Love Hurts

by Mandi Beck

  “Has anyone been able to reach Guy or Dad?” I ask no one in particular.

  “I couldn’t reach Guy, but I spoke to Dad and he was going to find him and then drive him here. He was in a meeting at the new gym in Milwaukee,” Mav says.

  I nod and stare at my hands clasped between my knees. “What the fuck happened? I mean, what in the fuck happened? Did Drew do that to her and why?” I ask, again to no one in particular.

  Indie, with her arms wrapped around herself rocking slightly and staring at nothing, looking completely and utterly overcome, finally says in a low monotone voice, “She was leaving him. She called me earlier and asked if she could come stay with me until she figured everything out.” Tears clog her throat, sticking to her words. “She said she was already packed and that she'd be at my place within an hour. I was in my office writing and didn't realize how much time had passed when Mav called me from here.”

  I’m trying to wrap my mind around the words “She was leaving him” when the doctor steps into the waiting room. He’s young, probably only a little older than I am.

  “Are you Ms. De Rosa's family?” he asks, eyeing me and my banged up appearance warily. Disdain at what he clearly thinks my injuries are from is evident in the tight set of his mouth and the way he puffs his chest out a bit more as if he’s trying to tell me to pick on someone my own size instead of slapping around a woman.

  We all stand at once and I hold out my hand for him to shake.

  “I'm Deacon Love. We're her family, and her father is on his way as well.” I see the recognition on his face when he connects who I am and realizes that I am not the woman beater that he first assumed.

  “Well, that explains a lot then,” Dr. Ashley says almost to himself, losing his aggressive posture.

  “I'm sorry?”

  “Well, your face for one, but also, it explains some of her defensive wounds. I take it she's trained with you at some time in her life?”

  Defensive wounds? My girl was fighting that fucker?

  “She has. Plus her father owns gyms.”

  He just nods and looks at us all solemnly.

  “Miss De Rosa has extensive wounds over the majority of her body but the issue that I am most concerned with is the swelling and damage to her brain. The CT scan shows that the trauma she has endured caused hemorrhaging and swelling of her brain tissue. I’ve had to insert a probe in her skull to monitor cranial pressure. I have placed her in a medically induced coma to allow for her body to be able to rest and avoid any further swelling.” Pausing, he takes a breath and goes on, “Until she wakes up, we won't know exactly what we're dealing with. The brain is a very tricky, complex organ. The swelling could have affected many things, but right now we are maintaining focus on the swelling. Beyond that I just don't know yet. In addition to the brain trauma, she has two broken ribs and I thought that she may have fractured one of her arms, if not both, due to the extensive bruising and swelling, but upon seeing her x-rays we’ve determined that neither is fractured.” He indicates his own forearms while speaking, helping me to follow along.

  “She was keeping her cover,” I realize, both proud and devastated by that. Shaken by the things he’s telling us, it’s hard for me to focus on his words and their meaning. I just want him to tell me one thing — that she’s fine.

  Nodding his head in agreement, “It would appear that way, that's why I assumed she trained with you. She has nicks covering most of her body, front and back, but they’re all superficial. However there was a large shard of glass imbedded in her neck that caused us some concern, but luckily it missed her carotid artery and we were able to remove it safely and suture it. She'll have a scar, but that's the least of our worries,” he says grimly.

  “We'll monitor for the next twenty-four hours and go from there. Right now it's a waiting game. I know that's not what you want to hear, but it's all we have at the moment.”

  “Wh—” I clear my throat and try again. “What happens in twenty-four hours?” I manage to get out.

  “Due to the extent of the trauma her brain has suffered, I want to wait twenty-four hours and reassess to see if the swelling has gone down. If so, we will slowly wean the coma-inducing medications and remove the ventilation to see if she is able to breathe on her own.” Placing his hands in the pockets of his lab coat, he gives us all a moment to absorb all he has said.

  “And if the swelling doesn't go down or she can't breathe without the ventilator?” I can hear the despair in my voice, and it scares me. All of this does.

