Shattered

by Jaci J

  SEVEN HOURS LATER, a man in a white coat steps into the small waiting area.

  “Ms. Chase?” The doctor asks, looking up from his clipboard at me. “You’re here for Mr. Hernandez, correct?”

  I nod, my words stuck in the nervous pit of my stomach.

  “Mr. Hernandez is out of surgery and in a recovery room. Things went well. He lost a good amount of blood, and the bullets nicked a few crucial organs—his kidney and small intestine. We fixed the damage and things seem to look good. We suspect he’ll make a full recovery, but right now, were taking it slow and monitoring him for infection and complications.”

  I’ve never felt relief like I’m feeling in this moment.

  Taking the first real breath I’ve taken since this happened last night, I give the doctor a small smile and shake his hand. “Thank you.”

  He returns my smile. “You’re welcome. But there will be some aftercare once he’s released.”

  I just keep nodding.

  “But we’ll discuss that later. Would you like to see him?”

  “Yes.”

  I follow the doctor to a small room at the end of the long sterile hall. He doesn’t walk me in or wait, he just smiles and walks off, telling me someone will be back in a moment to check on Cruz.

  Cruz.

  Hesitating at the door, I chew on my thumbnail, unsure.

  I’m scared.

  Willing my feet to work, I step into the stark, uninviting hospital room, slowly.

  Cruz is laying in the bed.

  He looks like he’s in pain.

  For the first time since seeing him, I realize how handsome he really is in a rugged and rough, inked and tough sort of way.

  There’s something about his face, a handsome harshness to his features. A strong square jaw, but nice full lips. Long lashes, but sharp brow.

  He’s beautiful.

  Sitting down in the small chair next to his bed, I fiddle with the bracelet on my wrist, not sure what to do with my hands. I want to touch him again.

  And I do, after a moment. I grab his big hand in mine, needing to feel him, to know he’s okay.

  His hand is rough, but warm. Comfortable.

  He groans and rolls his head to the side. Opening his eyes, he looks at me. He’s not smiling, but his dark eyes are.

  “Thank you,” I say, my voice broken. I owe him my life.

  “Angel,” he says in return, his voice gruff and pained.

  The way he says it, so reverently...

  Jesus. I wish I were an angel.

  I shake my head, touching my chest. “My name is Mia.”

  He chuckles, and then winces, his eyes squinting closed against the pain. Once it seems to subside, he says, “You’re an angel.”

  Now it’s my turn to laugh. I’m definitely no angel. “I just called the ambulance.”

  “Could’ve just let me die.”

  I widen my eyes in shock at how cavalier he sounds. I could have just let him die? That’s fucking insane. “I couldn’t, and wouldn’t have done that.”

  I have a heart.

  Pulling the blanket down, he shows me his stomach, covered in white gauze, and smirks. “Clearly, because I’m still fucking kickin’.”

  “Good.” I’m glad he’s alive. Beyond glad. “I’m happy you’re okay.”

  He looks me over again, his eyes hardening. “Are you okay?”

  I look down at myself, at what he’s looking at—the blood on my tee...his blood on my tee. “Yeah, I’m okay. A little shaken up.”

  “They won’t hurt you again.”

  I shiver thinking about those men, the one with his hands on me, pulling on me. My stomach rolls at the memory. “I hope not.”

  His eyes turn dark and serious. “They won’t.”

  “How can you...” I start to say, but I’m interrupted by the nurse coming in.

  “How’s our patient?” she asks, looking at the both of us, smiling from ear to ear. “How’s your pain level, Mr. Hernandez?”

  “Fine. When can I go home?” he grunts, eyeing the nurse as she flutters around the room, checking on this and that.

  He wants to go home now? Already?

  The nurse scolds Cruz, laughing. “Definitely not tonight, tough guy.”

  I watch as she checks his vitals and watches the monitor. There’s no alarm or worry in her eyes, giving me a huge feeling of relief.

  Cruz

  “Hey,” Mia says, smiling as she walks into my room.

