Slow and Steady Rush: Sweet Home Alabama

by Trentham, Laura

  “I’ll need stitches.”

  “Let me pull the car closer—”

  He grabbed her wrist, leaving a red bracelet of blood. “I’m not in danger of dying, and I’ll ruin your car. Better call an ambulance. Avery needs a vet, and Tyler needs to be cut loose. He might need medical attention too.”

  Avery lay a few feet away, his stomach distended and his pants labored. She barely made out Tyler’s shadow from the darkened underside of the bleachers. She looked in the direction the boys had run and let out a string of curses that would have had half the ladies in town clutching their pearls in horror.

  She fumbled the phone out of her pocket and bobbled it to the ground. Her trembles were from equal amounts of fear and fury. It took three tries for her shaking, bloodstained finger to tap in the three simple numbers.

  “What’s your emergency?” A female voice, distant and bored, sounded in her ear.

  An image flashed of a woman smacking gum and filing her nails. Darcy wanted to punch her. Once Darcy ensured the woman understood the immediacy of the situation, she disconnected and engaged the flashlight app on her phone.

  Tyler squeezed his eyes shut and tried to hide his face at the first touch of light. Her heart, which was already galloping, skipped beats entirely. He’d obviously lost a fight based on his appearance. Tears streaked the blue down his cheeks. His hands were tied behind his back.

  “Are you okay? Do you need to go to the hospital too?” The circuits of her brain fired around her initial confusion.

  His head fell forward, and his childlike sobs stilled her questions. With the sound of the ambulance siren barreling closer, she unknotted the coarse rope around his wrists. As soon as he’d been freed, he scrambled to his feet and took off in a run past the field house. His stumbling shadow was quickly lost in the darkness.

  She had no choice but to let him go for now and turned back to Robbie. He had crumpled over, supporting himself on his knees and right hand, his left hovering at his injured side. Lines etched his face, and the smell of blood hung in the humid air. He jerked his head toward Avery in an unspoken request.

  She fell to her knees at Avery’s side. The dog’s glassy eyes and slow pants grew her worry. Injured animals were dangerous ones, and Avery had never fully warmed to her. Her tentative, trembling fingers landed softly on Avery’s neck. He whined, but his tongue flicked against her hand. The skin over his belly and ribs was drawn taut.

  The ambulance backed over the low curb and bounced over the scrub, the beep cutting through the night. The back doors swung open.

  “Damn, girl. We’ve got to stop meeting like this.” Wolf hopped down, favoring his good leg, and pulled the gurney out.

  “Wolf! Thank the sweet Lord. It’s Robbie. He’s got a knife wound to his left side and arm. He doesn’t think it’s serious, but”—she rubbed at her red wrist—“there’s a lot of blood. And Avery’s hurt too. His side is distended.”

  Wolf spared a glance toward Avery. “Come on, Coach. Let’s get you taken care of and then I’ll check out your dog.”

  “Jon, that isn’t procedure,” the female EMT said tartly. Her brownish hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail.

  “Screw procedure.” Wolf sent Darcy a wink. How the man maintained such calm and humor under stressful situations amazed Darcy, but his attitude settled her which was probably his goal.

  Robbie got up with help from Wolf, but walked to the gurney on his own. His wince and clenched jaw didn’t escape her notice as he lay back. Wolf gave both Robbie’s wounds a cursory examination.

  “Get Dalt patched up, Karen,” Wolf said before heading toward Avery. The woman sent a glare toward Wolf before focusing on the task of cutting away Robbie’s shirt.

  With a glance over her shoulder at Robbie, Darcy knelt next to Wolf as he probed Avery. The dog whined but didn’t snap or growl. Darcy rubbed his neck and ears.

  “Is he going to be okay?” she whispered.

  “Internal bleeding . . . couple of broken ribs . . . at a guess, lacerated liver. Needs surgery.”

  Wolf pulled a cell phone out of his belt holder. Within two minutes, Dr. Martin, the local vet, would be expecting an emergency patient. He scooped Avery up. “We’ll drop Avery off with Dr. Martin on our way.”

  Karen sputtered protests that Wolf cut off with a pointed look.