  “First we wait the twenty-four hours,” he says stoically.

  “Dr. Ashley, what if she can’t?” I press. I need more than he’s giving me.

  “Well, then we'll have to discuss what her wishes are and if she has appointed someone to make decisions for her if she's not able. But I don't want to get ahead of ourselves,” he tells us, his words laced with sympathy.

  “So you don't think that that's what we're looking at then?”

  “I didn't say that, Mr. Love. I said that we need to allow Miss DeRosa’s body a chance to rest.” His pager goes off, interrupting him. As he glances at it, he says, “I’m the Neurosurgeon on call, I will be here to monitor her. My advice to you is to take the chance to spend some time with her, each of you.”

  “Are you—are you saying that we should say our goodbyes?” I ask in a broken whisper, rubbing the spot that hides my shattering heart.

  Indie lets out a sob that startles me into looking back at her. Mav has her wrapped in his arms as she sobs into his chest, her whole body shaking with emotion. I refuse to believe that he’s telling me that I should say goodbye to my girl. There’s no way in hell that that’s what he means. It can’t be.

  “Whenever anyone suffers such a traumatic brain injury, they have a 50/50 chance of responding to treatment without life-altering complications. I’d say you should treat it as a last chance unless you can live with that regret,” he tells us all. “I'm needed in the ER, but I'll be back in a couple of hours to check on her.” Nodding at us, he strides away.

  He’s wrong. He has to be. It’s the Princess that he’s talking about. She’s a fighter— he said so. There’s no fucking way she’d be taken away from me. I don’t fucking accept that as the truth of the situation. I look up when I feel a hand on my arm. The nurse that had been in the room with Frankie when I showed up is standing in front of me looking at me with the saddest yet kindest eyes I have ever seen.

  “Mr. Love?”

  I just stare unblinking.

  “I have Miss De Rosa's belongings over at the desk. There are some items of value in there. I think it's best for you to take them.”

  I just nod—it seems to be all I am capable of at the moment. I follow as she walks to the desk in the center of the hospital floor. She reaches under the desk and punches a code into the safe and pulls out a clear plastic bag.

  “The police have some of her things for evidence. You'll have to talk to them about when they will be returned,” she says as she hands me the bag.

  I stare down at it and my breath catches at the sight of the rust-colored spots and smears that must be Frankie's blood.

  Numb with pain, I look through her asking, “Can I see her now?”

  “Not just yet. As soon as her nurse has finished in there, I'll let you know and you'll be allowed in. Visiting hours are technically over, but I'll bend the rules a bit so that you're all able to see Miss De Rosa,” she says, patting my arm.

  My head snaps up. “I won't be leaving her,” I say in a voice as cold as steel. She must realize that this is a fight she won’t win, because she just stares at me for a second and sighs.

  “Mr. Love, I will allow you to stay past visiting hours, but no one else, and if it becomes an issue, you too will be forced to follow hospital rules.” Her tone doesn’t encourage any argument.

  “Yes, ma'am, thank you.” I go back to the waiting room and sit in the chair between Sonny and Reggie. Mav sits with Indie across from us, his ar
m around her shoulders as she stares at nothing, rocking slightly.

  “Hey, Jones?” I wait til she looks up at me.

  “We’ll be able to talk to her soon. So, no worries, all right?” I try smiling at her, though I'm not sure if I’m able to pull it off.

  We all just sit there lost in our own thoughts when Reggie's phone goes off. He answers it and hands it to me.

  “It’s Carter,” he says softly.

  I take the phone from him and barely have it up to my ear when my assistant starts talking.

  “Deacon, are you there? I'm on my way. I'm stopping for food and coffee for everyone, but I’m on my way. I also booked a suite at the hotel across the street so that nobody has to go home to rest and get cleaned up, okay?” He stops to take a breath, so I take that as my cue to speak.

  “Thanks, Carter. Can you do me a favor and pick me up a charger for my phone? I left mine in the hotel and I want to make sure Guy and my dad can get a hold of me.”

