Chapter 4
CHAPTER FOUR
Keira
“You’re comfortable, honey?” Mom fluffed my pillow, as if an insufficiently fluffy pillow was my main issue at the moment. “How’s your pain?”
“I’m just fine, Mom. I’m good.” I smiled, trying not to grit my teeth. “No pain.” The word came out as more of a wheeze.
My sister leveled a glare at me. She wasn’t buying it.
Yeah, I was full of it. But I was weaning off the stronger meds, since I hated feeling loopy, and I was sick of Mom fussing over me. Sick of everyone fussing over me.
All this time with nothing to do but heal was already killing me. Sorry, that was just my dark humor talking. But I’d been shot twice, and as I’d learned from the scores of flower arrangements and cards I’d received, injuries like mine bought a girl some sympathy.
The first bullet had hit me in the side, a through-and-through wound that would heal up easy. But the second caught me in my upper chest. The bullet had torn through muscle and shattered my clavicle, missing my lung by less than an inch.
My attackers had meant to kill me. I was so damn lucky they hadn’t shot me in the head to check their work. Thank goodness a nosy neighbor had scared them off. Just a few small differences, and I wouldn’t be here.
It was…a lot to think about. I was trying hard not to think about it, especially when Mom and Stephie were around.
It was my third day now in the hospital, and they were doing their best to cheer me up. “I brought you something,” Mom said, producing a container.
Even through the plastic lid, I could smell the tomato and basil. Spaghetti and meatballs soup, she called it. A tomato soup base with tiny meatballs and noodles. Something she used to make for me whenever I was sick when I was little.
“Thanks, Momma.” I accepted the container even though I wasn’t hungry. My appetite had vanished somewhere around the time I woke up with tubes coming out of various parts of my body.
“Remember how I used to think the meatballs looked like eyes?” Stephie said, a smile playing at her lips. “Remember?”
“Yeah, I remember. You were pretty cute.” I managed a small laugh. “And ridiculous.”
“I always said the tomato broth looked like…”
“Stephanie Ann Marsh,” our mom said sharply.
Stephie’s face crumpled like she was going to cry. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
“It’s okay, sissy,” I said. “I can handle a joke about blood.”
Ugh, it had been like this constantly. Mom and Stephie trying to keep their chins up, stay strong. All the while ready to cry at a moment’s notice.
There was no way I could let them know how angry and terrified I really was. If anything, as the days since the attack had passed, those churning emotions had only gotten worse.
There were some parts of the night of the attack that I still couldn’t remember. Most of the evening at the roadhouse was clear. Seeing Stephie and Vivian with their dates. That guy in a cowboy hat harassing the waitress in the parking lot.
Phelan. That was his name. Right. I’d told Sheriff Douglas about him in my statement. How I felt like someone was watching me even after Phelan took off.
Then being at home. How I’d tried to relax, even though I’d felt deep down that something wasn’t right. And then the sounds when I was in the tub… The crash.
The rest was just in flashes.
My gun in my hand. The dark hallway.
A horrible face appearing out of the shadows. And…that was it.
My attackers had used some kind of localized signal jammer to block cell service and internet at my house. A brave neighbor had heard the gunshots and came running, carrying his own shotgun. The suspects fled in a black Ford SUV. No plates.
I’d been in surgery for nearly three hours. My left arm would be in a sling for at least six weeks. Absolutely no lifting anything heavier than a couple pounds. No driving for a month. Physical therapy would start in about a week, once the initial healing began and the swelling went down.
Full recovery could take three to four months, maybe longer depending on how my body responded. It could’ve been so much worse. I knew that. Everyone kept reminding me how lucky I was.
But three to four months until I could return to duty… The time yawned open in front of me like it might swallow me whole.
I wanted to be at work. I wanted to help find the assholes who’d broken into my home. Of course, that was not going to happen.
I lay back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling. My chest and side ached with every breath.
“Honey, are you sure you’re okay?” Mom asked.
How on earth could I be okay? I almost said. But I couldn’t. It wasn’t fair to her.
“Maybe I could use a little more pain medication after all,” I gritted out instead.
Mom scampered off to find the nurse, eager to have something to do.