  After Robbie and Avery were loaded, Wolf turned to her. “The party bus is full. Are you okay to drive?”

  Was she? She had to be. “Of course, I am.”

  Wolf patted her shoulder and swung into the driver’s seat.

  Behind the wheel of her car, Darcy clutched the steering wheel with shaking, bloodstained hands. The ambulance lights led her in a lurching, rough ride to the vet’s office.

  Dr. Martin waited with his own gurney. His professional white coat reassured her, as did his gentle hands and soft crooning. Avery seemed familiar with the man, licking his arm before laying his head down with a soft woof.

  The vet, his brown hair rumpled and his khakis wrinkled, called to Robbie with confidence as he pushed Avery away, “I’ll take care of him, Dalt.”

  Darcy looked back and forth between Robbie and Avery.

  “Stay with him, Darcy.” Pain or maybe emotion roughened his voice. “In case the worst happens, I want someone there. I don’t want him to be alone.”

  “Of course, I’ll stay. I’ll get Logan to come check on you, okay?”

  “I’ll be fine. I don’t need anyone.” His gaze skittered away.

  She didn’t believe him. Not for a minute. “I’m calling Logan.”

  He nodded, their gazes locking for an instant before Karen closed the door.

  The diminishing red lights held her immobile. The fact Wolf hadn’t turned on the siren reassured her. Only after the lights faded into nothingness did she enter the vet’s office.

  Somewhere in the back, Dr. Martin worked on Avery. She pushed open the door to the restroom, and fluorescent lights blinked on automatically. Wild hair surrounded her pale, drawn face. Flipping the faucet on, she watched pinkened water run off her hands and swirl in the white sink.

  In the quiet, tears came. The panic and anger that had held them at bay crumbled into worry. She washed her hands clean of Robbie’s blood and her face clean of her own tears.

  Pacing in the waiting room, she called Logan and Kat. Their support was a net below the tightrope she walked. Who would she call if something like this happened in Atlanta? Who cared enough to drop everything to come to her aid?

  Not a single person came to mind. Her relationships there had been blurry imitations of true friendship. The ties that bound her to her old life seemed airy and dissolvable.

  Logan texted her with updates from the hospital. Robbie’s wounds had required forty stitches all told, most in his side. No major organs had been in danger, and there had been no need for a transfusion. Loga assured her Robbie had endured much worse in the service.

  Logan was waiting for the doctor to let him in and would text again once he laid eyes on “their man.” Her man. One shuddery exhale followed another.

  She loved him. Loved him so much she could feel the echo of his worry and pain. Her pacing turned frantic. If Avery died, Robbie would be devastated, which in turn would devastate her.

  Dr. Martin pushed through the surgery door, drying his hands on a generic brown paper towel. Tired lines fanned out from the soulful hazel eyes behind his black-rimmed glasses, but a smile lifted one corner of his mouth and revealed a deep dimple.

  “He’ll be fine. As Wolf suspected, a lacerated liver and two broken ribs.”

  “Is he awake?”

  “He’ll be coming around any minute. Would you like to sit with him?”

  At her nod, he led her through a white-tiled room stinking of disinfectant and dominated by a stainless steel table. Avery looked fragile on the big table, half-covered by a white sheet. He’d never been so still and silent. Had he died since the doctor last checked his vitals?

  S
he leaned close enough to smell his doggy breath. Nope, still very much alive. She waited. Finally, his one front leg twitched, and a shudder rolled through his body. His eyes blinked open, the pupils dilated.

  She rubbed him around the ears like she’d seen Robbie do countless times, and he seemed to take comfort in her touch. His eyes fell to half-mast. “Robbie’s fine. He’s worried about you though, boy,” she whispered.

  Avery flicked his tongue against her cheek before drifting back to sleep. Tentatively, she lifted the sheet. The mangy-looking fur had been shaved, revealing the new stitched cut, but also all the scars from his war wound. She skimmed fingers over his flank, careful not to press too hard, but his belly no longer protruded unnaturally. She kissed the soft fur on his head and rubbed her cheek along the delicate tissue of his ear.

  The vet’s throat rumbled behind her. “How’s Dalt?”

  “Lots of stitches, but according to Logan, he’s fine. I need . . .” Her eyes darted between vet and dog.

