Chapter Thirty-Three
Rygaard
A few days later…
After I finally bared my heart and soul to Rafe and Agatha, they understood what I had gone through, and why it took me almost a year to come out.
Together, we came up with a plan to get Presley free from the vice grip Keifer had on her.
It’s been three days since we put that plan in motion. I'm getting antsy, but I know I have a job to do first.
Bruce, the drafter, is coming in today to go over the revisions Chuck made to the first layout for his store.
I'd sent it off right in the middle of everything and didn’t follow up until two days ago.
Things are moving, but slowly, and if I want any chance at success, I need to get my head in the game.
Julie walks in with a steaming mug of coffee, setting it down in front of me. “Anything else you need for the meeting today?” she asks.
“Just the refreshments and the updated blueprint for Bruce to take.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll get that ready and have everything set by two-thirty.”
“Thanks, Jules.”
“You’re welcome, sir.”
Even with everything demanding my attention, I still can't stop thinking about Presley. I haven’t heard from her since the night I showed up at her house.
I pull out my phone and text Agatha.
Me: Have you heard from Presley?
I set the phone down, not expecting a response anytime soon. Agatha understands everything I went through, but she doesn't understand why I couldn’t have just reached out to Presley sooner. In her eyes, I should’ve found a way.
I get it. I do. But they weren’t there. They didn’t know what it would have cost Presley if I defied my father.
And if they can’t understand that… Well, they can just go fuck themselves.
I check the time. Still a few hours before the meeting. Pushing my chair back, coffee forgotten, I head out the door.
“Jules, I’ll be back before the meeting. Want anything while I’m out?”
“No, thank you, sir.”
“Alright.”
Grabbing my jacket, I head down to my truck. Once inside, I crank the radio, letting the ride loosen the knot tightening in my chest.Justin Bieber’s " Come Around Me " blares through the speakers, and before I know it, I’m singing along.
"All that I want for you is perfection..."
The words gut me.
That’s all I ever wanted for Presley.
She was perfect.Still is.
Even now, broken or not, she’s still my perfect girl.
The song fades just as a news alert interrupts: " Breaking news: There’s been an attempted murder-suicide on the 300 block of Canal Banks Circle. One confirmed fatality, another in critical condition. No names have been released yet. "
Panic slams into me like a freight train.
My hands move before my brain does, emergency lights flashing, tires screeching, truck fishtailing across lanes as I race toward Canal Banks Circle.
“Please, God," I whisper. "Don’t let it be her.” I make a hard right onto Main Street, heart hammering out of my chest. Sirens flash up ahead, cops, ambulances everywhere.
Parking haphazardly, I leap out of the truck and sprint toward the scene.
A cop steps into my path, hand on my chest. “Sir, you can’t go any farther.”
“Get your fucking hand off me," I snarl, "or I’ll move it for you.”
“You wanna go to jail?” he growls.
“You wanna end up in the hospital?” I growl back.
He mutters something under his breath but turns his back, giving me just enough space to slide under the yellow caution tape.
I don’t care if I get arrested. I need to know.
A stretcher is wheeled out of the house I cornered Presley in, sheet pulled over the body, and my blood runs ice-cold.
Shoving through the crowd, I stumble toward it. “Is it a man or a woman?” I plead with the EMT.
“Sir, you need to back up, ”
“Please.”
She sighs. “Man.”
My knees nearly buckle from relief. I whisper a thank you and head for the house, needing answers.
Cops cluster in tight circles, their faces grim. “Fucking shame what he did," one says.
"Yeah, I went to school with her," another mutters. "Hope she pulls through."
Her.
“Who? Where is she?” I bark.
One of the cops, his face vaguely familiar, looks up.
Recognition flickers.
“Rygaard?”
I squint. “Henry?”
“Yeah, man. Long time.”
“Yeah, look, no offense, but who’s the girl?”
His face falls. “It’s Presley.”
I stumble back a step.
