Chapter 26
Grant
I’m counting his breaths when it happens. In. Out. In. Out. Feeling guilty for the minutes of sleep I stole.
His fingers twitch again. It’s more this time. His hand tightens around mine.
“Clay?” I whisper, leaning forward so fast the chair scrapes softly against the floor.
His brow furrows. He swallows. Then his eyes flutter open, unfocused and glassy, like he’s surfacing from deep water.
“Hey,” I say quickly, my voice breaking on the word. “Hey, you’re okay. I’m here.”
He blinks at the ceiling, confused. His gaze drifts, then finds me. For a second, he just stares. Like he’s making sure I’m real.
“Did I… fall asleep?” he asks, his voice hoarse and slow.
A shaky laugh escapes me before I can stop it. Tears follow immediately. “Yeah,” I say. “You did. For a little while.”
He winces and shifts slightly. “My head feels… weird.”
“I know,” I tell him softly. “You got hurt. The stockroom collapsed.”
His eyes widen, memory cracking through the fog. “The noise,” he murmurs. “I remember the noise.”
I nod, squeezing his hand.
“I was on the ladder,” he says, piecing it together. “The shelf was stuck, so I—” He stops, breathing unevenly now. “I thought the whole place was coming down.”
My chest tightens. “I heard it from the front,” I say. “I thought I lost you.”
His thumb brushes weakly against my fingers, grounding, familiar. “I remember hitting the floor,” he continues. “Boxes went everywhere. I couldn’t see. I tried to get up. Then pieces of the ceiling came down.”
He swallows hard. “And then I thought of you. I couldn’t leave you. Not like this.”
That does it. I bend forward, pressing my forehead to the mattress near his shoulder, crying openly now.
“I kept thinking,” he says quietly, “I can’t die back here.”
“You scared me,” I whisper. “So bad.”
“I’m sorry,” he says immediately, like it’s his fault. “I didn’t mean to—”
“I know,” I cut in gently. “I know.”
We fall into silence, broken only by the steady beeping of the monitor. He squeezes my hand again, stronger this time.
I lift my head and meet his eyes. “I thought I lost my husband.”
His throat works. He looks at our joined hands, then back at me. “Hey,” he says, voice steadier now. “I’m still here.”
I nod, even though my heart hasn’t quite caught up yet.
“I think I’m going to need you to remind me of that for a while.” I lean down and press a careful kiss to his temple.
“I can do that. I’m going to be okay, Grant.” He says, drifting back to sleep.
I exhale, closing my eyes and absorbing his words.
This day has changed us both forever.
I watch as he sleeps. Thanking the person who answered my prayer. The doctors want to keep him overnight to monitor his burns and make sure he’s breathing well without needing any support.
His body is scattered in purple bruises mixed with cuts that have scabbed over.
It's a miracle that the building didn't collapse on him. When the blast went off, he had been in the corner, and it pushed him away.
I can get through him having a concussion and being a little beat up. What I can't? Is him dead.
My eyes haven't left his body since I saw him lying on the ground. The doctors and nurses have been in and out all night checking on him. I couldn't tell you if I've slept anymore.
I just want to take him home.
His body starts to move as he wakes up. "Hey." It comes out raspy and dry. He coughs and reaches for the water.
“Here. Take small sips, but it'll help."
“Thank you." Clay looks around. “Do you know what happened or who did it?"
“Someone put a homemade bomb in my store. I don't know anything more than that. The police still want to talk to me, but I refused to leave your side."
“Well, shit. Ouch." Clay tries to sit up, but he's clearly in pain.
“Here. Let me help you. You're probably due for some pain meds. They've had you on a lot when cleaning you up and wrapping a couple of the more severe burns.”
“When can we get out of here? I want to go home.”
“Nurse said that Dr. would be in soon, and as long as your lungs sounded good, you'd be discharged.”
“Okay.” Clay drinks more water.
I press the nurse's button. I'm not sure when I'll let him out of my sight.
The nurse enters.
“I’m glad to see that you're awake. More alert. How are you feeling?”
“I've been better, but I'd like to get out of here."
“The doctor will be in right behind me, but the police are asking to talk with both of you briefly, too."
I watch as the nurse checks Clay over, and I listen carefully to any instructions.
The next couple of hours are a blur, and I can see that Clay is exhausted. We at least learned that they have a suspect in custody. That’s a huge relief, but there’s a long road ahead.
We are finally out of the hospital and getting into my friend Chris’s truck.
I called him for a lift home because Clay's truck was wrecked. I'll have to break that news to him later.
“Fuck!” Clay yells.
“What?” I look him up and down, trying to figure out what's wrong. “What is it?”
“Jo... where's Jo?” Clay almost sounds frantic.
“I don't know. Love, I'm sorry, I couldn't think after seeing you unconscious on the ground.”
“Dammit. We were supposed to pick her up yesterday. And I don’t even have a phone right now. Can you call her?”
“No.” I wince. “I'm sorry, but the battery died a little bit ago. I used the hospital phone to call Chris.”
“Fuck. Hey Chris, can we swing by an apartment really quick?”
“Sure thing. Just tell me the address.”
“She had to have gone back there. We need to try to see her and explain.”
“Okay, but I'll get out and see if she's there first. I don't need you falling or hurting yourself more.” I state firmly. He isn’t lifting a finger for anything when we get home.
It only takes a few minutes to get there.
“I'll come get you if she's home.”
“Okay.”
I head to the main entrance and press the buzzer for her apartment. I'm expecting her to answer because Clay is right, this is where she would be.
Silence.
I try a few more times, but there's no answer. Shit.
Back at the truck, Clay is trying to get out.
“Hey, love. Stay in. She's not here.”
“What? She has to be. She doesn’t have anywhere to go.”
“Sorry, but she's not answering. What windows belong to her apartment?" Trying to find another way to show him.
“There on the other side.”
“Okay. Let's drive around and see if any lights are on.”
“Okay.”
And we find all dark windows. No lights are coming from any of them.
“She's not here, love. Let's go home, and we can call her. You need to lie down and rest. It’s been a long day. Hell, the longest twenty-four hours.”
“I need to talk to her.”
“I know, love. And we will. I'm sure she's fine.” More fears threaten to come back. He could’ve died, and he’s back to worrying about her.
The drive is quiet as Chris takes us home.