He advanced on her, a bull seeing red, but she stood her ground. If she ran, Howie didn’t stand a chance.
“Nobody’s gonna keep m’ boy away from me, bitch.” His fingers dug into her arms, just below the shoulders, and he shook her so hard, her head bobbled as if her neck were a spring. He shouted, venting his frustration at the world. “You hear me? Nobody! Not m’ wife...not th’ law...not you!”
He held her upper arms tight against her sides, allowing no reach to her blind slaps, but she threw as many kicks as she dared, fighting to stay upright. And she screamed...over and over. “Run, Howie! Get help!”
One hand left her. Seizing the opportunity, she drew her free arm back, mustering all her strength into the intended punch. Before she could follow through, the back of his hand connected with her jaw. Her head snapped sideways and back with such force her body had no choice but to follow.
The ringing in her ears grew to a roar. The moon whirled above her in a sickening dance as she fell.
* * *
RICK BUSTED HIS ASS, TRYING TO catch up with Summer before she reached the Byassee place. This whole ordeal smacked of something that churned his insides. It felt too coincidental...too contrived.
As he neared the place where the path veered right, an off sound registered in his hearing. One that didn’t belong to the night. Faint, but definitely human voices. He kicked harder, and the sounds grew into shouts...angry tones. One he recognized.
Summer.
As he tore into the clearing, the sounds stopped abruptly. He slowed his movement to a guarded walk.
He listened. The house’s dark facade stood sentry, no hint of turmoil on its watch. Then a noise came from the back of the house. A slamming door.
Rick rushed toward the sound. As he rounded the corner of the house, the sight of Summer’s body sprawled on the ground ripped a combined cry of anger and anguish from his lungs. “Summer!”
She struggled to sit up as he bounded toward her. Shaking her head in protest, she pointed to the truck in the driveway. “Howie!”
Rick’s mind instantly processed the situation. A camouflaged truck. Howie’s dad. The engine started as Rick jerked open the door on the passenger’s side, and Howie flipped the latch to unhook his seat belt.
Rick hauled the child from the cab, scanning him quickly. He appeared unhurt. “Run, Howie.” Rick gave him a push. “Go back to camp.”
The child’s eyes widened with fear and hesitation. He stood frozen to the spot.
“Now!” Rick used his most menacing marine voice.
A cloud of dust rose in the boy’s wake.
Rick heard the truck’s gears shift into Park. He threw a glance toward Summer, who’d made it to her feet, albeit wobbly. That she could stand was a good sign.
He started around the back of the truck, but Summer took a step in the direction of the driver’s door. He moved in fast, blocking her. “Don’t.” He used the same tone he’d used with Howie, but not as loud.
Her chin snapped up in defiance.
In the meager light he saw it—a lump the size of an egg on her jaw, and his insides wound into a tight coil. Blinded by rage, he sprang toward the driver’s door, loaded for action, intent on tearing Howard Gerard apart with his bare hands.
The door swung open, and he gathered the son of a bitch’s shirt into his fists and hauled him past the steering column with one jerk.
Something wasn’t right about the man’s sneer, and Rick’s senses went on alert, but his body had the momentum of his weight behind it.
Too late he saw the flash...heard the pop.
A vacuum sucked his body in upon itself, bringing with it a pain like nothing he’d ever experienced before. He gasped and the very act of breathing caused him to lose his grip. He staggered backward, toppling, with no control of his movements, welcoming the feel of crashing onto solid ground.
Fireworks went off in his head, blinding his sight, but his sense of touch registered a hot, sticky wetness covering his hands.
He became aware of two distinct sounds piercing his brain. On one side, the roar of a truck engine being gunned.
On the other, screams of terror. Summer’s.
He cursed his idiocy. A marine didn’t make this kind of mistake.
Or maybe it wasn’t a mistake.
Maybe the bullet was meant for him all along...it just took seven years to find him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“DO YOU WANT TO LIE DOWN? There’s a couch in that empty waiting room over there.” Tara pointed to the room across the hall. “I’ll come get you if the doctor comes out.”
