by Kim Loraine
“They’re not wasted. I know it sounds cheesy, but every single day is a gift. I almost died when I was nineteen years old. I had barely lived, and now I’m still hiding as I try to heal the emotional scars from that day. But I get up. I have good days that outnumber the bad ones now. I have things to look forward to. I’m not going as far as to say the shooting is something I’m thankful for. If I could go back and keep it from happening, I’d do that in a heartbeat. But I wouldn’t be who I am now. I wouldn’t be here with you.”
Crystal blue irises stare into mine with wonder and pride and something deeper. Something that scares me a little. “And without Gina breaking my heart I wouldn’t be here right now. I’d never have found you.”
My eyes burn with the swell of emotion clogging my throat. “Exactly,” I say, forcing the word out.
“I want to make this work, Lark. I want to be with you. When we go back, we need to come clean and tell everyone the truth.”
Heart hammering, I take a steadying breath. “And what’s that?”
“That we’re together. You and me. It’s real and not just some fling. I want more with you. So much more than something casual.”
I nod because I can’t say anything else without telling him something I know he’s not ready to hear. But I know the truth. I’ll hold it close until the right time. I’ve never been in love, not once. Until right now.
14
Lark
Waiting for this evening, for both my dad and Travis to be off shift, has been torture. All I want is to tell my father everything…well, maybe not everything. I want Travis and I to be free to be seen together in public, to be a couple, to be normal.
Nerves string me tight, making my blood hum with the anticipation of everything that’s going to happen when Travis comes over for dinner tonight. I still have so much to do. I have to get groceries, clean the house, get myself ready. All tasks that should be easy, and while two of them are, the first one makes my palms sweat and my heart race. I could easily order groceries, but part of me, the stubborn part, wants to prove that I’m stronger than my trauma. I think about what my therapist said in our last session, the one before Travis and I made the decision to change everything between us. Falling is easy, leaping is hard.
I’ve been taking small steps, making decisions that challenge myself, moving forward, and Travis has helped without even realizing it. But I can’t rely on him or anyone to be there for me every moment of the day. This is something I have to do for myself.
Grabbing my purse, I snag my helmet and head for my Vespa, smiling at the bumper sticker Travis slapped on the back—the logo from his family’s show, Saddle Up, with Call me darlin’ in dark font. It’s a little reminder of him every time I ride. I press my fingers to the sticker, then get on. It’s less than two miles to the market, less than two miles until I have to face the Friday afternoon grocery shoppers. But I can do it. I know I can. And then I’ll tell my dad how far I’ve come, and prove to him that Travis is part of the reason.
Throat tight, I clutch the strap of my handbag with both hands as I walk through the automatic doors of Hart’s Market and into the busy store. Noises overwhelm me. The music playing over the speakers, the beeps of the checkout stands, a phone ringing, babies crying, all of it. Every cell in my body begs me to turn around and leave. But instead of giving in to my urge to run, I close my eyes and find my center. I count backward until my pulse calms, and when I open my eyes again, the cacophony I’d been lost in before is now a dull roar. Still present, but not overwhelming.
I take one step, then two, then three. Soon, I’m in the produce section, selecting veggies for our salad, grabbing strawberries for dessert, and before I know it, I’ve gathered every ingredient I need. I’m still wound tight, still tense and nervous, but I’m doing the damn thing.
“It’s terrible. They’re trapped inside,” the woman in front of me in line says into her phone. “I don’t know if they’re going to make it out.”
Dread curls in the pit of my stomach. Pulling out my phone, I check to see if I’ve missed any calls, gotten any messages. Nothing. Everything is fine.
I shift from foot to foot as the line moves slowly forward. Almost done. Then I can breathe and mark this as a success.
She continues talking on her phone, completely ignoring the guy ringing up her purchases. After mine are all paid for, I force myself to walk slowly out of the store, heart hammering, stress high but manageable. A month ago, I wouldn’t have been able to handle more than two minutes in this store.