  She’s been gone too long. Way too fucking long.

  She’s carrying an armful of stuff, shit like magazines, books, cards, food...food! Fuck, I really want some food, shit that isn’t square and gray, and tastes like ass.

  “Nice shirt,” I chuckle, looking at the giant cat on her chest. At least it’s better than the one she was wearing, the one covered in my blood.

  Lifting a shoulder, she laughs softly. “All they had in the gift shop.”

  Jesus Christ, that laugh, so soft and musical.

  I watch her walk farther into the room, slowly, like she’s unsure, or even scared.

  Scared of me or hospitals?

  But she’s fucking beautiful. Angelic. Perfect.

  Sitting down in the chair next to my bed, she hands me all the stuff she’s brought. “I don’t know what you like to eat, but you can’t go wrong with a bacon cheeseburger, right? Unless you don’t eat meat?” Her eyes go wide. “Oh shit. Do you eat meat?”

  “I eat meat.”

  Sighing, she smiles. “Oh, good.”

  “You didn’t have to come back.” But I’m glad as fuck she did. She was gone for a few hours, and it was a few hours too long.

  “Do you want me to go?” she asks, her head cocked, eyes on the door. Jesus, she’s got some pretty fucking eyes. So goddamn green, like a fucking garden. The garden of Eden.

  “Stay.”

  She looks relieved. “Okay,” she agrees, her smile growing bigger. “I brought you stuff,” she explains, handing me a bunch of shit I don’t really fucking need, but appreciate. She doesn’t know me, doesn’t have to do a goddamn thing for me. But she did. “I don’t know what you like, probably because I don’t really know you.”

  “You don’t.”

  Those endless green eyes sadden.

  “But I want you to.”

  “Good.” But more than anything, I want to know her.

  “If I’m being too pushy, just tell me. You just—” she starts, getting a little choked up as she looks me over, “—stepped in and saved me, and they shot you. Jesus.” She shakes her head, eyes wet and glassy.

  “I’m fine,” I assure her. I’ve lived through worse, and I’m sure I’ll see even worse before they bury me.

  “You scared me there for a minute or two.” She laughs through her tears. “This is crazy.”

  “Definitely crazy.”

  Chewing on her lip, she looks at my hand. “I’m sorry you were shot.”

  “I’m not.”

  “What?”

  “I met you.”

  Wiping the tears away from her eyes, she nods. “You took a bullet for me.”

  “Two,” I joke, trying really fucking hard not to laugh when she laughs. Jesus, she’s fucking stunning.

  Her life is worth every second of pain. I may not know her, but I know worth when I see it, and she deserves it. She deserves everything.

  “I feel like I owe you so much,” she mutters, taking a bite of a fry, looking so goddamn guilty. She shouldn’t be. I knew something like this was going to happen if I stepped in, but I’d do it again, over and over, because if anyone owes anyone anything, it’s me. One good deed won’t erase all the bad shit I’ve done over the years.

  Closing my eyes, I shake my head. “You don’t owe me shit. Your thanks was enough.”

  “Not even close. I’ll owe you forever.”

  I’m not going to argue with her because I know it makes her feel good, trying to repay me. But I live that shit every day. It’s not necessary.


  Getting up, she walks around to the other side of the bed, toward the phone. “Is there anyone you want me to call for you?”

  “No.”

  “No family?” she inquires.

  “No one I care about.”

  She looks sad about that. “I’m sorry.”

  Grabbing her hand, I pull her down onto the bed next to me. I don’t know why I do it, but I want her closer.

  Scooting up and leaning forward, as much as it fucking hurts to do so, I get close to her. “Stop saying you’re fuckin’ sorry, yeah? I saved you and you saved me. We’re even. Got me?”

  Mia takes a few moments to process my words before she nods. “Okay.”

  “Good.”

  “You hungry?” she asks, eyeing the bag of food next to me.

  “Starving.”

  Grabbing the bag, she hands it to me. “Dig in.”

  The smile I get? Repayment tenfold.

