by Shandi Boyes
After shooting Axel a warning glare, Brax pushes off his feet and heads my way. “Yeah. He forced his fingers down his throat over there.” He points to a large rock on our right. “If you test his vomit, I’m sure you’ll discover he was over the limit. I saw him guzzle down at least a dozen beers the last two hours.”
He slaps my shoulder, wordlessly advising he has my back before joining me in shooting daggers at Axel. I can’t believe that even when his girlfriend was fighting for her life, he was thinking about himself. If that doesn't make him a conceited asshole, I don't know what would.
“If they don’t arrest him tonight, I might skip town with you tomorrow.” When I peer at Brax in shock, he adds on, “That may be the only way I’ll avoid a murder conviction.”
I nearly laugh, until I realize he's serious. He is as ropeable as me. Axel put everyone's lives at risk tonight, all because he couldn't handle a bit of competition. It shows what Savannah said months ago is true. He's a childish idiot when he feels intimidated.
After receiving confirmation on a pile of frothy goop at the base of the rock Brax pointed to, Regina returns her focus to Brax and me. “Good,” she praises, her dazzling eyes flicking between us. “This is exactly what we need. You’ve both done very well.”
After giving Jim the pleasurable task of arresting Axel, she locks her eyes with mine. “You ready to see your girl?”
Hearing the possessiveness in her tone as readily as me, Brax squeezes my shoulder. Unable to speak through the lump in my throat, I nod my head. I want to say more, but I’m shocked. It’s that easy? Faster than she can snap her fingers, she’ll take me to see Savannah? I was anticipating jumping through another five hundred hoops before that would happen.
“Don’t look so stunned, Ryan,” Regina suggests through a chuckle. “I gave you my word you’d see your girl. I’m a woman who keeps my word.”
“She’s not his girl,” Axel denies to anyone listening. “She’s mine. Always has been. Always will be.”
He repeats his pledge another three times before his whiny voice is drowned out by Jim placing him in the back of a police cruiser. Although worried about his pledge that Savannah will never forgive me, I get great satisfaction knowing I aided in his arrest.
When Regina nudges her head to an unmarked car three spots up from where we are standing, I turn my eyes to Brax. “I’ll be there in a few,” he instructs before curling his arms around my torso to give me a man hug.
He holds on a little longer than usual, his nerves as rattled as mine. After slapping my back three times, he pushes me in the direction Regina just walked.
"Thanks," I say to Chris when he hands me my water-damaged cell phone and wallet on my way by. "We'll bring you your truck and some clothes in a few."
Nodding my thanks, I clamber into the car door he’s holding open for me.
“Chris,” I mumble when the fog in my mind clears enough to remember Savannah’s life wasn’t the only one in my hands tonight. “My mom—”
“I’ve already called Damon. We’ve got you covered,” Chris interrupts with an uneasy smirk.
“I also scheduled your father for a double shift,” Regina advises, pulling her cell away from her ear. “Your mom is safe, Ryan; now it’s time to worry about you for a little bit.”
Stealing my opportunity to express my thanks, she slides into the driver’s seat.
For the first ten miles of our trip, I occupy my time scanning the inside of Regina’s car. Although it's unmarked, the numerous police records filling every nook and cranny lead me to believe this is either an unmarked police vehicle, or Regina has a hard time letting go of her work once she arrives home.
“Police officers never clock out,” Regina advises, reading my silent gasp with shocking accuracy. “Jim’s dedication tonight is an example of how staying ahead of the pack works well.”
A faint smile cracks onto my lips before I nod my head. If Jim hadn’t seconded a fisherman’s boat to rescue us, I’m confident the circumstances of tonight would have ended differently. I’ve never trained in CPR, which is frightening to admit considering Savannah chose me to be her swim instructor. I plan to correct that oversight as soon as possible.
“Don’t give Jim all the praise, Ryan. You deserve some too. He taught you the technique, but you executed it to perfection.”
I glare at Regina, wordlessly requesting she get out of my head. She laughs, proving she can read my mind.