  “I’ll keep Avery sedated so he can rest tonight. No reason for you to stay. I’m sure Dalt is anxious for an update. I’ll let you do the honors. Tell him if everything goes well, he can pick Avery up tomorrow afternoon, but I’ll call him in the morning.”

  After a last, lingering glance at Avery, she bolted through the swinging doors and headed to the hospital, needing to substantiate with her eyes that Robbie was alive and whole.

  The hospital lobby was cold and sterile in every way, fraying her nerves further. A pretty, blonde receptionist opened a sliding window and greeted her in a chipper, out-of-place voice, “Are you Miss Wilde?”

  “I . . . yes, I am,” she said with a startled nod.

  “Logan and Dalt are in cube 4B. I’ll buzz you in.”

  She heard the click and launched herself through the security doors. Counting down, she ripped the curtain aside. A shirtless Robbie sat on a paper-covered table. His head popped up, and she wrapped her arms around him, taking care not to brush the two rows of black stitches, one on his arm and one along his side.

  She pressed her face into his warm neck. His pulse beat strong and steady against her lips. Although he was the one who was hurt, the arm he wrapped around her shoulders, and the cheek he laid on the top of her head, lent her strength.

  “Is . . . is he dead?” His words slurred together.

  Her breath hitched. “Avery’s going to be fine.”

  His deep sigh collapsed his torso, and his weight settled over her. “Thank you, Lord.”

  “Dr. Martin said he could come home tomorrow. He even licked my cheek.”

  “Who? Dr. Martin?” Sniggering vibrated his shoulders.

  She pulled back but stayed in the semicircle of his arm, her hands on his bare shoulders. Unfocused, heavy-lidded eyes bounced over her face, reminded her of Avery’s dazed gaze.

  “You look upset.” He brushed her hair back and tucked it behind her ears.

  “I’ve been worried about you.”

  “Don’t worry darlin’, your favorite part is in working order.” His teasing smile made her huff in both surprise and amusement.

  “Those must be some good drugs they gave you.”

  He ignored her comment and nuzzled his lips against her temple. “Do I get a sympathy lay out of this?”

  “That clause only kicks in with a bullet wound.” Her weak attempt at levity garnered a laugh.

  His change of topic was sudden, his tone wiped clean of amusement. “You maybe saved my life, and I don’t want to think about what they planned on doing to Tyler.”

  “What do you think was going on?” She had already drawn the wrong conclusion where Robbie was concerned, yet . . .

  “He’s gay. He tried to tell me a couple of times, but I was being bone-headed.”

  The truth pulled on her heart like an anchor. “Poor Tyler. Such a big secret for a kid to carry. Especially being a football star.”

  “Everyone’s got secrets.”

  “Even you?”

  “’Specially me.”

  His slurred words reverberated in the hollowness of her chest. If it weren’t for the drugs, the semi-confession would never have escaped. He protected himself so diligently.

  “You can trust me. I won’t hurt you.”

  “Won’t hurt me? You’re going to drive off one day and rip me in two. Sound painful enough?”

  Her breath caught in her throat. He had been the one to suggest keeping their time together casual. Did he want more? After tonight, the thought of leaving Falcon—leaving Robbie—made her ache.

  His forehead came to rest on her shoulder, and his weight compressed her spine. If he passed out, they would topple in a heap on the floor.

  “Well, well, well . . .” The self-satisfied voice from the entrance roused Robbie upright.

  “If it isn’t Rick the Dick,” Robbie said with a taunting half-smile and drug-loosened tongue. “What can I do for you, sir?”

  Tension wound through the room. Rick’s smile had vanished, and his tone turned brisk. “Can you tell me what transpired tonight? I have to file a mandatory police report.”

  “Got jumped. Was outnumbered. One of them had a knife. I didn’t. Pretty straightforward.” The two men stared each other down.

  Rick tapped the point of his pencil against a pad of paper and turned to Darcy. “You scared them away. What did you see?”

  She closed her eyes and summoned the scene. “There were six or seven men—maybe closer to boys—eighteen, nineteen. One had blond—almost white—hair.”

  She opened her eyes in time to note the flash of surprise on Rick’s face. “Anyone else there besides you two and the boys?”