  Mia

  “Go fish,” I smirk, wiggling my brows over my cards.

  Cruz frowns, looking down at his own. “I think you might be cheatin’.”

  “You don’t even know me and you’re calling me a cheater?”

  I don’t know Cruz well, but what I do know is that he’s tough, as well as guarded. He doesn’t smile, and the few things he does say come out surly. Yet this big, broody man is sitting here, playing Go Fish with me. He’s nothing like I’d expected.

  “Startin’ to know exactly who you fuckin’ are, Angel, and you’re a cheater.” He’s teasing me, but his face remains impassive, giving nothing away.

  Even in his constant, ill-mannered state, his eyes betray him. Especially when he looks at me.

  It’s been a little over forty-eight hours since Cruz was brought into the hospital, and besides leaving to change my shirt and get food and entertainment, I haven’t left. I can’t leave. He won’t let me leave. And to be honest, I don’t want to.

  Sitting on the end of Cruz’s bed, legs crossed, we play cards. I talk, he listens. We even watched a shitty made-for-TV movie. I keep him busy. I keep me busy.

  “For someone who’s never played before, you’re pretty good at this.”

  Cruz furrows his brow, frowning at me. “Feelin’ some judgment in that statement.”

  I laugh, I can’t help it. “You’re thirty-four and have never played Go Fish. What’s wrong with you?”

  “I was busy doin’ other shit.”

  Pushing the hair off my shoulder, I hide my laughter behind my cards. “Really? Like what?”

  “Being cool.”

  “Am I not cool because I’m good at Go Fish?” I ask him, quirking a brow.

  “You’re a Go Fish gangster, Angel.”

  When he calls me ‘angel,’ my heart skips a beat. It affects me and it shouldn’t.

  I’m about to ask him if he has any sixes when the door opens, and a woman comes bursting in with big tears and loud sobs. “Oh my God, Cruz!” she wails, rushing through the room and practically falling onto his bed. She throws her arms around him, sniffling into his neck. “Are you okay?”

  The woman is gorgeous. She’s tall and curvy—everything I’m not.

  Cruz has someone.

  It shouldn’t bother me, but it does.

  “Jesus, Maria. Calm down, yeah?” Cruz grumbles, shrugging her off.

  He doesn’t look happy to see her.

  “You were shot!” she cries out, tears in her eyes. “I was so worried. Don’t tell me to calm down.”

  “I’m fine.”

  I feel weird sitting here, like I’m eavesdropping on a private moment between them.

  Scooting to the edge of the bed, I put my feet on the floor, but before I can get up, Cruz shoots me a cutting look. “Sit,” he growls, pointing back at the spot my ass was just in.

  Um...

  At that moment, Maria’s eyes snap to mine, as if she’s just now realizing someone else is in the room.

  I don’t sit back down. Instead, I stay on my feet, backing away from them and toward the door. “I should give you some privacy.” I throw my thumb over my shoulder.

  “Why?” he asks, looking at me weird.

  Maria speaks up, cutting him off. “Yes, please. We’d like some privacy.”

  I offer him a smile before walking to the door, my heart in my throat.

  I don’t want to leave, but I do, and head to the small waiting area because I just can’t convince myself to leave the hospital.

  Sitting down at the chair I’d sat in two nights ago, I pull my phone out of the bag. It’s dead. It was almost dead before I left the restaurant and Luna the other night. Rooting around in my bag, I find my charger and plug it in.

  I’m exhausted, but I can’t sleep.

  It takes about five minutes for my phone to charge enough to turn on, and when it does, I’m hit with a few voicemails.

  There are two from Bryce, but instead of listening to them, I just erase them, not needing the stress of his words right now.

  Bryce is the reason I’m even here in Lincoln City, Oregon, alone. After I found out he’d been sleeping with his boss, he was determined to make it work between us, so he asked for a transfer. Once it was accepted, he sent me to find a place for us to live, since he would have to continue traveling for work for four months until his transfer was processed in the Oregon office.

