Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Gin sat in a wheelchair in Atticus’s hospital room and waited. Patiently. Or maybe not so patiently.
Having driven to Sonora to lend her help, Sunny sat on a chair in the corner.
Virgil stood in front of Gin. “You’re exhausted. Let Sunny take you home.” He crossed his arms over his chest in an intimidating way. “Atticus might be in x-ray for a while; after, he’ll be debriefing.”
“No. I’m not leaving until I see him.” And you can’t make me. Gin rose, waited a second for her head to stop spinning, and then shoved him back. Hard.
The stinging pain from her bruised, scraped palms helped clear her thoughts. But, ow.
Virgil’s brows drew together as he studied her in the way Atticus did—like a Dom. “Means that much, does it?”
She managed a nod.
“All right then—”
“Gin.” Atticus’s voice came from the doorway. Hoarse, but strong.
Abandoning the wheelchair, she tried to run to the door and achieved a speed at least as fast as a tortoise. “Are you all right? What’s hurt?” She stopped, afraid to touch him. “Is anything broken?”
“C’mere, pet.” He gripped her forearm above the wrist dressings and tugged her into his lap.
She couldn’t miss his wince when her weight landed on his thighs. “Atticus, no.” She wanted to jump up, but sat perfectly still, afraid to hurt him further.
“Fuck, yes.” As she put her arm around his shoulder, he pulled her closer.
Her entire body hurt, and still she’d never felt anything as wonderful as being in his arms. She could feel him breathing, feel the warmth of his body.
“Thank you for staying,” he murmured. “I needed to hold you. Know you’re all right. Alive.”
“Me, too.” Ignoring the pain in her swollen lip, she kissed his cheek, his beard, finally his mouth—very gently—and felt him smile.
“You look like a boxer who lost a round or two, sweetling.”
“No doubt.” The pain in her body slid into her soul as she brought up the subject she’d been dreading. But the news should come from her. “Atticus, your brother…was there when the inmates broke out. He—”
“I heard,” he said.
The tears she’d kept at bay spilled over. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. He died trying to save me…”
“Died?” He stiffened. “Gin. Whoa, baby, Sawyer’s not dead.”
She buried her face in the curve of his neck. “I saw him, honey. Slash stabbed him. He—”
Firm hands on her upper arms set her back. His gaze moved over her face. “I got a report from the surgeon. He made it through and is up on the surgical floor. Gonna be all right, although he lost a shitload of blood.”
“Alive?” Her question rasped out even as relief and gratitude bubbled up inside her. “Really?”
“The Wares are hard to kill,” Atticus said with a slight smile, using his fingers to wipe the tears from her face.
Alive. Her head felt so heavy, she rested it on his shoulder. Alive. Sawyer was alive. Her rage and sorrow and guilt began to melt away.
And Atticus was alive too, smiling at her. Nothing in her life was more important.
She heard him talking to Virgil and Sunny and was content to sit on his lap, savor his deep voice, feel his hand stroking up and down her back.
“Still don’t know why the fuck the skinheads tried to escape,” Atticus was saying. “Their sentences didn’t have that long to run. They were in for auto theft, right?”
“Right. But we downed their escape helicopter. The pilot talked. L.A. had an unsolved murder of a black family. New evidence turned up pointing to Slash and his gang. Slash and crew wanted out of prison before someone talked.”
“No wonder,” Atticus said.
Someone tapped on the door and said, “Detective Ware?”
“Yeah. I’ll be there in a minute,” Atticus said.
When Gin sat up, she felt Atticus’s arm tighten as if he was as reluctant to be separated as she was. “I have to let you go.”
He grunted agreement. “Duty sucks.”
She took his face between her hands and looked into his eyes. “You’re truly all right? The X-rays didn’t show anything?”
“Nothing busted. They’re keeping me overnight just in case. More for liability issues than anything else.”
“Okay then.” After stealing one last kiss, she carefully slid off his lap and stood, her legs shaking. She staggered.
Her arm was grabbed.
“No!” Panicking, she struck out—and hit Virgil.
He released her immediately. “Easy, little bit.” His voice was soft, careful.
“Oh heavens.” Her heart was pounding; her mouth tasted of ashes. “I’m so sorry.” She glanced at Atticus.
His jaw was like granite as he held his hand out. She set hers in his big warm palm and realized she was freezing.
“You had a rough day today.” Gently, Atticus massaged the coldness from her skin. His concern showed in his gaze. “Baby, you’re going to have more bad days for a while.”
She could see how much he wanted to stay with her. His frustration emanated from him in almost visible waves. “I’ll be fine.” She almost managed a smile. “I need to tell Trigger he’s a hero.”
“There is that.”
She took a step and heard an admonishing tsk tsk from Sunny, who stood by the wheelchair. With a mock scowl, Gin sat in it, knowing far too well she needed the ride.
“Dammit,” Atticus was saying as Sunny wheeled her into the hallway.
Yes, dammit. Gin stared down at her hands, feeling the quivers still going inside her.
“By the way,” Sunny said quietly. “You have three choices—you’re spending the night with me or Kallie or Becca. No other options offered.”
Gin closed her eyes as relief slid over her. “Have I mentioned how much I love you guys?”
“We know.” Sunny stopped the wheelchair in the foyer and walked around to sit on a couch in front of her. “There’s something else you should consider though.”
“What?” Why did she get a bad feeling about this?
Sunny took her hands. “You weren’t raped, but you were sexually abused—handled, poked, tormented.”
“I’m fine.” Her mouth compressed. Her insides knotted. This was the last thing she wanted to discuss.
“Mmmhmm. I know you’ve counseled others who’ve been through the same thing. What would you tell them they needed now? If Karen comes into my clinic, how should I advise her?”
The trap stood open, and Gin gave the nurse a respectful glare. Then sighed. Denying what had happened wouldn’t help. “You’re right. But how? I can’t use the prison staff, and there isn’t anyone in town.”
Sunny frowned. “Hmm.”
Gin felt her shoulders relax. “So, there isn’t really any way.” No counseling, no need to talk about the horrible, horrible day. She’d rather rip out her fingernails…and her stomach turned over as she remembered Atticus’s hands. Bleeding, ripped. Two nails torn off.
He’d pressed on past his fear and risked his life to climb a mountain. For her. Then dived off and almost killed himself. For her.
She closed her eyes at the wave of guilt. She’d almost broken up with him because of her old neuroses. Now she had a whole new set.
Well, this time she would darned well face up to her fears. She bit her lip, knowing how many resources she could call upon. They just weren’t in the area.
She looked at Sunny. “I know counselors in San Diego. Can y’all drive me to the airport and babysit Trigger?”
And would Atticus understand she was doing something for them both?