
“Your mom was frantic and came down immediately.”
“Does she know I’m awake?” It’s been a whole day since I came out of surgery and I had no idea she was here. If she was that upset, why hasn’t she come back to see me? He nods. “And she hasn’t been in here to see how I’m doing?”
“Part of that is my fault. I know how you feel about them and I completely have your back on it. So when she showed up, I made her leave. I didn’t want you coming out of surgery and waking up in a stressful situation, so I thought I’d let you make the decision once you were in the clear.”
He looks nervous, like he’s not sure if he did the right thing or not, but all I want to do is kiss him. This man has proven to me time and again that my happiness is his priority. “Where are they now?”
“In the waiting room. They stay there all day and go home at night.”
I’m shocked by his answer. My mother, the woman who couldn’t be bothered to wait for me after school when I was a little late once and left me, has been sitting out there this whole time? Maybe my near-death experience is making me more forgiving, but I find myself saying, “You can bring them in.”
He studies my face for a moment, probably seeing if I’m serious, before kissing my forehead and leaving the room to go get them. Moments later, my mother is busting through the door in a rush.
“Lydia.” It’s the only thing she says as her voice cracks and her hand goes to her mouth. She walks closer to my bed and looks me over, taking in the bruises on my face and sling my arm is in to stabilize my shoulder. When she removes her hand, she says, “My baby.” Her lip trembles and I can tell she’s trying to hold back from crying. She looks as if she’s aged years since I saw her last. “How are you feeling?” she asks once she gains her composure.
“Better. Sore, but I’m okay.”
I hate how awkward this is. A daughter shouldn’t feel uncomfortable by the mere presence of her mother. But I do. I always have.
Tears stream down her face as she continues to gaze at me with worry in her eyes. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers, her throat tight with emotion. I don’t respond because I don’t know what to say. “I know I apologized the last time I saw you and then reverted back to my old ways, but I mean it. You don’t have to believe me, and I know you hate me—”
“I don’t hate you, Mom. I often wondered what I had done to make you constantly disappointed in me. It seemed no matter how hard I tried, it was never enough. Looking at it now, I think it has more to do with you than it does me, but I don’t hate you.”
Her face falls, and for the first time I think I’m staring at the real her. The mask of perfection is gone, and in its place is a woman who is tired and not happy with her life choices. I wonder where she thought she’d end up, and how it’s so vastly different from where she is. My mom isn’t a very open person though. She guards her secrets and I’m sure this is one of those things I’ll never understand. What I do know as I focus on her is I’m not that little girl desperate to please her anymore. I’m a grown woman with my own life choices to make, and I don’t care if they make her happy.
“This experience has made me realize a lot, but the main thing I’m taking away from this is not to take our time for gra
nted. I’m not holding any more grudges, and I’m ready to let the past stay where it belongs because all it’s doing is hurting my future. I can’t tell you that everything is fine now and all is forgotten. That would be a lie, but I am willing to try if you are.” Too much of my life has been spent hating, resenting, and being bitter. I don’t want to live like that anymore. Life is too short to hang on to emotions that eat away at your soul.
With her lips pressed together, she nods. “I’d like that,” she says.
I look over at my dad, yet again forgetting that he’s there since he lets my mother do all the talking for them, and see relief in his eyes. I’ll never understand a man who would let his wife cast out their daughter the way mine did without so much as a backward glance. Maybe with time, we can mend those fences too.
Soon after my parents leave, the girls stop by.
“Oh, thank God,” Charlotte says as she walks toward my bed. Tears fall from her eyes as she grabs my hand. “You had me worried sick,” she says in a shaky voice. I smile warmly up at her, showing that I’m okay. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been shot,” I reply.
She rolls her eyes at my failed attempt at humor and wipes the moisture from under her eyes. “Don’t ever scare us like that again, okay?”
“I’ll try to avoid it in the future.” My lips pull up in a grin before my eyes close.
“You’re in good spirits, all things considered,” Paige remarks as she sits in one of the chairs in the corner.
I shrug and focus on her again. “I’m alive.”
I’ve been downplaying the seriousness of the situation, telling everyone it’s just a small shoulder wound and nothing major. But I know how close I came to not making it out of that building alive.
“When do you get to go home?” Scarlett asks.
“I should be released tomorrow. They wanted to keep me for a couple days to watch for possible infection and brain swelling, but so far so good.”
I gasp as I remember my baby. “Who’s taking care of Spartacus?” I ask with alarm. I can’t believe I’m just now thinking about him. My heart rate accelerates with mild panic as I realize he could be starving right now.
“Relax, he’s fine. I’m taking care of him,” Charlotte informs me.
I breathe out a sigh of relief. “Good, because he wouldn’t make it a day on his own.”
“I know. That fluffy bastard is pretty pathetic,” Marcus chimes in. His comment earns him a glare.
“Shut it or you’ll be the one out in the cold fending for yourself,” I threaten with a small laugh.
“Sorry, what I meant to say is he’s a ferocious beast who’d have no problem stalking down his prey. He’d be fine.”
“I’m not amused,” I deadpan before my face cracks with a smile.
My friends stay and chat for a few more minutes before getting ready to leave and let me rest. Between the events of the last couple days and the pain meds, it’s hard for me to keep my eyes open for long periods of time.
“Thanks for stopping by,” I say after giving them all a hug. They leave and all I can think about is how lucky I am to have them in my life. They’ve been there for me through my highest of highs and lowest of lows. I’m not sure how I would’ve made it through Seth if it weren’t for them.
I lower the bed so I’m lying down and get situated under the covers. I let out a yawn before pulling them up over me. Looking at Marcus, all I can think about is how close I was to losing him, and I’m not talking about Stacy. I’m referring to myself.
