Chapter 42
CHAPTER 42
ATLAS
“ H ow’s she doing?” Ellis asks, his posture rigid as he continuously surveys the scene.
His eyes keep straying to Rand, as if he’s worried he’s still a threat.
“I don’t know, man.” I tighten my hold on my girl, trying like hell to let her know I’m here, even as she sleeps—at least I hope she’s sleeping—fitfully in my arms.
“She’s shaking like a leaf, and I’m pretty sure…”—my words dry up faster than the Sahara, and I have to force myself to swallow around the watermelon-sized lump in my throat—“…pretty sure he stabbed her. In the stomach.”
I press my head to hers, temple to temple, relishing the feel of her soft breaths puffing against my cheek.
As long as she’s breathing, I know she’ll be okay.
“Fucking hell, I’m freaking out.”
Please let her be okay.
“Deep breaths, man. Backup will be here soon.” He pauses and then grins.
“Between you and me, though, I’m glad you killed him. Sorry sack of shit.”
“I just wish I’d have done it sooner.” I sigh, guilt pressing in on me from all sides.
The weight of it is damn near enough to crush me like a Coke can.
If I’d have reported him as a kid, or hell, I don’t even know—done anything, something, then maybe this could’ve been prevented.
Maybe I could’ve saved Nora a whole world of hurt.
But then you wouldn’t have her, an insidious voice inside my mind whispers, amplifying my guilt to near nuclear levels.
Nora stirs in my arms, a weak, barely audible whimper slipping past her swollen lips as she presses herself impossibly closer to me.
“It’s okay, pretty girl.” I keep my voice soft, back like when I first found her at the Lakeshore Motel and she was more skittish than a doe.
“You’re safe.”
“Any minute now,” Ellis says, checking his watch, and sure enough, within seconds, the sound of sirens pierces the air.
I keep rubbing soothing circles on Nora’s back, even as uniformed officers spill into the small cabin.
Much like Ellis did, they scan the area, making sure the threat is neutralized before allowing paramedics to enter.
I'm desperate for her to be okay. For our baby to be okay. For us to be okay. The mere thought of losing either of them, of losing my family, is damn near— No! Cut that shit out. They're both going to be just fine.
And if they're not, I swear to God, I'll find a way to bring Rand back from the dead just so I can kill him again.
“Atlas,” Nora croaks my name, her voice still so raspy and weak.
“I'm here, Pip.” I brush her matted hair away from her face. “You're okay.”
She shudders against my chest, her small fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt as she clings to me. “St-stay.”
“I'm not going anywhere.” I nuzzle my nose into the top of her head, somehow still finding a hint of her sweet scent through the musty smell of the cabin and the coppery tang of blood permeating the air.
“Promise?” she asks, but it sounds like her mouth is full of cotton.
Before I can reply, a paramedic interrupts us, launching into a whole host of questions about Nora.
“Sh-she's been stabbed. In the belly. She's pregnant. Nineteen weeks.” My voice is pleading, frantic even. Now that help is truly here, all of my calm and collected is gone. I need to know she's going to be okay more than I need my next breath. “Please help her.”
“Sir, take a breath,” one of the paramedics says, earning themselves a mean glare. “We just have a few quick questions.”
I shake my head, nearly rabid with my need to get her out of here. “She needs help!”
“Atlas, man,” Ellis cuts in, laying a hand on my shoulder. “They're just doing their jobs. Sooner you let 'em, the sooner she gets help.”
I take a deep breath and hold it for a moment before slowly releasing it. “You're right. Fuck. Okay.”
I answer all of their questions—from her medical history to whether or not she has allergies and everything in between—as they pry her from my arms and strap her to a board, all while someone else takes her vitals and covers the wound on her belly with gauze.
“What about you?” he asks once they have all of the info they need on Nora.
“I'm fine,” I say, at the same time Ellis says, “Possible concussion.”