  Robbie squeezed her elbow. She forced her face to stay neutral. “No one. I drove up, and they had Robbie surrounded. My headlights scared them off.”

  Robbie’s hand relaxed.

  “Do you know who the boys might be?” she asked.

  “No,” Rick said.

  She and Rick held gazes. He was lying. Then again, so was she. They both recognized the truth in the other. The implications tangled.

  Logan ripped the curtain open, holding a sheaf of papers. “There you are, cuz. Dalt’s been officially discharged.” He stopped short, his gaze bouncing between Rick and Darcy.

  “Are we free to go, Rick?” she asked.

  “You didn’t do anything wrong, did you?” He closed his notebook. “I’ll catch up with Dalt tomorrow when he’s more coherent.”

  Logan waited for the clang of the far door. “Everything cool?”

  “I’m not sure,” Darcy said. “That was weird. Let’s get out of here.”

  Logan tossed her a bottle of pain medication, and between the two of them, they maneuvered Robbie to a wheelchair and into Logan’s truck. He was still conscious, but glassy eyes followed her movements as she buckled his seatbelt.

  Logan climbed behind the wheel.

  “You’re so damn sexy. I had plans to make a huge dent in that box of condoms tonight.” Robbie’s words rumbled together. He wrapped a hand around her neck and tugged her closer.

  Logan choked out an embarrassed sounding laugh. “Hands off, lover boy. You’re in no fit state to make good.”

  Darcy disentangled Robbie’s hand from her hair, his fingers lax and unhelpful. His head lolled on the truck seat. She followed Logan’s truck in her car. After being prodded awake, Robbie stumbled up the steps, his arm around Logan’s shoulders. They managed to get Robbie’s bloodied pants off, leaving him in his boxer briefs.

  From his crouch on the floor, Logan shot her a half-disgruntled smile. “I was wooing a rather attractive woman when you called. Undressing another man is not how I envisioned the evening ending.”

  Her laugh squashed the remnants of her worry. She walked Logan outside once Robbie was tucked in bed.

  “I’ll get Dalt’s truck home. I assume you’re going to spend the night.” At her nod, he kicked at a loose board on the edge of the porch. “You two getting serious?”

 
A lump clogged her throat, and her voice turned brittle. “Nothing of the sort. We’re keeping it casual since I’ll be heading back to Atlanta. You know, fun for the season.”

  “Yeah, tonight was a real gut-buster. Literally,” Logan said dryly. “You for sure going back? Seems to me like you’ve settled back down in Falcon pretty well.”

  “I have a job waiting. I have . . .” What else did she have? She bit the inside of her mouth and looked toward the river, away from Logan’s probing eyes. “Falcon is different than I remember.”

  “You were a kid when you left.”

  The simple statement reverberated in her head. Darcy leaned her head against the rough wood and closed her eyes.

  Logan pulled her in for a half-hug. “You don’t have to figure things out tonight. For tonight, just take care of him.”

  She mumbled her thanks into his shoulder and then watched his taillights disappear.

  One of Robbie’s old T-shirts acted as a nightgown, the edge falling to mid-thigh. She checked his wounds for blood, his forehead for fever, and put the pain meds within arm’s reach. Climbing in beside him, she laid a hand over his to reassure herself he was there.

  18

  Robbie jerked awake. An assortment of areas on his body throbbed, but the epicenter of the most intense pain was his side. Had a sniper hit him? He lay motionless and assessed the situation. No dust clogged his mouth. No sun beat down on him. There was only the soft hum of an air-conditioner and the smell of the green earth of Alabama. The events of the evening rolled back and with them a sense of desolation.

  Based on the angle of the moonlight on the wall, he put the time at one or two in the morning. The drugs fuzzed his reality, but the effect was diminishing. A soft, feminine sigh wove through the room. Slowly, as if he might spook the cause of it, he turned his head. Darcy was in his bed, cuddled under his covers, her hands tucked under the pillow. A spark drove the loneliness back, filled the hollowness.

  He flexed his injured arm. Sore, but useable. A heated poker burned his left side, but he forced himself over anyway, careful not to lay his arm against the stitches. Instead, he reached for her with his wounded arm.