“Small victories.” I murmur the words as I pack away my purchases and drive home. I can’t wait to tell them I did this.
I expect to see my dad’s truck in the driveway by now, but there’s nothing aside from the old oil stain where he always parks. He should have been home by now, unless they went out on a call before their shift was over. After going inside and putting away the groceries, I hop onto the counter and pull out my phone.
Dad, when do you think you’ll be home? I’m making us dinner and invited a friend.
I send the message and wait for a response, but I don’t even get a read receipt. It just says delivered. Sighing, I type a message to Travis.
I miss you.
He doesn’t answer, and that feeling of dread I had earlier returns. They could be out on a call, unable to answer. It happens all the time. No reason to worry.
But as the day wears on, I don’t hear from either of them. My worry turns to fear, then to painful anxiety. I pick up my phone to call the station but I see five missed calls.
“What?” I stare down at the phone, which had remained silent, never alerting me to a single one of these calls. “You traitor.”
My stomach clenches at the unknown number and the voicemails in my inbox. But I press play on the most recent message and I wish immediately I could take it back.
“Lark, this is Captain Presley Howard. I’m on A shift at Station 16. We’ve been trying to reach you. Your dad was on a bad call. He’s at Harrison Memorial with the crew.” Her tone is calm and collected, but I know she’s had practice with calls like these.
I drop my phone while the second message begins playing. My hands are trembling as crippling panic builds in my chest. The hospital. A hospital. My dad. The crew. My stomach churns as realization sinks in. Travis is on that crew. If more of them are hurt, Travis could be hurt. I can’t handle the thought of something happening to Travis.
I pick up my phone and order an Uber. Driving right now would be a mistake. A huge one. My senses are on overdrive. The thought of going into a hospital sends my skin crawling, but I won’t leave them alone.
The ride to the hospital is the longest twenty minutes of my life. Every bump in the road has me tensing and fighting for control over the panic threatening to swallow me whole. I try everything I’ve learned to help me cope. Slow breaths, closing my eyes, bringing myself to a peaceful place, but it doesn’t work. All I see is the flashes of the hospital after the shooting. The sharp metallic tang of blood fills my nose. And I fight for a grip on the present as the past tries to drag me back to darkness.
“Excuse me? We’re here.” The driver’s concerned voice pulls me out of the haze. “You okay?”
I look at her with nothing but gratitude as I open the door and step out of the car. “Not remotely. Thanks for the ride.”
The building looms, cloaking everything with a sense of foreboding. Nothing good comes from hospitals. I catch sight of familiar dark blue uniforms the instant I reach the emergency room doors. My pace picks up rather than falters because the fear I’m feeling now isn’t for myself, but for the crew, for my dad, for Travis.
Hamilton is the first face I recognize. He’s a little battered, but in one piece, sitting in the corner of the waiting area. His eyes find mine across the room and he stands.
“Is he…” I can’t bring myself to ask the question because I don’t know who I’m asking about.
“Your dad is fine. He’s being stitch
ed up right now. Could have been so much worse.”
Relief floods me and makes my shoulders sag. I hug him because I don’t know what else to do. The acrid scent of smoke fills my lungs. “What happened?”
“Ryker fell through the roof. Your dad went in after him.”
My heart turns cold, a deep ache settling in my belly. No. Not Travis. I can’t lose him. “What?”
“It’s okay. Your dad’s gonna be fine, Birdie.”
I swallow back the lump in my throat. “And…Ryker?”
“He’s in surgery. Chief pulled him out of the house.”
“Was he…” my voice wobbles and I ball my hands into fists to try and quell the riot of emotion, “was he awake when…in the ambulance?”
“Yeah. He was.” Hamilton’s brows knit together. “He’s gonna be okay, Lark.”
“Did anyone else get hurt?”
“Not bad. Declan’s a little banged up, but he’ll be fine. He’s already flirting with Serena.”