I cut my eyes his way, silently promising retribution. But the smartass just shrugs.
“We need to get her loaded up,” the one who took Nora’s vitals says.
“I'm riding with.” I narrow my eyes to slits, daring any one of them to try and stop me from tagging along. I’m not leaving her side until I absolutely have to.
The paramedics and Ellis exchange knowing looks, before the one with all the questions says, “Sounds good, let's go.”
They lift the board and carry her out, promptly transferring her onto the stretcher outside.
I hang back helplessly as they load her into the back of the ambulance. I hate not being close enough to touch her, to see the rise and fall of her chest.
“You coming?” one of the paramedics asks, drumming his fingers on the outside of the door.
“Yes.” I start to climb into the back of the ambulance, but Ellis calls my name, and I pause halfway in, waiting to hear what he has to say.
“Some officers are gonna follow and ask some questions once y'all are stable.” He snuffs the toe of his boot against the ground. “She’s strong, man. She’ll… she’ll be okay.”
I tip my head at him in acknowledgment, unable to speak around the ball of emotion clogging my throat, before settling down beside Nora.
Once the doors are shut and we’re on our way, I take her hand in mine, rubbing my thumb softly over her knuckles. “I promise I’ll never leave you, Pip. I promise.”
The second we're in the hospital, my promise to not leave her side goes out the window. They need to take her for scans and tests, and I'm not allowed to go with her.
Even worse, they insist I get looked at, too.
After a whole lot of hurrying to wait, I finally prove to them I'm no worse for wear. Which doesn't feel like much of a win when they relegate me to the waiting room.
Where I wait... and wait... and wait.
Eventually a shadow falls over me, making me jolt in the hard plastic chair.
Hope soars in my heart as I glance up, hoping for an update.
“Do you have an update?” I ask, only to slump back into my chair when I realize it's two uniformed officers standing before me, instead of someone with news about Nora. “Oh.” The defeat and disappointment in my tone hang heavy in the air between us.
“Atlas Wallace?” the taller cop with a bushy mustache asks.
“That’s me.”
“I'm Officer Johansson,” Mustache says before nodding toward the other guy. “And this is my partner, Officer Lewis. We're hoping to ask you a few questions and get a statement from you while it’s fresh in your mind.”
I heave out a deep, weary sigh. “Might as well get it over with.”
They both nod, and then settle into the chairs on either side of me.
Officer Lewis flips open his leather folder and clicks his pen twice over the blank sheet in front of him. “We know it’s been a long and stressful night, so we’ll try to make it as brief as possible.”
I lean back in my seat, tipping my head toward the ceiling. “Go for it.”
And go for it they do, asking me question after question after question.
Why I was at the cabin, what's my relationship with Nora, what do I know of her history with Rand, what made him turn the gun on himself, did I try to stop him?
I answer each and every one with surety and not a stitch of guilt in my heart over how everything played out.
If anything, he got off easy.
It feels like hours have passed by the time they finally decide they have enough information from me, even though it’s probably been thirty minutes tops.
“Thanks for your time,” Officer Lewis says, standing and tucking his notepad away.
Officer Johansson also stands and produces a business card from his front pocket. “We'll want to talk to Nora as soon as she's feeling up to it.” He extends the card toward me. “The sooner the better.”
I take it and nod, not trusting myself to say anything else. I’m beyond exhausted, my head is pounding like someone took a jackhammer to my brain, and I feel like I’m about to crawl out of my skin with the need to lay eyes on Nora.
I’ve never considered myself an anxious person—until now. But there are just too many variables in play. The unknown of it all has my every muscle tensing with the desire to bolt out of this stupid plastic chair and demand answers—to do something, anything.
But there’s no point. The only thing acting like an ass would do is get me kicked out—and possibly a criminal charge, which I’ve already miraculously avoided once tonight.
And so, with my elbows propped on my knees and my head in my hands, I settle in to wait.
And wait, and wait, and wait.