Summer shook her head, glad it was just the two of them for a little while. Guilt for not joining everyone else in the chapel where Tara’s dad was holding a prayer vigil for Rick pinged at her, but she couldn’t leave the waiting room. The nurse who’d come out most recently said the hospital had contacted his family, and they were on the way. It would be several hours.
That was several hours ago.
What if...
“What if he dies, Tara? It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have gone into the woods by myself.” Summer’s jaw ached when she spoke, bruised and swollen from Howard Gerard’s backhand, tense and stiff from clenching in fear.
“You did what anyone would do. A child was in danger. When minutes count, we don’t stop and think about consequences. We just do. You did the right thing.”
Tara’s words should’ve soothed, but they didn’t. Summer kept hearing the argument with Rick from the afternoon repeating in her head...kept seeing the anguish on his face when she said what she did about Dunk. It was like an acid eating away at her insides.
“I was so hateful with him this afternoon, and all he did was try to give me what he thought I wanted. He said he wanted to be my hero, and I threw that back in his face like it wasn’t worth anything.”
“You were angry and upset. He knows that. We say things we don’t mean...do things we shouldn’t do. We’re human.”
“Rick’s not. He’s an angel. The most perfect man I’ve ever known.”
Tara knelt in front of her, covering Summer’s hands with her own. “He’s not perfect. A month ago, you had a whole list of his faults you bombarded me with every day.” She tilted her head lower to catch Summer’s gaze. “You remember what was at the top of your list? His stubborn streak. And that stubborn streak is going to keep him alive. He’s not one to give up.”
“He lost so much blood.” Summer’s eyes blurred as she looked down at her blood-soaked costume, evidence of her futile efforts. She’d wadded fistfuls of the fabric, trying to staunch the flow of blood from Rick’s chest until Ginny showed up and took over. “Thank God Howie got back to camp safely and alerted y’all. He tried so hard, bless his heart. But didn’t it seem like it took the ambulance forever?”
Tara stood and squeezed in beside Summer in the large chair. Her arm fell across Summer’s shoulders, pulling her close. “They got there faster than I thought possible, considering the remote location.”
Fast...but maybe not fast enough. The swell of emotion broke again as it had time and again for the past six hours. Summer could only hold it for so long, and then it was like tears filled every available space in her body, and she had to let them out.
Had she cried when it happened? She couldn’t remember. She remembered screaming. And trying to stop the blood. But no matter how hard she pushed, it wouldn’t stop. It kept coming and coming.
She told him repeatedly to hang on. Held his hand...felt it grow colder as the blood ebbed away from his extremities.
“Don’t let go, Summer,” he’d said, and she’d answered, “I won’t.”
But what if he let go?
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, the antiseptic scent filling her nostrils, burning her raw throat. None of this was make-believe, and Rick wasn’t Superman. This was real life and real bullets.
And the real-life hero was in there fighting for his real life.
Why?
Why did he always have to be the hero? Anger pounded in her temples, throbbed in her jaw.
Yet, when she was facing the desperation of Howard Gerard’s rage, who had she wanted to come to her rescue?
Rick Warren, the hero. The kind of man she and everyone else in this country depended on when the job had to get done.
He hadn’t asked for the role—it had been thrust upon him. But he accepted it and gave it his all.
She loved them both—Rick Warren the hero, and Rick Warren the man.
Tara stiffened beside her, and Summer’s eyes flew open, expecting to see a doctor. Instead, she focused on three people standing just inside the doorway. A man, a woman and a younger man who looked enough like Rick to make her stomach do a somersault.
His family.
Summer stood and moved toward them on wooden legs, evaluating the degree of grief on their faces as she approached, trying to determine if they knew something she didn’t.
“I’m Summer Delaney.” Her hand shook violently as she held it out. “I’m one of the camp counselors. You’re Rick’s family?”
“Oh, Summer. Rick speaks fondly of you.” The woman took Summer’s hand and covered it with her other one in a kind gesture.