“She’s in bad shape, man. Someone beat her, shot her... before turning the gun on himself.”
“Keifer?”
Henry’s lips press into a tight line. “I can’t say officially... But off the record? Yeah.” I clench my fists until my nails bite into my palms.
“Is she gonna make it?”
Henry hesitates. “Man... I’m sorry. I’m not allowed to say more. Go to the hospital. Wait there.”
Numb, I nod.
I need to see her. I need to see with my own eyes that she’s alive.
Running back to my truck, I dial Rafe.
He answers on the first ring. “What’s up?”
“Presley’s been hurt. She’s on the way to the hospital. Meet me there.”
“What?!” His voice cracks. “What the fuck are you saying right now?”
“Just what you heard. That motherfucker tried to kill her. Meet me at the ER.”
“Fuck! I’m coming.”
I hang up and immediately call Agatha.
“Hello?”
“Presley’s hurt. Hospital. Now.”
“I’m on my way.”
I slam my fist into the steering wheel, screaming out my helpless rage before tearing off toward the hospital, blowing through red lights like a madman.
When I screech into the ER parking lot, I barely throw the truck in park before I'm flying out, running inside.
The chaotic noise of the emergency room barely registers. All I see is the front entrance, the waiting area, and the empty space where Presley should be.
Tires screech across the lot behind me.
Agatha and Rafe come running toward me, panic stamped across their faces.
“Where is she?!” Agatha cries.
“What the fuck happened?!” Rafe demands.
“I don’t know," I mutter. "They wouldn’t tell me.”
I march to the nurse’s station. “Presley Collins," I bark. "She was just brought in. I need to know what’s going on.”
The nurse looks up at me, then at Rafe and Agatha.“Are you family?”
“Yes.”
She flips through paperwork, her expression hardening. “Grace!” she barks. Another nurse jogs over. “Was a Presley Collins brought in?”
“I don't know the name," Grace says. "But a woman came in... gunshot wounds, severe beating.”
My world tilts sideways.
Presley.
Beaten.
Shot.
And I wasn’t there.
“I wasn’t fucking there,” I whisper, barely aware of Rafe and Agatha peppering Grace with questions.
Grace sighs. “You’ll have to wait for the doctor. I can take you to a waiting room.”
We follow numbly.
Grace stops us at a hallway. “Sir,” she says to Rafe, “come with me. You’re family. I’ll need your ID.”
He nods and goes.
Agatha and I are left standing there, broken. “Rygaard...” she whispers. “Do you really think it’s her?”
I slowly nod. “Yeah. It’s her.”
I slump into a chair, head in my hands, praying harder than I ever have in my life. God, if you're listening, save her. Take me instead. Just don’t take her.
Minutes blur together.
Finally, Agatha sits next to me, slipping her hand into mine.
“I shouldn’t be telling you this,” she says, voice raw. “But Presley’ll never tell you herself.”
I lift my head.
“She found out she was pregnant. After you left.”
My heart shatters all over again.
“What...?” I rasp.
“She carried him full term. He was stillborn.” I choke on a sob. “She named him Reese.”
Agatha pulls a locket from around her neck and drops it into my hand.
I open it with shaking fingers. Inside, a tiny sleeping face stares back at me, golden skin, black hair, tiny hands pressed in prayer.
He’s perfect.
Our son.
Dead.
I clutch the locket to my chest, feeling like I’m dying, too.
“I wasn’t there," I croak. "God, I wasn’t there for her.”
I turn to leave, shame devouring me, but Agatha grabs my arm. “If you leave her now,” she says coldly, “she’ll die. You hear me? She needs you. You fucked up, yeah. But you fix it. You stay. Or I’ll burn your fucking business to the ground. Try me.”
Somehow, through the agony, a broken laugh slips from my lips.
I don’t deserve another chance.
But for her, I’ll try.
For Presley and for Reese, I’ll fight like hell to make it right.
“Oh, Princess..." I whisper, staring toward the ER doors. "What have I done?"