by Malcom, Anne
The hands were still moving, counting down the moments I had left. Real moments. Not the ones that Lance gave me. The endless moments.
This would end soon.
I would end soon.
Lance
He was on the freeway, driving when they got it.
He’d been driving everywhere. To every location they could think of. He was driving because he couldn’t sit in that fucking office idle.
Keltan called him. Told him what they needed. What he needed.
They got the intel on where she was.
Wire got it.
No fucking clue how. Fucker probably hacked into a satellite for all he knew. Lance didn’t care how they got the intel, just that they had it.
The second he heard the location, his blood froze. Snow covered him. It coursed through his blood. For a moment, he wasn’t on the freeway in the sunshine, he was driving mountain roads on Christmas Eve, seeing flashing lights and a crushed vehicle.
“Lance?” Keltan’s voice on the other end of the phone snapped him back.
His fists tightened around the steering wheel and he forced his focus here, in the present, where Elena needed him.
“I’m closest,” he clipped.
He wasn’t, but putting his foot flat on the gas, he would be.
Then he hung up the phone.
His mind didn’t go anywhere on the drive. Not one single place. Not the past, not the future, the one where he didn’t get there in time, nothing. Just on driving as fast as he could.
That’s where his mind was, nowhere, when he pulled into the parking lot, where he kept the lights on to illuminate the figure at the end of the dock. He reached to his glove compartment, snatching the high-powered flashlight he always kept there. His other hand held his gun. He was still thinking of nothing while he ran down that dock, plugged two rounds into each leg of the man watching the water. He was screaming, the man, until Lance lifted him by the shoulder and cold-cocked him with the butt of his gun.
He wasn’t going to waste time securing him, knowing Heath was seconds behind him, he’d gotten a text to say as much.
So he was still thinking of nothing right up until he shone the torch around the dock looking for her, and right until the light illuminated the water, and showed a couple of bubbles. He didn’t hesitate then. He dove into the water.
He couldn’t see shit, but he saw enough. He saw her.
She wasn’t moving.
She didn’t move when he got to her. Not when he clutched her body to his and swam to the surface.
Not when Heath, standing on the edge of the wharf, hauled her out of his arms and started CPR on her.
She was still unmoving, apart from the limp jerk to her body from Heath’s compressions, when he got up on the dock.
Heath let him take over. Because he had to take over. Because she had to breathe. She had to.
His lips fastened over hers.
They were cold.
Her chest wasn’t moving.
“Breathe, baby,” he pleaded with her pale, still face.
Footsteps thundered down the dock.
Someone cursed.
Another person, Duke, sank to his knees beside him.
He didn’t take notice.
He kept with compressions. He kept breathing for Elena. She couldn’t do it right now. But that’s okay, he’d do it for her, just until she could do it on her own.
And she would do it on her own.
“Anyone can breathe through any kind of pain. That’s why I told myself. Breathing isn’t hard. It’s just sometimes you have to remind yourself that. As long as you remember, breathing is easy.”
“Breathing is easy, baby, remember?” he told her, hands on her chest. “Remember, cupcake? You just have to remind yourself to breathe,” he whispered, right before he fastened his lips over hers.
Then he kept going.
For how long, he didn’t know.
“Lance.” Heath’s voice was tight. Knowing. Hand on his shoulder was firm as if he was preparing to pull him away. Restrain him. “She’s...”
“Get your hand off me,” he snarled, not stopping and not moving his eyes from Elena’s face. “She’s going to breathe. She’s just forgotten that it’s easy.”
The hand left his shoulder.
He kept going.
He kept breathing life into Elena.
Until she did it for herself.
Until she remembered.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Elena
I didn’t come awake slowly, there was no smooth, easy transition from unconsciousness, or death—I was sure I’d been pretty close to it—to wakefulness.
No, I came awake just like those people in movies who jerk up in their bed with a gasp. Except I couldn’t sit up. I tried, my entire body was being held down by cement blocks.
My eyes shot open, not seeing anything covering my body but a thin, hospital issue blanket.
I choked on the air I was gulping hungrily, desperately, in my dream, my nightmare, my death—whatever it had been that came before this—had stolen a lot of air from my lungs. All I could remember was needing to breathe, to inhale and exhale against the pain, but not being able to.
I didn’t care about the choking, the fact I may or may not be coming back from the dead, or that I couldn’t move my body. There was one thought, one terrifying thought that bounced around my head and clutched my thundering heart.
I needed to yell, I needed to call to him but I couldn’t say anything around my hacking.
There was pressure at my wrist. A lot of it. To the point of pain. But I liked that. I needed it. A focus point. An anchor.
I knew who was giving me that gift of pain, and I relaxed, only slightly but enough so my coughing started to calm down.
Lance leaned forward, bringing my hand up to his mouth and laying his lips on it for half a second before his eyes met mine.
“Nathan is fine,” he said, knowing me, knowing exactly what I was trying to say. What my soul was screaming silently.
Everything in me relaxed, my heart began to slow down, I stopped gulping for air so desperately. Lance would not lie to me. If he said Nathan was fine, then there wasn’t a thing wrong with my little boy. He was safe.