I don’t smile. All I can think about is Travis, hurt, in surgery. Serena walks through the waiting area doorway and all eyes focus on her. She looks to me first. “Lark, your dad is just waiting on discharge papers. He’ll be fine.”
I step closer to her. “And Travis?” My voice is low but I know they all heard me.
“He’s in recovery now. We’re gonna keep him for a few days, make sure he’s stable before sending him home.”
“What happened?”
She shakes her head. “I can’t share that.”
“Can I see him?” I feel their gazes on me. All of the guys from the station not on duty are here. All of them are looking at me. “He doesn’t have any family here. He needs someone there for him.”
With a slight nod, she takes my arm. “Come on. I’ll take you to him. Fair warning, though, he looks worse than he is.”
One shuddering breath later, I walk with her, heading to the hall that houses all of the recovery rooms. She’s right. Travis doesn’t look like himself. He’s got a black eye, a swollen, split lip, and his left arm is in a cast up to his elbow.
“Are you sure he’s okay?” I ask, voice trembling. This is different than my mom’s illness. Different from my recovery from the shooting. The man I love is in pain, and I’m going to do whatever I can to help him.
“I’m fine. Stop fussin’ over me.” His words are rough as sandpaper, raspy and pained.
“Travis,” I whisper, rushing to his side and sitting in the hard chair next to his bed. I gingerly take his hand and stroke my thumb across his knuckles.
He opens his eyes, those piercing blue irises are filled with pain. “Are those tears for me, darlin’?”
Swiping at my cheeks, I find twin trails of moisture and fight the embarrassment creeping from my chest. “It’s been…a lot.”
“I’m sorry.”
A shocked laugh escapes me. “Sorry? You’re apologizing to me after you were just doing your job and you nearly died?”
He laughs but then winces in pain. “I didn’t nearly die. I’m here, aren’t I?”
“By the grace of God and a good surgeon,” Simone says as she assesses his vitals.
“I don’t need my spleen anyway.”
She chuckles and checks his chart. “You would’ve lost a lot more than your spleen if that pipe had impaled you two inches to the left.”
“Impaled?” I practically squeak the word. He was impaled?
“Just a little.” Travis smirks but grunts after Serena pulls down the blanket covering him and inspects his incision site. His taut abs flex and it’s clear he’s in pain and I squeeze his hand on reflex.
“It was really the impact of the fall that damaged his spleen. The pipe was a bonus.” Serena winks at me. “He’s going to be just fine. Recovery will be slow, a few weeks off necessary, but as long as he takes care of himself, he’ll be back to rescuing kittens in no time.”
I heave a sigh of relief and let the stress of the day finally hit me. My chest tightens, then I lay my forehead on his arm and just…cry.
Sitting across the kitchen table from my dad, I watch the man drink coffee, dressed in his uniform like nothing ever happened. I think he’s downplaying his pain level, but there’s nothing I can do to stop him from working. If the doctor says he can, he’ll be there.
“Birdie, Travis is getting out of the hospital today. Can you do me a favor and take him a few of the meals we have in the freezer?”
My stomach clenches at the thought of going to Travis’ house. I want to go pick him up from the hospital, take care of him, be there for him. “Sure. Who is picking him up?”
“Oh, his cousin, Buck. Guess that family of his heard about the accident and sent in reinforcements.”
“That’s good. He…he shouldn’t be alone.”
He nods and finishes off his coffee. “Agreed. Do you wanna talk about what happened? About the hospital?”
I press my lips together, a thin tendril of anxiety curling around my heart. “I had to come. You were hurt.”
Eyes trained on mine, he smiles and grabs my hand. “I know. I’m really proud of you. I know how hard that must’ve been. And you went to the store. I saw your text. I didn’t want to let more time pass before we talked about that. These are big strides.”
“Things have changed a lot for me over the last month.”
“You’ve been working hard for years. Don’t think I haven’t noticed. You’ve taken a lot of steps toward being able to cope. You should be proud.”