“You’re not okay,” Stephie said quietly.
“I have to be.” Because if I gave in to everything I was feeling, then I wouldn’t be able to hold myself together.
Thankfully, my friend Brynn Somerton turned up a minute later. She swanned into the room, looking put-together as always. Today it was dark jeans, ankle boots, a crisp white button-down. Her long straight hair was up in a sleek ponytail.
“Good morning,” Brynn announced. “How’s today treating you, Keira? Sucking as much as yesterday?”
“You know it,” I said, managing a smile.
“She’s acting like she’s great, even though she’s not,” Stephie grumbled from the chair where she was slumped.
Mom returned with a nurse, who offered a dose of NSAIDs for my pain. I was saving the stronger stuff for nighttime.
“Two visitors,” the nurse reminded us.
Brynn smiled. “Yes, ma’am. We’ll sort that out.”
When she’d gotten the news about the shooting, Brynn had been in Mexico at the house she shared with Cole. She’d arrived in Hartley just yesterday, stopping by the hospital to see me for a few minutes, but a ton of other people had wanted to stop and see me too.
I was so glad she was here. I hadn’t had the chance to talk to her alone yet, and I needed to.
I needed my friend.
As if she’d read my mind, Brynn worked her magic, convincing Mom and Stephie to go home and rest for a while. “Thank you,” I breathed, relaxing into the pillows when they were gone. “I love them, but it’s a lot having them here constantly.”
“Of course it is.” Brynn carefully sat on the edge of the mattress beside me. “I heard from the nurses you’re the most cheerful GSW victim they’ve ever encountered.”
“Trying.”
“I admire that. But you were shot, Keira. You’re allowed to be awful. Nobody expects you to be sweet right now.”
Brynn was a former FBI agent. I’d met her when she and Cole came to Hart County to partner on an undercover Protectors mission. They wound up falling in love.
These days, she and Cole were bounty hunters, spending summers in the States and winters at their beach house on the Pacific coast of Mexico. Brynn and Cole were also members of the Protectors, carrying out missions whenever their particular skills were needed.
Brynn didn’t hold much back, especially not after finding love and happiness with Cole.
“You can tell me how you’re really feeling,” she said.
I groaned, and my eyes burned. “I hate this. I’m so…”
She held my hand, the one not trapped in a sling. “Tell me.”
“So pissed off. People have been really kind, coming to visit and check on me and bring flowers and food. My neighbors, everyone from Last Refuge, and our church, and from the station. But I just want to…scream. Or cry. Or something. But I can’t cry in front of any of them, B.
Especially not my family, and never Owen or Trace or River. If I do, I’ll prove that I’m…”
A mass had gathered in my throat, choking me. I grabbed for Brynn’s hand and squeezed as hard as I could. Which wasn’t all that hard considering I was lying helpless in a bed, barely able to move and with my left arm in a sling.
“Weak,” I finished, my voice just a whisper.
When those men had tried to kill me, I’d put up little resistance. Yeah, I’d shot one of them. He’d left blood at the scene, and forensic techs were searching for DNA matches. But my attackers had gotten away easily. I hadn’t stood a chance.
How could I ever be a Protector if I couldn’t even defend myself?
Brynn leaned closer. “We all fall apart, every single one of us. But tough folks like us, like you and me, we choose who to do it in front of. You can fall apart in front of me.”
“Thanks.”
Gah, I sounded so sad and dejected. I was sick of myself. Sick of everyone and everything.
“Have you cried yet? Even alone?”
I shook my head. That lump was stuck halfway, refusing to budge.
She smoothed the baby hairs along my hairline. “I have a story. So, after my first firefight when I was initially deployed as a Marine, I yacked up every bit of dinner and cried silently into my pillow. First time I’d ever really been shot at, and I was so damn scared. I…”
A knock interrupted Brynn’s attempt to make me feel better.
Another visitor. Yay.
Then I glanced over and saw who was in the doorway, and the shock hit me full force.
Oh my God. What?
Dean. Dean Reynolds was standing in my doorway.
“Keira,” Dean murmured, taking a step into the room. “Hey.”