“Have you ever considered it?” she asks as she takes a right on Turner Avenue.
“Considered what?”
You can hear nerves in my voice. I’m not nervous about her question; it's spotting the Ravenshoe Private Hospital sign over the horizon causing my jittery response. Savannah is the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen, but seeing her lying lifeless tainted the image I have of her. I’m sure once I see her smiling face again, the image will return to its original, but I’m still panicked.
I yelled at her. I called her horrible names. Then I saved her life. I really hope the latter will help her forgive me for the earlier. I didn’t mean anything I said. I was angry believing she chose Axel over me. How foolish was I? When forced between saving herself or me, Savannah chose me, just like I will always choose her. That has to mean something, doesn’t it?
Regina shifts her eyes from the roadside to me. “Becoming an officer?”
I huff out a chuckle. “No.”
I want to say, "No fucking chance in hell," but considering I'm sitting in the car of an officer who has saved my hide more than once, I keep my reply respectful.
“You should consider it. We have an excellent academy only thirty miles from here. The recruitment process is quick. The training is even faster. You could be walking the beat in a few short months.”
“You’re serious?” I stammer, shocked by the determination in her voice. “Why would you want someone like me in your department? Haven’t you seen the qualities Carter men bring to the field? That isn’t something you encourage.”
Regina shrugs her shoulders before pulling her vehicle into an emergency bay at the front of the hospital. My pulse quickens, my body advising it’s close to Savannah.
“Do you like Axel, Ryan?” she asks, her tone relaying she already knows my answer.
My eyes rocket to her, certain she's mental. “Like isn’t a word I’d ever use to describe a man like Axel.” My words are strained through clenched teeth.
Regina’s lips purse. “What about his uncle? Do you like him?”
The growl purring through my stern lips answers her question on my behalf.
“So why aren’t you doing everything in your power to take them down?” Regina questions as she switches off her ignition, then swivels in her seat to face me. “I’m giving you the perfect opportunity to take down the men you hate—in a legal way—but for some reason unbeknownst to me, you’re not tempted by my offer.”
“I’m not tempted to become my father,” I correct, my tone as high as her arched brow.
“What if I guaranteed you won’t become him?”
I chuckle; it isn’t a joyful laugh.
“You won’t be laughing when I’m riding your ass to keep you in line.”
Her comment makes quick work of my laughter. The bright gleam in her eyes makes me suspicious she doesn't mean her comment in a symbolic way. When Regina winks at my whitening face while puckering her lips, the color in my cheeks drains even more.
“Jesus Christ, Ryan,” she whistles in laughter a short time later. “I’m not only double your age, I’m double your age and then some.” She ribs me with her elbow, revealing her playful tease was a way of easing the tension hanging thickly in the air. “But I’m glad to see I still have it in the flirting department.” She tugs on the collar of her crisp white blouse as she winks for the second time.
I force a smile onto my face, once again choosing the respectful route. Regina is a nice lady, but she needs to brush up on her comic routine if she wants to give Wanda Sykes a run
for her money. Actually, come to think of it, their looks are remarkably similar. Same smooth, chocolate skin, same nose, same wild, crazy ringlet hair. If I hadn't seen photos of Regina in our high school trophy cabinet from years ago, I'd be more suspicious.
"I saw it months ago, Ryan. And I saw it tonight," Regina says, her voice reverting from playful to professional so fast it gives me whiplash. "You're an officer in the making. You just have to pull your head out of your ass to see it. You're a protector and a nurturer. When you are not getting dirty in underground fight rings, you're a law-abiding citizen. You are perfect for this role.”
She throws down the glove compartment, sending dozens of police records falling into my lap. After finding a scrunched up business card and a pen, she slams it shut, not bothering to stuff the color-coded files back inside. While she jots down a cell phone number on the card, I gather the files to return them to their rightful spot, only sneaking the occasional peek at the names listed on top. Most are foreign to me, but there are three that stand out: Col Petretti, Axel Monroe, and Isaac Holt.