Biting my lower lip, I trace the rim of my coffee mug with my index finger. “It’s gotten a lot better since I met someone who…helps me.”
“Your therapist?”
I shake my head. “No. I…it’s someone I’m seeing. He was coming over for dinner the night you ended up hurt. I want you to meet him.”
Brows lifting, he assesses me. “Really?”
“Really.”
He smiles. “If he helps you and you really like him, I guess I should meet him. Reschedule.”
“Sure.” My voice is high and tense. “I’ll let you know when he can make it again.”
He looks at his watch and sighs. “Gotta hit the road, Birdie.” Standing, he smiles at me, then puts his mug in the sink and returns to drop a kiss to the top of my head. “Keep up the good work.”
After the door shuts behind him and I hear his truck rev to life, I let out a heavy sigh. I had the chance to tell him about Travis and I wasn’t brave enough.
An hour later, I’ve got a couple of frozen meals packed and I’m headed to Travis’ house, desperate to see him and make sure he’s really okay. I know I saw him in the hospital, but this is different.
Travis’ truck is in the driveway, and just the sight of it has my stomach fluttering with nerves. But I make my way to the door and knock, needing to make sure he’s at least doing okay.
The door opens, and a tall man with curly dark hair and true blue eyes just a shade darker than Travis’ smiles at me.
“Well, hey there. Who are you?” He’s got a lazy drawl, not really an accent, just a hint of country to him.
“I’m Lark.”
He leans against the doorframe and smirks. “Lark, huh?”
The sound of a throat clearing behind the man at the door stops him. “Let her in, Buck. She’s not here for you.” Travis’ voice is a welcome balm for my weary heart.
Buck moves away from the door, but not before taking the bag of food from my hands. Travis is standing, hair mussed, eyes ringed with dark circles, bruises yellowing on his jaw and temple. But somehow he’s the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.
“Come on in, darlin’, don’t think I won’t come out there and get you. Even if it’ll take me five minutes to get across this damn hallway.”
A weight lifts off my chest. We don’t have to hide in front of Buck.
“Your ass should be sitting down, Trav,” Buck scolds. “I don’t care how pretty your girlfriend is, if Mama finds out I let you disobey your doctor, she�
��ll tan my hide.”
“I’m fi—“
“You’re not fuckin’ fine. Don’t try to pull that shit on me. I left a beautiful woman in my bed last night to come here for you.” Buck slides his gaze to me. “Get him to sit down, will ya? I gotta go to the pharmacy and get the hero his meds.”
I grin and nod. “I’ll do what I can.”
Buck grabs his hat and puts it on, tipping the brim to me before he leaves me alone with Travis.
I reach for Travis, but he shakes his head. “It’s good for me to be moving. He’s treating me like a damn kid.”
He walks with slow, measured steps until he finally reaches the couch and carefully lowers himself onto the cushions. A low grunt fills the air but I pretend I don’t hear it.
“Come sit with me, sweetness. I know it was only a few days, but I missed the hell out of you.”
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t get away to come see you.”
He holds out his arms to me, wincing at the moment. “I was a grumpy pain in the ass anyway.”
I sit, not going to him like he wants, because I’m terrified I’ll hurt him worse. So I take the empty place on the couch next to his feet. “Buck seems nice.”
“He’s a good guy, and I’d much rather him come get me than the alternative.”
I raise a brow. “What’s that?”
“My ex-wife. Hospital called her first thing. She’s still listed as my emergency contact.”
That makes my skin prickle with unease. Why? Why is she his emergency contact? He’s been here long enough to update that information. Hell, he came here without her.
“What’s that look for?”
“Are you over her?” My words are just a whisper.
“What?”
“She calls you all the time. She’s your emergency contact. It sounds like you’re still hanging on to her.”
He moves to sit up, winces, and a low grunt escapes his lips. “The only one I’m hanging onto here, is you, darlin’.”