His hair was longer, pulled back with light-brown strands slipping out around his face.
He looked tired, but that didn’t take away from his handsomeness.
The sharp line of his jaw or the soft plumpness of his lower lip that I used to imagine kissing.
His usual smile was missing, but the rest of him was so familiar. A vision straight out of my memories.
“How are you here?” I croaked.
Brynn glanced sharply at me, then at Dean as he walked toward my bed. He held a vase of flowers. Gardenias, my favorite. “I came as soon as I could. Sorry it took me so long.”
For a moment, I wasn’t in the hospital, immobilized and in pain. I was on that dance floor again. My chest caving in from a different kind of pain.
Two years. Two years, and he’d just walked in like it was normal. Like it was nothing. Like he was still my friend.
“Brought these for you,” he said, holding up the vase.
I didn’t take the flowers. I mean, I couldn’t lift them. Hello. There wasn’t any spare real estate on the table either. Dean set them on the floor, then clasped his hands in front of him, fidgeting slightly. Maybe waiting for me to say something.
But I couldn’t even get my head around the fact that he was here. Here, at Hart County General. Where I was lying in a smelly hospital gown. My hair was a horror show, and I had no makeup on.
Wasn’t this just flipping great?
Two years, and he showed up now?
“There were delays from a storm on the east coast, and sometimes I forget how far Hartley is from, well, everywhere.” Dean’s dimple flashed, and it was a punch to my sternum. “How are you?” he asked.
Brynn crossed her arms over her pristine white shirt. “Dean, maybe this isn’t the best time.”
I finally found my voice again.
“You seriously think you can just show up here like two years haven’t passed? What the fuck?”
Dean froze, while Brynn’s mouth twitched with a smile.
Yeah, I was pretty surprised at myself too.
“I know it’s been a while,” Dean said smoothly. He stuck his hands in his jeans pockets, the only hint that this was uncomfortable for him. “I texted that I was on my way, but I had no idea if you’d be able to get the messages. Keira…”
I pulled my blanket higher. “You shouldn’t have come.”
“What else could I have done after I heard from Owen? What they did to you, how you were hurt, I…” Dean pulled his hand from his pocket and flexed his fingers. His knuckles were bandaged. My first instinct was to ask how he’d gotten hurt. To care about him, as if we meant something to each other.
“I had to be here for you,” he finished.
“You don’t care about me.”
“Of course I do.”
Fury lit me up with a terrible fire. Like it might burn me alive and leave nothing but smoldering ashes.
Two years’ worth of pissed-off feelings, and it was about to burst out of me all over this room. I was tired of being sweet and cheerful and nice. Like Brynn had said, we got to choose who to fall apart in front of.
Apparently, for me, that short list included him.
“Well, I don’t want you here.” My chin shook. Body quaking. I ignored the pain. “I didn’t get your messages because I blocked your number.”
Dean’s eyes widened slightly. That was the only reaction he gave me, and that sucked, because I’d wanted more. I always wanted more, didn’t I?
“Okay.” He nodded slowly. “Do you want me to leave?”
“Yes,” I bit out. “Get out of here. Go. That’s what you’re good at.”
With a blank expression, Dean turned and walked out. Just like that.
Despite everything, I hadn’t thought it would be so easy.
Brynn broke the sudden silence. She started to slow-clap. “That. Was. Amazing.”
“Was it?”
“You kidding? I should’ve caught it on film. That would’ve gone viral.”
Laughter tickled my throat. Starting small, then bubbling up. Brynn was laughing too.
Until hot tears spilled onto my cheeks and streamed to my chin.
“Oh, Keira.” Brynn rushed over to me.
“I’m okay,” I sobbed.
Everything I’d been holding inside rushed to the surface. The shame and the terror and the helplessness. My rage at the men who’d hurt me.
And my broken heart. The heartache I still felt over the man I’d just told to leave me alone, even though all I’d ever wanted was to have him close. To have him want me.
“Why does it hurt this much? I can’t take it. I can’t.”
She gently put her cheek against mine, trying not to jostle me. “I know it hurts. But you’re so strong. I promise you can handle it.”
I cried and cried, and strong was the last thing that I felt.