  “I have my docking station in the trunk, is that okay?”

  “That's perfect. I'm sure she'll want her music.”

  “Deacon, is sh—…is she going to be okay?”

  My world spins on its axis at his question. I refuse to say out loud that she has a 50/50 chance of pulling through, so I pretend like he didn't ask.

  “I'll see you when you get here, Carter. Thanks again.”

  I can hear the break in his voice when he says, “Okay, Deacon.”

  No sooner do I hit end than I see our dads racing down the hall, looking around frantically. I step out of the waiting room to intercept them.

  “Guy, Pop! We're in here.”

  They spin at the sound of my voice and I jerk my thumb over my shoulder to indicate the room I'd just come from. I look at Guy and it’s like a punch to the gut. He looks crazed and like he’s aged ten years. Fucking hell, is that what I look like? My dad places his hand on Guy's back and guides him over to where I stand.

  “Where is she? Is she okay? I need to see her!” he rattles off in his thick accent.

  I gesture with my head to have them follow me into the waiting room. Once inside, they collapse into a couple of chairs, and in a voice as controlled as I can manage, I explain to her father and mine what the doctor told us. I feel my heart break even more as I watch the bear of a man that helped train me into the fighter and man that I am crumble.

  He completely falls apart, crying and yelling out, “God, not her too, please not her too.” He sobs into his hands.

  My dad has his arm around Guy's shoulders with his forehead pressed into his other hand. I see his lips moving, but can’t make out what he’s saying, if he’s talking to Guy or himself. My dad and Guy are two of the toughest sons of bitches I know, and to see them now hurts me on a level I don’t even want to touch.

  “Per favore no, non la mia bambina. Non la mia bellissima figlia. Io ho bisogno di lei. Non puoi avere anche lei. Ti prego, non prenderti anche Francesca!”

  I’m relieved that the rest of his meltdown is in Italian and that I can’t understand all of it. Just witnessing his pain is more than enough for me to bear. I can only imagine the bargains he’s making, the prayers he’s offering up.

  Guy lost his wife in a car accident when Frankie was just four. Besides us, they were all that he’d had. Guy's family still lives in Italy and his wife had been an only child whose parents had died long before Frankie was born. By the time she was six, my mom had left us, and Guy asked my dad, his friend since middle school, to move closer to him to help him run the gym so that he could spend more time with Frankie. Within a couple of years, our dads went into business together, opening gyms and training facilities in a dozen different cities and states. Together we make up an odd little family, with the Princess being the center of all of our worlds, and there's nothing that we wouldn't do for each other.

  Just then, two officers, probably detectives since they’re in suits, their badges hanging around their necks, come into the waiting room and give a wary nod to all of us as a whole, though their eyes linger on me, which is no surprise given the condition of my battered face. We all stand up and move toward them, one of them speaking to Mav. She must’ve been at the house with Frankie.

  “Sir, you said that Miss De Rosa called your brother when we spoke earlier?”

  Mav nods his head in my direction, just as I clear my throat to speak. It feels like I’ve swallowed a handful of sand.

  “She called me. I had my brother, Sonny, and my security guy, Reggie, call you and my other brother, Maverick, whom you've already met.”

  “Yes, sir, we did. Would you mind if we ask you a couple of questions?” the detective asks, her voice not nearly as accusing as her eyes.

  “Whatever I can do to help, but you'll have to ask here. I'm not leaving her and I want to be sure I know when I can go into her room.”

  “Of course, that's fine, Mr…?”

  “Love, Deacon Love.”

  They both take a second to let that sink in, and then just as I had with the good doctor, I saw the recognition on the face of the other detective. I imagine it's because of my swollen shut black eye and the other cuts and bruises decorating my face that make it difficult for him to recognize me on sight. Clearly the EWF billboards with my face all over them don’t mean shit when you’re just coming off a fight. Detective Adams introduces herself and holds a hand out for me to shake, as does Detective Flores, who goes on to tell me what a huge fan he is. Now is not the time for that shit, and by the look that I give him, he knows I’m not up for autographs and a fucking meet and greet. He has the decency to look embarrassed at least and gets back to work.

