Chapter 5
Chapter
Lennon
As one of the enforcers for my hockey team, I’m used to charging toward violence. But this quaint street on a sultry night with Vivian at my side threw me. And that moment of hesitation nearly cost us our lives.
Within a few seconds, four men had materialized from those shadows, surrounding us in that moment of indecision. I drew Vivian closer to me, which allowed the man nearest her to take another step.
“We’ll take your money,” the man in front of me said.
“And any other valuables you might have,” the one nearest Vivian added. He leered at her.
“Sure,” I said easily. “We don’t want trouble.”
The man in front of me chuckled. “Then toss your wad of cash over, big spender.”
I reached into my pocket slowly and did as he asked. Vivian whimpered as she slid her small purse off her arm and threw it at the spokesman’s feet.
He bent down and counted the bills. “This all you got, hockey star? I expected more from you.”
He knew who I was, which meant this wasn’t a random act. These men had targeted me, and that put Vivian at risk.
All my senses amplified—along with my heartrate—and yet I couldn’t see the fourth man, the one behind me. As I’d anticipated, he was the one to attack first. He kicked me in the back of the knee, and I went down, hard.
“Since you don’t have the kind of score we’re looking for, we’ll take it out of your woman instead,” said the man nearest Vivian.
She screamed my name just before the man grabbed her, gripping her cheeks and covering her mouth with one hand while the other arm banded her waist. With a roar that came from some deep, primitive place inside me, I lunged, knocking the other two men into the one holding Vivian. She stumbled but managed to dart away, eyes wide. From the corner of my eye, I saw the fourth man move toward her.
“Run!” I bellowed. Then I swung at the fourth man, connecting my fist to his throat with a brutal hit that dropped him to the ground.
The other three fell back, clearly surprised by my ferocity. That lasted two breaths, maybe three, before they converged.
A fist fight is infinitely different—and more civilized—than a knife one. I took multiple cuts to my left arm, cheek, and neck as I pummeled, kicked, and slammed the three men into each other.
I was outnumbered but not outclassed; I could take these three. But the fourth man must have not been knocked out. In a flash I found my head yanked back and the blade pressed deep into my neck.
“Move again, fucker, and see what happens.”
I forced my muscles to relax. He changed the tilt of his blade and pressed it into my cheek. I hissed in pain as the blade sliced through my flesh. The rest of the men moved in closer. The man with the knife yanked it back as the man who’d grabbed Vivian buried his fist in my gut while another slammed his booted heel into my thigh. One of the men slammed his fist against my temple as my body turned toward him, knocking me farther off balance. As I went down, someone slashed my left arm with his knife. All that happened before I could blink or react.
Then, I did respond. My head was fuzzy from the hit to my temple, but I refused to go down easily. It wasn’t in my nature. As if on autopilot, I lashed out, and I heard the snap of a broken arm—maybe elbow—as I plowed through one man and kicked at the next one. A knife glinted in the dark right before I jerked back. The blade slashed my head, and blood dripped into my eyes as I punched the third man.
Not going down.
I would not lose this fight. I couldn’t. Vivian needed me.
Sirens blared as a patrol car careened around the corner, flashing red and blue lights. I sank to my knees, trying to blink the blood from my eyes as I swayed. My head throbbed. My vision blurred. I couldn’t sit up.
I was dizzy, nauseated. Where was Vivi? I slid onto my side. My head landed on something soft. Well, softer than the asphalt road. Vivian’s purse, probably. Good. The bastards wouldn’t get her ID. I just needed to stay awake long enough to make sure they were gone.
But I didn’t. I passed out. At least, I think I did; I wasn’t sure because time seemed to wrap and warp around itself.
Vivian . I needed to be sure Vivian was safe…
My head. Something was wrong with my head.
The first man—the spokesman of the gang—squatted next to me. I couldn’t make out his features, but I didn’t know if that was because of the blood in my eyes, the shadows, or from the blows to my head.
Concussion .
I moaned. That’s all I needed—a second concussion. The first time, I’d seized on the ice and had terrible hallucinations that forced the team doctor to sedate me for nearly two days until the swelling subsided enough for me to separate reality from my mind’s fevered fantasies. He’d told me then that another hit to the head would cause serious, possibly permanent, damage.
Today, I’d taken some hefty blows, and already my mind felt…off. So did my body; it refused to respond to my determination to punch the bastard who’d threatened Vivian and hurt me. The first man leaned in closer even as the sirens wailed and tires screeched.
The man’s fetid breath washed over me, smelling of burning rubber, blood, and sweat.
“You’re famous, fuckwad, so we’ll know where to find her. You can’t protect her all the time. Rich assholes like you shouldn’t get all the good things in this world, and we’re going to start evening the score with your bitch.”
I blinked as a different man knelt beside me. I shrank back, but he was too busy calling for an ambulance to note my behavior. My vision faded again. Everything felt as if it were coming through a huge fishtank. The distortion of my senses and a heaviness against my skull reminded me of how my older brother, Ruben, had talked about the aftermath of the IEDs his team sped through when in Afghanistan. That was one of the last conversations I’d had with him, because a couple of weeks later, his luck had run out, and he’d died when his partner stepped on a nearby IED.
The sound of footsteps wobbled from my ears to my mind.