My son is safe.
I chanted that for the entire time it took to get my breathing under control.
Lance watched me the whole time I did so, never breaking eye contact, never relieving the pressure on my wrist.
When I was done, breathing easily, he spoke again.
“I’m buyin’ you a ranch, goats and fuckin’ dogs,” Lance declared, forehead against mine. “And you’re not arguin’ about shit.”
I blinked. Multiple times. From the words underneath his words. The pain, the joy, the panic, the fear in his tone. “That’s a really weird thing to say to someone immediately after they become conscious,” I responded, my voice raspy and thick, like it had been after the fire.
He didn’t reply to that. “And you’re marrying me.”
I blinked again. My stomach dropped while my heart soared.
“I’m not having an argument about that either. We can have any kind of wedding you want, don’t give a fuck where it is, how many people come, if it’s officiated by a shaman—as long as the state of California recognizes that—all I care is that you’re marrying me.” He paused, not long enough for me to breathe through all the beauty he was giving me after some of the ugliest experiences of my life. “I’m adopting Nathan. As long as he wants that. As long as you want that. You want to wait, make sure I’m serious, give me time to prove I’m gonna stay, then we can do that.” He stroked my face. “I’ll prove to you, and Nathan, that you’re getting nothing less than forever with me. But at some point, I want that boy to be mine. I already consider him that. Love him. But I want it to be official. So it’s up to you, both of you when that happens. But it’s gonna happen. And we’re getting the ranch.” He paused, eyes shimmering. “You’re getting your dream, baby. No more
nightmares.”
Then he kissed me.
Long, slow, tender. So unlike Lance. But at the same time, it belonged to this new, tender, vulnerable part of him.
I was not at all happy when he stopped kissing me, but I did realize that I was in a hospital bed, after almost drowning. I probably shouldn’t be making out with my boyfriend—I guess fiancé now, queue interior excited girly scream—in my hospital bed.
He didn’t move all the way back from me, just far enough so I could see his eyes, take in the face I’d been so sure I’d never see again. Emotions struggled for dominance in my body, the need to sob uncontrollably with happiness was probably going to win. I needed to hold it together, because Lance was looking at me expectantly, like he wanted some kind of response to some of the beautiful words any human being had spoken, like ever, even if they were spoken in his hard, ‘this is a forgone conclusion’ kind of way.
What did I say to that?
To the man who not only wanted to give me my dream, but was making it clear I was getting it, whether I liked it or not.
What did I say to him proposing marriage to me? To him wanting to make me his? More importantly, wanting to make my son his?
“Okay,” I whispered, my voice choked with tears.
He blinked. “Okay?” he repeated.
I nodded, because I didn’t trust myself to speak right now.
“To what?” he asked.
“All of it,” I said. “The dream.” I moved my hand upward to cup his face. “To you.”
He blinked again. Then a single tear trailed down his cheek. He pressed his forehead to mine once more. “Never been more afraid in my life, Elena,” he murmured, voice fractured. His strong man façade was falling. Cracking. I understood that he most likely had it firmly in place the entire time I’d been missing. He would have been purposeful, scary, badass.
But now, he was breaking apart. And he was doing it with me.
So I let him.
“It’s okay,” I whispered. “You saved me. Like I knew you would.”
His eyes shimmered. “I almost didn’t,” he choked out. “I was almost too late, Elena. If I had been—”
“You weren’t,” I interrupted him, not needing him to torture himself with a false future. “You weren’t too late.”
His jaw was hard and he continued to stare at me, watching me breathe, as if he needed to do that in order to remind himself that he wasn’t too late.
I didn’t speak. I gave him what he needed.
It took a few minutes. No, it didn’t. It took a moment. A beautiful, Lance moment. I basked in it. A moment I didn’t think I’d ever have. My gaze went down to my wrist that Lance wasn’t holding, panicked that it wouldn’t be there, the thing that measured minutes, not moments.
It was there.
I let out a relieved exhale. I would never take breathing for granted again. No matter how bad my pain was, still being able to breathe was a gift. But looking from the man in front of me to the watch at my wrist, I knew that I wouldn’t have to breathe through pain again.
Lance’s large hand moved so his fingers could trace the smooth face. “I put it back on you once the doctors finished. Wanted something of mine on you.” His fingers moved to my fourth finger. “Will make sure you’ve always got somethin’ of mine on you.”
“I can’t take any more of your sweet, it might just kill me, and I already escaped death once,” I told him, my voice a whisper.
His gaze darted up, eyes sharp. “We don’t joke about you almost dyin’, Elena,” he clipped.
I smiled. “Ah, there’s my badass asshole.”
He glared at me, but then kissed me.
“Nathan,” I whispered once he was done. As much as I wanted to continue kissing Lance, have his hands on my skin and his promises in my heart, I needed to see my son.
Lance got this, most likely better than most parents, because he didn’t get to do that with Nick. He would never. Feeling the fear I had felt for Nathan when I thought Robert had him, I couldn’t fathom how Lance was able to do things like walk around and breathe without his son.
Then again, human beings had the ability to breathe through the most unimaginable kinds of pain.
He was living proof.