  I wanted to stay with him, but he was insistent, claiming that if we didn’t start the process we’d be scrambling to get everything done at the last minute, so I agreed. I gave up my friends, my family, and my dance studio, all for a fresh start with the man I loved.

  It’s now been six months since I packed up my life and moved to a place I knew no one and nothing about. And after five months of excuses as to why he wasn’t yet with me, I told him we needed a break. I suspect that the whole thing was a subterfuge to get me out of his hair so he could continue on with his affair. And if that was the case, why not just end it when he told me about his cheating and be done with it? Yes, I was a complete and utter idiot to go along with it, but I wanted so much for us to work. But after being here on my own for so long without him, I felt it best we take some time apart mentally and emotionally, as well as physically. Time will tell if we’re truly meant to be together, but in the meantime, we’re trying to work it all out.

  My mom also left a message, wanting the number to a friend that plans parties.

  I feel very unloved in this moment.

  I check social media, finding it just as boring as the last time I checked it. I get up and wander down the hall, looking for a vending machine.

  I feel lost and unsure. I hate this feeling—loathe it.

  Cruz has someone who’s worried about him.

  I have myself. Myself and vending machine chocolate.

  Cruz

  I watch Maria walk out of my room, still not real fucking sure why she was here to begin with. Those tears and that worry, that shit was all a show.

  The door closes behind her and I lean back, fucking tired. I’m done with this hospital.

  Staring at the door, I wait for Mia to come back, but she doesn’t, and I don’t like it.

  Where’s my angel?

  It’s not long before the door opens and a nurse comes in, killing my hopes of seeing Mia’s face again.

  She checks my vitals and smiles. “I think we’re going to discharge you soon, since you’re in such a hurry to get out of here.” I wanted out of here before I even got here.

  “Where’s Mia?” I ask her, hoping like fuck she didn’t leave.

  If Maria ran my angel off, I’ll fucking kill her. I’m not ready to let her go just yet.

  “The woman that came in with you?” The nurse asks, looking up from my chart.

  “Yeah.” I nod, watching her push a few buttons on the monitor I’m hooked up to. She stares and studies the machine, like it’s keeping me alive or something.

  I’m in pain, but nothing a little sleep and a couple of shots can’t fix. Nothing that being around Mia won’t ma
ke better.

  “I’m not sure,” she answers, reaching behind me and fluffing my pillow. “Anything else you need?”

  “No.”

  I let her do her thing, biding my time until she leaves.

  Ten minutes later she walks out, and so do I.

  Getting out of bed isn’t easy. My body fucking hurts. Who would’ve thought two little bullets could do so much damage to a goddamn body?

  Battered and bruised, I push through the pain and get off the bed.

  I want to find Mia. I need to find her.

  Walking down the hall, I pass the nurse’s station.

  “Um, sir?” A nurse stands up from her chair, her eyes wide. “You should be in bed.”

  “I’m fine,” I grunt, continuing to walk by.

  “Sir!” The nurse rushes me, but stops when I glare at her. If she touches me, I’ll lose my shit.

  I want to find Mia and be left the fuck alone.

  Jesus, the pain is real. I feel like I’m going to pass the fuck out. But the need to find Mia is worse.

  I pass rooms and people in wheelchairs in the hall, families crying and nurses talking.

  I fucking hate hospitals.

  Walking to the end of the hall, I find her in a small waiting area, sitting in a chair, her feet curled up under her. She’s on the phone with her head down and her lip pulled between her teeth.

  I watch her for a second, watch her run a hand through her long dark hair. Watch her chew on her pretty heart shaped lips. Fucking perfect.

  Idly I wonder if she’s got a man, if there’s someone at home waiting for her. Someone in her bed.

  Not that it fucking matters. Not to me anyway.

  I want her for myself.

  “I’m fine. Yeah. I’ll call you tomorrow,” I hear her say. She doesn’t smile. She just stares at her lap, looking lost. “Good night,” she adds, pulling the phone from her ear and hanging up, frowning.