Vivian sobbed my name.
Hospitals are just about my least-favorite places in the world. One I liked even less was that Michigan street with the knife-wielding hoodlums. But waking in a hospital was a close second.
Very close.
“Lennon? Can you hear me? Lennon?”
Vivi’s voice. I struggled out of the fog, desperate to reassure her .But my mind shied away from the pain.
When I finally woke, it was to a kind of agony that made me wish I hadn’t. I must have made some sound because suddenly, a hand slipped into mine.
“L-lennon? Can you hear me?”
“Yeah. I can hear you.”
“Oh, thank goodness.” Vivian leaned in close enough for me to see her pale face. It was clean, devoid of the pretty eye shadow and lip gloss she’d worn at dinner. I squinted, noting her messy pile of hair and blue scrubs.
“How long…”
“About thirteen…” She glanced at something above me, probably a clock. “Almost fourteen hours. It’s Monday morning.”
“You have a plane. Work.”
She touched my cheek with her shaking fingers. She pulled back quickly and fisted her hands. “As if I could leave you like this.” She swallowed. “I was so worried about you.” Her voice cracked, but she took a breath and calmed herself. Now, in a set of scrubs, in the face of trauma, I understood that Vivi wasn’t just a good nurse; she was a great one. She’d compartmentalized the terror she must have felt and was there for me the way I needed—serene and solicitous.
“The injuries…how bad?” My mind seemed to be sorting out whatever medication I’d been given, and my thoughts were still fuzzy.
Vivian’s face crumpled, and I reached for her. I winced, remembering the cuts to my left arm. I hadn’t thought they were too bad. Maybe I was wrong.
“M-most are superficial.” She winced. “That makes it sound like it’s not a big deal, but you’re pretty battered, Lennon. There’s bruising from where they hit?—”
“And kicked. One of the guys got in a good kick.” I scowled, but that pulled at the goose egg on my temple. The swelling had to be bad for me to feel it, which meant I had to have had a concussion.
“Right. Hit and kicked.” Vivi stuttered a breath. “The cut to your neck is the worst. It required a lot of stitches. The one to your scalp bled a lot—as head wounds do—but it’s not deep. For both that one and the neck wound, the plastic surgeon did an internal and external set of stitches to minimize scarring. But…” She pressed her lips together and fought off her trembling jaw. After a long inhale and exhale, she continued, “But you will have some scar tissue.” Her face crumpled. “I’m so sorry. You were walking me back. This is all my fault?—”
“Shh, Vivi. No. No, it’s not your fault. You didn’t decide to take that shortcut. I did. You didn’t threaten or hurt me. It’s their fault. And they’ll pay.”
Vivi smashed her lips together. “Well, they may not.”
I blinked. “Why?”
“Because the police haven’t found them. Not a single sighting.”
“What? No, that can’t be right. There has to be CCTV or…or…traffic cameras…or…”
“I didn’t see any of the faces. They wore masks.”
I frowned but had to stop when my scalp tugged painfully. “They did?”
“It was so fast. But yes. They had on those skiing masks over the bottom part of their face and beanies. So all I could see were eyes. If they ditched the masks?—”
“Gaiters.” At her look, I elaborated. “Those masks are called gaiters. My friend’s Canadian, another one is Russian. They like them when they’re skiing or snowshoeing. They said they’re better at retaining heat along their necks.”
That reminded me of the slicing to my skin. I raised my right hand—that arm, my dominant one—wasn’t injured, and I was so thankful for its use. Another thought hit me— hockey . The season started in a few weeks. I had to play. I’d signed a three-year contract, my largest ever. I couldn’t walk away from that now because I needed the money to set up my nonprofit that would reunite service members with their K-9s.
Plus, my team needed me. I was one of two defenders who kept the Wildcatters on the positive side of goals scored.
“It’s okay, Lennon,” Vivian said, likely noting my rising worry. “That wound is the worst, like I said, but you’ll make a full recovery. In fact, if you grow your beard, no one will know it’s there.”
I dropped my hand. “Okay. That’s good. Very good. I won’t have to quit. I’ll heal before the season. Good.”
“Yes, it is good.” Vivian offered a tentative smile, and I responded with my own.
But my head ached, and worry settled over me. I hurt. I was unsettled by the lack of arrests. “You need to go home,” I said.
“I will. I have to get back to work?—”
“Right. So you should go now. You’ll be safe there.”
Vivian frowned. “I’m safe here. Those men aren’t going to come into the hospital. Plus, they left my wallet, which had my driver’s license. They don’t know my name or where I live.”
“Oh, thank God.”
“You’re agitated. That could be from the medication. Do you want me to call someone?—”
“No,” I interrupted. I took her hand in my right one and gave it a squeeze. “No. I’m good, I’m going to nap, I think.”
I closed my eyes and tried to even out my breathing. But I didn’t sleep. I kept remembering the gang spokesman’s comments. Much as I wanted to frown, I didn’t—it hurt too much. He’d said he’d find Vivian and hurt her because she was mine.
But relief swept through me as I realized he didn’t know anything about her and had no way to find her. Me, though, I was easy to locate, just like he’d said. Which meant I had to keep my distance.
Even if the thought made me want to curl into a ball and stop getting better.