After a quick swallow to clear my nerves, I flick open Isaac’s file. Only a handful of impressive bank deposit slips reflects back at me.
“He’s clean,” Regina mutters, lifting her eyes to me. “For now.”
She dumps her pen in the middle console before handing the business card to me. “If you consider my proposal, you might help keep him that way.”
The irregular rhythm my heart has been pumping the past hour gains an extra beat when my eyes drop to the card. It doesn't belong to Regina. It's for a recruitment officer at Ravenshoe PD.
Spotting my uneasy expression, Regina pleads, "Just think about it. There's no harm in keeping your options open."
After a final stare that says more than her words ever could, she exits her car. I stuff the card into the pocket of my wet pants before following her. The seriousness of our visit smashes into me hard and fast when we enter the disinfectant-smelling space. It smells like death and virtue at the same time.
I hang to the side of the nurses' station while Regina uses her impressive pull to get us past the first security check. She does the same thing another two times before we are directed to the room where a sleeping Savannah is resting. The large hospital bed engulfs her, making her look tinier than she is, but the natural rosy hue of her cheeks has returned stronger than ever. She looks peaceful and surprisingly well-rested.
“Because you’re not related, I could only get you five minutes,” Regina advises, sounding ticked off.
I nod, grateful she went to bat for me at all. Jim had to pull me out of the ambulance when the paramedics refused my request to ride with Savannah, so I’ll take anything I can get.
“Well, go on; don’t waste a second,” Regina says, jerking her chin to Savannah.
It takes my brain commanding my legs to move three times before they finally step over the threshold separating Savannah’s room from the corridor. And even then, my steps are still wobbly.
“She’s just sleeping,” assures a blonde, middle-aged nurse when she spots my reluctant approach. I’m not hesitant because I’m spooked; I just don’t want to disturb her. “We gave her a sedative to help her sleep. She’ll be out for a few hours.”
“She’s not... There’s no...”
“Side effects from the accident?” the nurse fills in, recognizing words are failing me.
When I nod, the nurse shakes her head. “She was responsive when she arrived. The sedative was only ordered to give her body time to recoup from its ordeal. Being shocked with a defibrillator is the equivalent of being kicked by a horse. It’s pretty tiring.”
Her eyes drift to Regina watching our exchange with sorrow in her eyes. "I'll wait for you outside."
Just before she exits, she spins back around to face me. The shimmer of her name tag glistening in the light captures my attention: Cybil.
“Do you know Savannah’s last name? The paramedic said she wasn’t carrying any ID,” Cybil asks.
I nod. “Savannah Fontane,” I reply, my voice groggy with emotion.
Cybil tries to shut it down, but I see the quickest flare blaze through her eyes. “Savannah Fontane? As in, Thorn Fontane? She’s Thorn’s daughter?”
I nod my head, not the least bit surprised she knows Savannah’s dad. Rumors were before Savannah’s mom snagged him, he was quite popular with the ladies. I even think my mom had a crush on him at one stage, which is just weird if I’m being totally honest.
“Has anyone called her dad? He’d want to be here,” I ask.
Cybil’s throat works hard to swallow. “No, but I’ll do that now.” She rockets out of the room like her backside is on fire.
Up until five seconds ago, Cybil was a stranger, but I still know she's lying. Don't ask me how I know. I just do.
I wait for the familiar sound of a lock clicking into place before moving to stand at Savannah’s bedside. My hands ball into fists. I’m dying to touch her, but too afraid I’ll hurt her if I act on my desires.
After a few seconds of silent deliberation, I run my index finger over the indent embedded in her cheek. My touch is barely more than a feather grazing her skin, but it doesn't stop Savannah's dimple from growing in size. Even sleeping, she can sense my touch. I trail my finger up her cheek, stopping at her hair that has somewhat dried the past hour. The salty water has given it more bounce than it usually has, adding some faint curls to the ends.
As my finger glides past her ear, I whisper, “You scared the shit out of me.” My words are more for me than her. “You should have never put my life before yours. Don’t ever do that again.” This time, there's no doubt my words are for her.