Charlotte told me it was meant to be after Marcus pulled me over and gave me a ticket. That the odds of running into him again were close to zero, yet we managed to find each other. I scoffed at her because I didn’t believe in those kinds of notions. But in this moment, I do. It may not have been ideal, but maybe this is what it takes to give myself to him one hundred percent with absolutely no hesitations or reservations. Because as I look at him, there’s not a shred of doubt still residing within me. I can truly say that I’ve let the past go and am looking at my future, a future with Marcus. So while my body is in pain, my heart no longer is. For that, I’m grateful.
“Thank you,” I say to him.
“For what?” He grabs hold of my hand and rubs the back of it with his thumb.
“For keeping my mother in check, for taking care of me. For putting my life above your own.”
“It’s nothing, babe.” He tries to brush off the compliment.
“It’s everything to me.”
Marcus
“NO! PLEASE, NO!”
I open my eyes, startled by the shouting. Looking over at Lydia, I see she’s having another nightmare.
“Lydia,” I say in a gentle tone. Placing a hand on her shoulder, I nudge her slightly. “Wake up, babe.”
Her face contorts in pain as she whimpers and makes more noises I can’t decipher. “Babe, come back to me. Wake up.”
She springs up and looks around. Her chest rises and falls at a rapid rate as she starts to calm with the realization that she’s safe. “I’ve got you. No one is ever going to hurt you again, okay?”
She nods as she pants, the thin sheen of sweat visible when the moonlight hits her face a certain way. I rub her back to soothe her, feeling the trembling of her body. This right here breaks me. I know what it’s like to have something haunt you, creeping into the deepest part of your brain where you can’t get rid of it. Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do about it, and I hate it.
“Are you okay?” I ask her after a while. She lies back down and snuggles into my chest, taking a deep breath before nodding. I hold her tight and rub her arm until she falls back to sleep.
It’s been two months since Lydia was kidnapped, and I’m pleased to say she’s doing amazing and has healed from her injury completely. Well, physically at least. Her nightmares started once she was released from the hospital. I think it provided a sense of security. Her anxieties and fears were clear to see as we drove home that day. She would look over her shoulder constantly like someone was going to get her. I’m sure knowing Stacy hasn’t been caught yet doesn’t help either. Seeing her like this tears me apart. The only time I’ve felt more helpless is when I stood beside her while I watched someone point a gun at her. Her nightmares have tapered off quite a bit with the help of therapy, but they still happen a few times a month. My fear is they won’t go away until we find Stacy.
The bags under her eyes and tired expression on her face from a sleepless night were all I could think about at work the next day. I’ve been driving around on patrol thinking of ways to help her but come up empty.
I decide to check in on her once I come to a stop. Our lives have gone back to normal for the most part. We’re both working and in our usual routines.
Me: Hey. You know those pants you were wearing today?
Her response comes a few minutes later.
Lydia: Yeah . . .
Me: Did you get them on sale?
Lydia: No, why?
Me: Cuz they’re 100% off at my place. ;-)
Lydia: Really? Don’t you have tickets to write or something?
Me: You love it. Don’t lie.
Lydia: Maybe a little.
Me: How’s your day so far?
Lydia: Great! I booked a new client that I’m meeting later this afternoon.
Me: Awesome. I’ll let you go then. See you tonight. Love you.
Lydia: Love you too.
I put my phone away with a grin on my face. I love the shit out of that girl. Now that I’ve got her back, it’s my only goal in life to make damn sure I don’t lose her again.
The day drags on, and I’ve never been so glad to see I only have an hour left in my shift as I am today. I’m cruising down the street when I come to a stop light. I always like to glance around at the cars beside me, but what I see turns my blood cold.
Fucking Stacy.
She clearly saw me already because she’s looking around frantically for an easy
escape, but she’s boxed in and can’t go anywhere. My hand moves as fast as possible to turn on my lights. I cut my wheel to the left and pull right up next to her door.
She honks her horn in an effort to get the car in front of her to move. When they don’t, she rear-ends them. I get out of my car and draw my weapon.
“Get your hands up!” I yell at her. She ignores my order. “I said get your hands up!”
Her wheels skid against the asphalt as she floors it and rams into the car in front of her, making them move out of her way as she drives off. Jumping back in my car, I turn on my sirens and chase after her.
“I’m in pursuit going east on Apex Peakway passing the Broadstone Way intersection. I have a positive ID on a suspect in connection with a kidnapping and attempted murder. Suspect is female, driving a silver Honda Accord. I’m too far away to get a plate number. I need backup asap,” I call into dispatch.
“Copy that. Female driving a silver Honda Accord wanted for kidnapping and attempted murder. I need all units in the vicinity to respond immediately,” the dispatcher replies.
She runs two red lights, narrowly missing being hit each time. Suddenly, she makes a sharp right, almost hitting a car in the opposite lane. “She just made a right onto South Hughes Street.”
“Copy that.”
Adrenaline is pumping through my body as I tighten my grip on the wheel. For months, I’ve thought of nothing but this moment. And here she is, within my grasp, and I won’t let her get away. With so much traffic, it’s too dangerous to spin her out without risking other drivers’ safety.
“Fuck,” I say under my breath as she makes another right. “She’s heading for the ninety-five.”
“Copy, suspect is approaching I-95,” dispatch responds.
Two other units are approaching when she cuts across oncoming traffic to get the onramp. “Suspect is going south on interstate ninety-five.”
“Ten-four, we’ve got eyes in the sky. They’ve got her in their sights,” she says.
“Do we back off?” another officer asks.
Fuck no, is what I’m thinking, but dispatch says, “Proceed with caution and give her some space. We don’t want her to cause a wreck.”
Calculated Risk Page 17