  “Mr. Love, do you remember what time Miss De Rosa called and what she said?” he asks me.

  I explain to them how it all went down, and after about ten minutes of questioning, Detective Adams asks if I’m sure that she said “Andrew” and if I thought that’s who attacked her to which I reply, “Absofuckinglutely.”

  Flores shakes his head and says, “I’m not buying it. Why did she call you and not the police?” suspicion underlying his every word.

  I grind my teeth together so hard I swear they are about to disintegrate. The muscle in my jaw is ticking like a time bomb. It takes everything I have not to throw that fucker against a wall.

  “Are you insinuating something, detective?” I demand through my clenched teeth.

  He seems startled at the gruffness in my words.

  “No, no, I'm just curious as to why she thought to call you first.”

  I had forgotten that Guy and my dad are there until Guy says, “Deacon is always who she turns to first. He’s been protecting her, saving her, since she was a little girl.”

  He has his hand on my shoulder the whole time he is speaking, and when the last accented word leaves his mouth on a breathless sob, he squeezes, in reassurance, solidarity, gratitude. That tiny gesture says so much, and I'm choked up all over again about why we're all there, rallying together.

  “If that's all, detectives, I would like to go check if we can see her yet. I’m not going anywhere, so if you need me for anything else, you know where to find me,” I tell them. I don’t shake either of their hands this time or wait for an answer, just stride away toward the nurse’s station.

  After what seems like an eternity, the nurse comes into the waiting room and informs us we can go in now, but only two at a time and not for very long. Shortly after he arrived, Carter had taken Guy to the chapel; he had wanted to light a candle for his daughter. I send Reggie to find them while I hold my hand out to Indie. She jumps up out of Mav's hold and clasps my hand in both of hers. I give it a squeeze and hope that it conveys as much of a message as Guy's reassuring touch had.

  We walk over to the room and open the heavy glass door, stopping at the threshold, neither of us moving or even breathing. This time it’s her who squeezes my hand. I let my chin fall to my chest and take in a fortifying breath. I need strength that I’m not sure I have to walk in there and
see my girl so broken. I shake my head—broken, yes, but still here and she needs me. That thought is what propels me forward. Indie and I split at the end of the bed, each taking a side. As soon as we reach her, Indie crumples into the chair sobbing, her forehead resting on the bed next to Frankie's hand, which she holds gently so as not to disturb any of the wires and cords snaking up, down, and around her.

  I feel the tears rolling down my face as I look at Frankie. She’s beaten, battered, and bruised over every inch of her that I can see, and still she is beautiful. I sit in the chair and pull it right up to the bed, taking her hand in mine. I press a kiss to the inside of her wrist, and let my eyes roam over her face. She is almost unrecognizable. It’s absolute agony to see her like this and to know that I wasn’t there to stop it from happening. The guilt is as consuming as the pain gripping me.

  I’ve seen so many men look much the same way leaving the cage after a brutal match, but never a woman, never my girl. There is no name for the kind of rage that I feel over seeing her like this. It scares the shit out of me, and at this moment, I’m glad that they haven’t found Drew yet, because I know without a doubt in my mind that I would kill him, and nobody would be able to stop me. Not the cops, not my brothers, not even the Princess. I have to shake that shit off right now though, because there isn’t fuck all I can do about it until they find him. Right now, Frankie needs me and that’s what I have to focus on.

  I look across at Indie who is still crying, albeit silently now, murmuring softly to Frankie. To see Indie shaken is a little unnerving, as she’s as tough as Frankie, but more in your face about it. I’m a little worried about how she’s going to hold up. They’re so tight—they feed off of each other, balance each other out. It’s one of the reasons I never worried about Frankie when I enlisted—I knew that between Indie and my brothers that she would be fine.

  I let my eyes travel across Frankie in the bed. She’s tiny as it is, but lying here like this, she almost looks like a little girl.