Needing a second to calm my emotions before they get the better of me, I drop my eyes to the floor and take in some deep breaths. There are a million things I want to say, but when I spot the rise and fall of Savannah’s chest, they vanish into thin air. She's here, breathing, and that's all that matters. The rest can wait.
With Regina keeping Cybil deep in conversation, the original five minutes she negotiated stretches to fifteen. I use the time well. I sit so close to Savannah, the sheet covering her tiny frame crumples under my knees. I hold her hand while all the things I plan to say to her when she wakes filter through my mind. It's only fifteen minutes, but every second fills me with hope that there will be many more to follow.
I stop stroking my thumb along Savannah’s when the creak of a door sounds through my ears. “I’ll be back,” I promise, recognizing my time is up.
Even afraid I’m stepping over boundaries Savannah has the right to refuse doesn’t stop me from pressing a kiss to the edge of her mouth. I left her side once tonight on bad terms; I’m not doing it a second time.
The panic misting my skin gets a moment of reprieve when Savannah releases a soft breath the instant my lips touch her. It could just be my imagination, but I swear the faint murmur of my name accompanied her exhalation.
I pull back, hoping her eyes will be open. They aren’t—dammit.
My brow bows when Cybil hands me a pair of jeans, a short-sleeve shirt, and holey running shoes. The clothes I could have mistaken as someone else’s, but the skanky shoes leave no doubt they are mine.
“Your friends dropped them at reception for you,” she explains to my confused expression. “You can use the bathroom to get changed.” She points to the stark white door attached to Savannah’s private suite.
After issuing my thanks with a smile, I push off my feet. The white tiles on the floors and walls give the modern bathroom a bleak, sterile feeling, but it's nicer than the one I have at home.
Ignoring the fact Brax and Chris forgot to grab me fresh underwear and socks, I start undressing. I'd rather free-ball than remain in my ruined clothing. After tonight, the salty scent of the sea will forever haunt me.
While tugging my white dress shirt off via its expensive cuff, a flash of red captures my attention. With the bathroom’s fluorescent light haloing my skin with
an unnatural glow, the thin red rope twisted around my wrist looks as vibrant as it did the day Savannah gifted it to me. It was the same day we created our list.
I shove my legs into my jeans and yank them up my thighs, my fast movements spurred on by a brilliant idea. I've barely buttoned up my jeans when I'm flying out of the bathroom like a bat out of hell.
“Do you have any scissors?” I ask Cybil, my words coming out in a flurry.
She waits for me to yank my shirt over my head before answering, “Why do you want scissors? Do you have a stray tag?” She tries to keep her voice impassive but does a terrible job. Hobo Chic is coming into fashion, but that isn’t the reason for my faded shirt and dirty jeans. It’s a money issue.
When my eyes drop to my friendship bracelet, the worry on Cybil’s face doubles.
“Are you sure you want to cut it off? You don’t have much length to tie it back on if you change your mind,” she checks, her voice surprisingly worried.
“That’s okay. I’m tying it on a much smaller wrist,” I assure her, grinning like a loon.
When she follows the direction of my gaze, a beaming smile stretches across her face. “Alright, let’s do this.”
She secures a set of scissors out of the top pocket of her nurse’s uniform. The bend at the end of their design replicates ones used in trauma surgeries, but they are one fourth the size.
Fragments of red rope filter to the floor when she carefully cuts the bracelet at the original knot Savannah tied over ten years ago. From the way a groove scours deeper into her forehead with every cut she makes, anyone would swear she was conducting lifesaving coronary surgery, not removing a flimsy rope.
“There you go,” she says with a grunt at the exact moment the rope falls away from my wrist.
I catch it in my other hand, its size even smaller than I expected.
“Don’t kill me with anticipation. Hop to it,” Cybil barks, forcing my legs forward with the command in her tone.
She grazes her teeth over her bottom lip when I carefully encircle the rope around Savannah's wrist, the one not wearing her hospital ID. Because Savannah's wrist is nearly half the size of mine, the bracelet is a perfect fit.