The kindness would evaporate once they heard the whole story...how this was her fault. A few seconds more and Gerard would have driven away. But...she remembered the look in Rick’s eyes when he saw her face. He’d gone after Gerard because of her. He’d gotten shot because of her...might die because of her.
The ripple effect she’d caused expanded wider and wider as emotion stopped her breath.
“I’m Nolan Warren, Rick’s dad.” The older man’s voice was deep and smooth. Controlled. “My wife, Babbs. Our youngest son, Luke.”
Not yet trusting her voice, Summer nodded. She turned to make the introductions to Tara, and found her friend standing at her elbow.
“I’m Tara O’Malley, the girls’ assistant counselor. I’m sorry we didn’t meet under better circumstances.”
Babbs loosened her hold on Summer to shake hands with Tara, and Summer breathed a little easier, finding her voice again. “Have you spoken with the doctor?”
“We have.” It was Luke who spoke this time, and Summer said a silent thanks that his voice didn’t sound like Rick’s. “He made it through the surgery.” Summer sent up a second round of thanks.
“Let’s sit down.” Rick’s dad raised his arm to indicate the chairs, and for the first time Summer noticed the bag in his hand. A glimpse of its contents made her head swim. The blood-soaked buckskin.
Nolan and Luke waited for the women to be seated. Summer saw the horrified look on Babbs’s face as her eyes took in the stains on the fairy costume.
Summer clasped her hands in her lap, getting a grip on her emotions as Nolan cleared his throat. “Rick’s condition is critical, but stable for the time being.” He looked her squarely in the eye. This was a man who would be brutally honest—like Rick. That was a huge comfort.
“The bullet lodged in the upper abdomen, and they were able to remove it successfully, but he lost part of a lung. He, ah.” He paused to clear his throat again. “He’s already lost a vast amount of blood, so hemorrhaging is possible...and could be fatal.” He seemed to lose his train of thought as his eyes took in Summer’s gown. “And, of course, there’s the threat of an air leak...infection...pneumonia.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.
A long stretch of silence followed before Babbs asked the question Summer had been dreading. “Can you tell us what happened? The sheriff said they caught the person who did this. One of the kids’ fathers? Why?”
“I’ll tell you what I can.” Summer blinked several times, clearing away the protective fog that obscured the memories.
Worry tugged at the corners of Tara’s mouth. “Are you sure about this?”
Summer nodded and licked her lips. They needed to hear it...from her. “We had this little boy whose father was abusive.” She forced the words around the knot in her throat. It was an abbreviated version of Howie’s story that she told, but she tried to include the little kindnesses Rick had shown to the child that might be important and comforting to them. They surprised her with what they already knew about the camp...and her. Rick mentioned his family often, but she hadn’t been aware he called home on a regular basis.
When she got to this night’s events, her speech became labored, but she pushed through it. Tara had filled her in on the details once all the kids had been picked up and the adults had gotten to the hospital.
“One of the packages that came in the mail to Howie had contained a prepaid cell phone and a note from his dad. When Howie called him, like he was instructed, Howard, Sr., laid out the plan.”
Tara handed her a bottle of water. Summer sipped it, the cold bringing a dull ache to the back of her head. “Howie was supposed to sneak away after lights-out, but he did it during hide-and-seek instead, thinking Mr. Rick would be the one to come after him and save him from having to go with his dad. He didn’t expect me.”
Summer paused, guilt stinging like a scorpion in her brain.
“If the child was afraid of his dad, why meet him at all?” Frustration clouded Babbs’s eyes. “Why didn’t he just tell somebody beforehand, and let the sheriff take care of it?”
“His dad threatened to hurt his mom if Howie didn’t show up,” Tara filled in, and Summer shot her a grateful glance. “In his childish mind, he felt like he was holding up his part of the bargain. So if something happened and his dad got away, Howie thought he was at least still protecting his mom.”
