Chapter 42
COLE
The bus pulls through the security gate, and the dim glow of the parking lot lights filters through the windows.
The guys begin to stir, and I stretch my arm. My body and mind need an hour in the sauna.
We won, but it wasn’t without a fight. After our meeting, my management finally woke up and pulled some guys from special teams to strengthen our defensive line. With T-Bone’s cronies sidelined, we managed to hold some of the yards we’d gained.
The bus rolls to a stop, and I stand, grabbing my bag. I roll my neck and wait in line to depart.
“That was fun. Let’s do it again next week,” Ricketts says, grinning from ear to ear as we file off the bus.
Ricketts hops down the last step, and my feet hit the asphalt. The sound of engines turning over fills the quiet, still air.
I squint into the darkness toward my car, wishing Ryder were waiting inside.
I take two steps and see a figure shift into the beam of headlights, moving quickly.
I stop as recognition hits. Ryder. She’s running.
My teammates bump around me, and I force my feet forward again. She holds up her hand, gesturing something as she charges toward me—
CRACK.
She dives.
CRACK. CRACK.
Her body crashes into mine, sending me straight to the ground.
My head smacks against the pavement, and I see stars. All air is purged from my lungs as Ryder’s body lands on top of mine.
I gasp, taking a breath as shouts and chaos erupt all around us.
I blink a few times, but Ryder doesn’t move. I slide my arm out from under her and loop around her. My hand spreads over her body, feeling the rapid, staggered rise and fall of her stomach.
“Hey,” I croak as I adjust to slip out from under her.
She groans, trying to push herself up with one arm, but rolls to her side next to me.
I sit up, my head swirling with a stabbing pain.
I reach for her, and my fingers hit something warm and tacky. I roll her onto her back as my heart kicks into action.
Blood pools over her upper body. I push to my knees and press my hands to her shoulder.
She cries out.
“Somebody call 9-1-1!”
She stares at me, her chin tipping back in pain.
“Hang on. Ok? Just hang on.” I press harder, and warm, dark blood seeps through my fingers.
She groans, and it’s gut-wrenching.
A couple of guys drop beside me. One hands me a T-shirt, and I press the fabric to her wound.
She grinds out another moan between her teeth.
“Just hang on,” I breathe. “Hurry up!” I yell.
My eyes dart around, seeking help, but snag on T-Bone, holding someone down while my teammates encircle him.
“I got. . .blood on it.” Her voice is soft and strained, but her mouth relaxes a little as she breathes in and out.
I meet her eyes, and a tear trickles out.
I glance at the thick fabric surrounding her—my sweatshirt.
I press my hands down again, making sure I keep the pressure firm. It’s the only thing I know to do.
She groans deeply.
“It’s ok.” I choke. “I’ve got more.” A tear drips down to my chin. “Just hold on, ok? For me. Please.”
“What do you need, man?” Ricketts shoves someone out of the way and kneels on the other side of her.
“Don’t touch her,” I demand, hearing sirens in the distance.
Her eyes begin to drift.
“Do you hear that?”
She doesn’t answer.
“Ryder. Do you hear that? Just hang on. They’re almost here. Please. Just hang on.”
“Dammit!” I press hard as blood stains the white fabric.
Come on, Jones. Just hang on.
______
I push through the bathroom door, charging for the stall, and lunge for the toilet as all the contents of my stomach spill out.
Breathing through my nose, I wait to have another go.
I rest my hands on my knees, taking a minute before flushing and moving to the sink.
My hands shake, completely covered in dried brown blood—Ryder’s blood.
My stomach lurches again, but there’s nothing left.
I turn on the faucet and shove my hands underneath, watching the stained water pool as I scrub them clean. When I’m finished, I rinse out my mouth and splash my face.
I brace my arms on the counter. All I see is Ryder, and my muscles vibrate, still feeling her body writhe in pain underneath my hands.
Forcing some slow breaths, I try to calm the adrenaline and fear enough to find the waiting room.
My phone buzzes, and I pull it from my pocket.
Maggie.
I silence it. I have no doubt news is breaking hard and fast.
My fingers jab the screen as I attempt to get them to cooperate so I can send a message.