“He’s outside,” he said, moving from my bed to stand. “With Karen, Eliza, Rosie, Polly, Lucy, Bobby, Esther, Logan, the whole team. Didn’t think you’d want him in here until you woke up. Didn’t want to scare him anymore. Kid’s bein’ brave, and got enough distractions, but he’s worried about his mom.”
My heart clenched. My sensitive little boy would definitely be putting on a brave face, especially around the men he considered heroes. But this was a lot for him. When he’d already gone through too much. I suddenly had an overwhelming urge to hold my boy in my arms, never let him go, never let him experience anything hard or painful ever again.
But that wasn’t how it worked.
Lance leaned in to kiss my head and then turned to leave the room.
He paused, about halfway to the door. Turned. Eyes found mine, as always.
“I love you,” he said, the words floating across the room and hitting me square in the chest. The words took over my whole body. My soul.
I knew that he loved me, of course. A man like Lance didn’t do the things he did for me and Nathan if he didn’t love us. He showed us every day. He showed me by leaving—even though I didn’t realize that at the time. He showed me by coming back.
Showed me with the watch at my wrist.
By taking Nathan fishing.
By coming to church.
And a thousand and one other ways, he showed me his love. Some of them sweet, some of them not. Because Lance wasn’t sweet. Tender. Life had taken that away from him. The ability to love tender.
He loved me with a cruelty that shouldn’t exist. A kind of cruel he wore like a second skin. But I would take his cruel love over any other man’s sweet infatuation. I would suffer with him before I’d smile with anyone else.
He didn’t wait for me to respond, just turned and walked out the door, taking half of my heart with him. He soon returned, with the rest of my heart standing right beside him, holding his hand.
Nathan didn’t let go of his hand for the entire walk to my bed. His eyes were wide, taking me in, lip wobbling slightly, brows furrowed. Lance was right, my boy was trying his hardest to be strong. He approached the bed tentatively, not jumping on it like he did in the mornings, not worrying about a limb or organ he was squashing. He climbed up very slowly, with Lance’s help. He crawled up to my head so his little hand could cradle my cheek.
“You feel better now, Momma?” he asked, voice quiet.
I had to breathe through a lot of pain at that moment. The pain at what had been done to my child, what I could never take back. The pain at thinking I was almost taken away from him.
But I wasn’t.
So I could breathe.
Because of the little hand on my cheek. Because of the man standing beside the bed, his large hand on Nathan’s small back. Because of all the people in the waiting room.
Because my nightmare had finally ended.
It was time for the dream to begin.
“Yeah, baby,” I whispered. “Momma feels so much better.”
* * *
They let me out of the hospital later the next day. I’d been unconscious for a few hours after they admitted me, and since Lance had already done the job of saving my life, I was physically okay, apart from being told to ‘take it easy,’ as if that were something possible in my chaotic life.
It started with all the people in the waiting room, all of whom refused to leave until they saw me. Lance was like a frickin’ prison guard, monitoring the number of people in the room at one time and barking at them when their ‘time was up.’
Though of course Rosie didn’t listen to that bark, merely grinned at him and blew him a kiss.
“You’re officially in the club now,” she said.
�
�What club?”
“The Greenstone Security Old Lady club. It’s practically required to like almost die or be kidnapped or whatever to get in. We’re very exclusive, you know.” She winked at me, her words light and teasing. But there was a darkness behind her eyes too. A pain.
Someone else breathing through it all.
She squeezed my hand, kissed my head and promised to be back once I was able to walk and drink.
Lucy and Polly were there too, Polly giving me a Rhodochrosite stone, for healing. I clutched the cool, smooth stone in my hands the entire way home.
Eliza and Karen didn’t listen to Lance’s commands either. Both were pale, shocked and tearful.
“I’m okay,” I told them.
Eliza raised her brow, but then she looked to where Nathan was dutifully reading his picture book, to Lance, standing in his badass stance right beside him, then back to me. “Yeah, you are,” she said.
Logan and Esther looked pale also. I knew their hatred for hospitals, the sterile smell and long hallways too much of a reminder of what they’d lost. But they came anyway. Because they were family.
So back at home, with my boys, the smaller one fast asleep in his bed, the bigger one I was using for a pillow.
A naked one.
Lance had just made slow, tender, beautiful love to me. Every touch, every kiss was worship. I was filled with reverence, covered in evidence that the world had not killed all his gentle.
We hadn’t spoken in a long time.
We didn’t need to.
“I didn’t kill him,” he said, breaking the silence.
I knew exactly who he was talking about, the man I hadn’t even mentioned since I’d woken up. Sure a lot of people would need to know immediately what happened to the ex-husband that kidnapped and tried to drown them. But I wasn’t a lot of people. Robert didn’t matter to me. Not in the moments I had with Lance, with my son, the rest of my friends and family. He didn’t get that. Didn’t get to pollute that.
“Why?” I asked, surprised at the sentence, surprised this was the first time I’d even thought about Robert breathing in the world at all. He had taken me in order to make sure I didn’t forget him, that he was the last thing I thought of before I took my last breath. He was wrong on that score. And after I took my first breath, it wasn’t him I thought of either.