Summer’s eyes locked with Babbs’s, and she braced herself for the hatred that would replace the frustration when she told them what happened next. “Rick got shot because he was protecting me. Howard hit me and knocked me down.” She touched her swollen jaw. If only I’d hidden it from Rick a few seconds more...just a few seconds... Her chin quivered at the thought. “Rick got Howie out of the truck, sent him back to camp. He was safe. But then I’m sure Rick saw the handprint Howard, Sr., left on my face, and he went after him. Jerked him out from behind the steering wheel. That’s when...” She couldn’t say the words. She squeezed her eyes shut and wiped her palm down her wet face. Tara’s hand rubbed back and forth across her back.
The Warrens were silent for a moment, and then Nolan let out a long breath. “Rick knows better than that. He’s a trained marine, for God’s sake! He should’ve assessed the situation better. In a combat situation, you don’t walk blindly up to a vehicle—”
“Rick’s reckless. He’s been reckless ever since...” Luke hesitated. “Ever since Afghanistan.” His jaw muscle twitched.
“Just say it. Ever since he lost Dunk.” Babbs’s voice was low, and she pinched the bridge of her nose. “He’s always on a mission, driven by the guilt. He suffers so—” Her voice broke on a sob. She shook her head and waved the rest of the thought away with the back of her hand.
“He has nightmares every night.” Summer’s eyes went wide when she heard her own voice. Did I really say that aloud? Now his family knows I’ve slept with him. Often.
Nolan’s face showed no change. He appeared deep in thought, and Summer wasn’t even sure he’d heard her. But Babbs’s eyes softened.
Luke’s mouth rose slightly at one corner, and he nodded. “I’ve been with him when he’s had one. Not a pretty sight.”
“Damn PTSD.” Nolan huffed farther back in his chair.
“Post-traumatic stress disorder,” Luke explained, and Summer noticed he was speaking to Tara.
Nolan punched the air with his finger. “There’s therapy available that can cure things like this. I talked to him about it a couple of weeks ago.”
“EMDR.” Luke’s eyes were still on Tara. “Eye movement desensitization and reprocessing. There’s a therapist here in Paducah who specializes in it.”
“I’ve never heard of that,” Tara said. “Would you write it down?” She leaned her head softly against Summer’s a
nd whispered, “You might want to consider it, too, after what you’ve been through.”
Summer shrugged. Dunk died in spite of Rick, not because of him. No therapy in the world would take away her responsibility for what happened tonight.
“Well, this whole Dunk thing has gone on too damn long. We’ve all lost friends in combat, but life goes on.” Nolan’s rigid tone raked down Summer’s spine. “He’s getting therapy this time. I won’t take no for an answer.”
I’ll bet you never take no for an answer. Suddenly Rick’s stubborn streak made much more sense.
Babbs laid her hand on her husband’s arm. “Now’s not the time to talk about that. Our son’s fighting for his life in there.” Her eyes fixed on the ceiling above her. “First, he’s got to make it through the night.”
The words squeezed the air out of Summer’s lungs. “Amen,” she whispered.
The walls of the room started closing in around her. She would suffocate if she stayed here another minute. Drawing a long breath, she pushed out of her chair to a standing position. “If y’all will excuse me, I’ve got to get some air, and then I’m going to the chapel for a while.”
Tara stood up with her, and then Luke. “I could use a bit of fresh air myself,” he said.
Tara pointed to the fairy costume. “I’m going to beg, borrow or steal a clean pair of scrubs for you to wear until someone can get to your house.”
Summer followed them out, wondering if her heart would ever again beat a regular rhythm.
* * *
“I’M OKAY, DAD. HONEST.” Summer walked with him out of the waiting room into the hallway. “Kate’s waiting downstairs. Go on home.”
Her parents had been here all night and the better part of the day. Her dad looked exhausted, and to be honest, she didn’t need to have to worry about him. She had enough to worry about with Rick. Kate had agreed to take them home so Summer didn’t have to be concerned about them driving in their sleepy state.
“You’ve been so strong through all of this.” Her dad’s heavy arms gathered her to him, and she relaxed her head against his chest.
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