ME: I’m ok. Ryder is hurt. I’ll keep you posted. Please tell Hank and everyone else. I can’t talk right now.
MAGGIE: Ok. I love you.
My phone buzzes again.
NICK: You ok? Dammit. Text me.
ME: I’m ok.
It buzzes again, but I shove it in my pocket, unable to handle any more until I know Ryder will be all right.
I follow the signs to the surgical waiting area. When I turn the corner, I find Tracker and Hope, along with TJ, Jamie, and Jos, standing in a huddle.
My heart sinks with blame as Tracker’s red eyes shift toward me.
“Have you heard. . .anything?” I ask carefully, knowing at least TJ is likely ready to finish what was attempted in the parking lot.
Hope moves to me. “No, we just got here and were told it’d be a while.”
I nod as my throat grows tight. I drop my head and notice my shirt is smeared with blood. Suddenly, it’s hard to breathe again.
Jos’s fingers wrap around my arm. “Come on. Let’s sit down.”
I fall onto a chair, and my eyes drift over the speckled floor.
“Do you know what happened?” Tracker asks, moving in front of me.
I shake my head. “I got off the bus and saw her running, but. . .the next thing I knew, she slammed into me, and we were on the ground.” I pause. “I didn’t know what happened. That she’d been shot.”
I swallow, trying to ease the fire consuming my throat.
“Did you see who did it?” It’s TJ’s low voice, and I can’t look at him.
I shake my head again. “I think they got him. I saw someone being held down, but I couldn’t see. . . I don’t even know why Ryder was there. I. . . ” I replay it, trying to wrap my head around it all.
Tracker squats down in front of me. “She called me. Something she saw from the after-game report spurred a memory, and she realized we’d gotten it wrong.”
I drag my head up to look at him. “What?”
“Mindy wasn’t the one threatening you, or at least she wasn’t the only one.” He pauses, and his gray eyes hold mine like he wants to be sure I’m listening. “It was Will Jenkins.”
My fragile mind blows into a thousand pieces.
Jenkins?
“Ryder connected the symbol on the threats to his artwork,” Jos adds. “We were listening to the game reports, and she heard that he’d been released and. . .I don’t know. She started to put the pieces together.”
I stand, needing space to try to process this. “So, she assumed he’d want revenge.”
Tracker nods. “She at least suspected.”
I pace as my mind fills with every interaction I’ve ever had with Will. He tried to take me out but hit Ryder instead. I want to ram my fist into a wall. It should be me, not her.
“I could kill him.”
“Well, us, too,” Jos says from her seat against the wall. “But for now, we have to stay here and make sure Ry’s ok.”
I rest my head against the wall and close my eyes as they fill with tears. I don’t know how long I stand there, praying she’ll be ok, when I hear a rustle.
I open my eyes as a surgeon in blue scrubs and a bright-colored cap enters. We all wait silently for the report.
He opens a file folder. “Are you all Ms. Jones’s family?”
“Yes,” Hope says quickly.
My stomach pulls into a hard knot, and my lungs still.
“She made it through surgery. The bullet tore through ligaments and caught the artery, so we had some extensive repair work to do. She’s strong and healthy. I expect with some time and physical therapy, she’ll regain full function and mobility.”
“She’s going to be ok?” Tracker asks, clarifying what we all need to know.
He nods. “She’ll have some extensive recovery time ahead of her in hopes she’ll regain full mobility.”
“She’ll love that,” Jos says, shoving through the fear in the room.
He smiles. “She’s being monitored but will be transferred to a room shortly. One of the nurses will come to get you when you can see her. She’ll be out of it for a while, so you all might want to go home and get some rest.”
Tracker shakes the surgeon’s hand, thanking him, and then the doctor turns to me.
“She’s a lucky young woman. You’ve saved her life.” He shakes my hand. “Good game today. My son will lose his mind when I tell him I met you.”
“Thank you, and thanks for taking care of her.”
I scribble my name on the back of a piece of paper, and he leaves us.
“I’ll find coffee and bring back a couple of pitchers,” Jos says.
I slide down into a chair, resting my head in my hands as relief fills my lungs. I count the minutes, needing to see her.
When I do, she’s going to have to just deal with me loving her. There’s no other way anymore, so I hope she’s ready.