19. Jaelyn
CHAPTER 19
JAELYN
I squeeze Nate’s clammy hand. “Do you remember when you were first learning to ride? The time you were in the driveway and thought you had it in drive but it was still in reverse?
Nate lets out a raspy laugh. “Yeah, and I crashed right through the garage doors. Mom and Dad were so pissed at me for that. Cost me plenty to fix them, too.”
“You thought you were so cool on that bike,” I say with a giggle. “You were convinced you were going to be such a badass once you got a cut.”
His smile fades. “Yeah. And you know what? I’d give anything to redo that part of my life. I’d have kept the club clean and made sure we never ended up on the cartel’s radar in the first place.”
“You’re not the only one who’d have done things differently.” I press my fingertips against my temples. “I wasn’t exactly an easy child.”
“You were spirited. Isn’t that what Mom used to say?”
“Mouthy was the word she’d use most often,” I mutter.
“Kind of a gross understatement.”
I nod. “Yeah…”
“Don’t ever lose that spirit, Jae,” Nate whispers. “Never, ever.”
“Well, you’ll just have to make sure that I don’t,” I say, my voice cracking as his eyes gloss over. I guess the medication is taking effect, and I feel like I’m losing him already. “Do you hear me?”
“Sergio is an asshole,” he murmurs. “I’d say he’d better not hurt you, but I know you can kick his ass.”
“I can. And I will, don’t worry. But stop saying shit like that. You’ll be around to kick it for me if he gets out of line.” I am so desperate to keep him awake and talking because it might be the last?—
No!
No fucking way will I even think it!
“I love you, Jae,” he mumbles, his fingers losing their grip on mine.
“Nate, I love you so much,” I cry. “Please fight. Please stay with me!”
I weep into his chest for a few seconds before the orderlies come into his room to wheel him out. I stand there watching as they maneuver the gurney through the doorway, the deep ache in my chest a painful reminder of the suffering I’ve experienced as a result of my choices… our choices.
And there’s no guarantee that my suffering will come to an end tonight.
I’ve never felt so helpless in my life, not even when that machete was hanging over my head.
I finally collect myself enough to leave Nate’s room. I take a few deep breaths to calm my racing heart, the anger, guilt, and regret consuming my body and mind.
I have to be strong, for myself and for Nate.
I have to stay positive.
A chill slithers through me, telling me one other thing I need to do.
Pray.
My throat tightens because I immediately know who planted that thought in my mind just now.
I’d never been overly religious growing up, but my mother was. And she always prayed, not just when things were on shaky ground. Sure, she asked for strength during hard times, but more often than not, she wanted to thank Him for all of the good ones. She always said praying made her feel closer to God. And she believed with all of her heart that He’d always protect her and her family.
And what good did it do? She was brutally murdered!
So much for her closeness to God.
A lot of good it did her and Dad.
I despised the thought of prayer after my parents died. How could I not when my mother had believed so wholeheartedly that God would always take care of us? Of course, when I challenged it all, the priest who spoke to us afterward pointed out that God has a divine plan for all of us, and my parents were called to fulfill their part.
Total bullshit from someone who has no fucking clue about anything concrete.
That’s the kind of toxic opinion I’ve held about prayer and God for the past few years.
My gut twists as the shiver flutters against my skin once again.
Right now, as my eyes brim with tears and my heart aches like it’s being shredded inside of my chest, some unspoken force is tossing me a lifeline. A bright light shining deep within the murk is filling me with an inexplicable sense of calm, and for the first time in a long time, I feel something, something good, something positive.
Hope.
At a time when I need it most.
I squeeze my eyes shut. She’s trying to talk to me. I can feel it. I can feel her.
A sob bubbled deep in my chest and I wipe my eyes, spinning around. I walk down the corridor, stopping when I see an orderly come out of a supply closet. “Excuse me,” I say. “Can you please tell me where the chapel is?”
He stares at me for a long minute before nodding, the kind of stare that makes the tiny hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. “Down the hallway and to the right,” he says in a thick, gravelly voice.
“Thanks.” I flash a quick smile as another shiver flutters through my clothes, except this one isn’t remotely comforting or peaceful. I shake it off because I don’t have a shred of spare energy to worry about creepy orderlies.
I wander around the corridors in search of the chapel, and I’m sure I followed his very simple directions. But the hallways are getting dimmer and dimmer as I venture away from the Emergency Room. It’s a small hospital, and there clearly aren’t many people working on this floor, other than the trauma teams. I decide to backtrack. Maybe he said to go right but he meant I should go left.
I rub the back of my neck, those damn hairs still prickling along my skin, a strange sense of dread washing over me as I walk. Light footsteps tap along the floor behind me and I spin around to find myself face to face with…nothing.
Nobody.
Just me and my crazy, overworked, and overly stressed mind.
I walk a few more steps and let out a breath.
The chapel.
I pull open the door and it creaks open. It’s dark, save for the candles glowing along the dark wood walls. I walk up to the first pew and take a few tentative steps inside, sinking to my knees.
I fold my hands together and press them to my head.
Taking a deep breath, I let the scent of incense fill my lungs. My eyes flutter closed and I try to connect. My heart thumps hard, my pulse throbbing out of control against my neck. Goosebumps pop up along my arms and I feel like an imposter, like I shouldn’t be here because of the anger plaguing me.
Anger directed at God for letting this happen, for allowing my world to come apart at the seams.
Again.
I search for the lifeline once more, slogging through the darkness that tries to swallow me whole. I fight, squeezing my hands together and gritting my teeth, desperate to find it and to cling to it. I push through the gloom as another breeze flutters against my cheeks.
“Speak,” it whispers in a voice only I can hear.
My lips quiver as they part.
“P-please,” I whisper. “If you can hear me, please save my brother. Please let him live. Please keep him safe.”
The words choke me as they tumble from my lips, and I wait for the assault on my heart to commence once again since I don’t feel that I deserve to ask these things of a higher power I’ve all but turned my back on over the past few years.
It doesn’t happen.
Instead, warmth radiates from deep inside of me. It’s a comforting sensation that blankets me in the peace I was certain would forever evade me.
It happened that quickly.
And it may be fleeting, but it fills me now, giving me the hope that I thought was lost forever.
Someone is looking out for me and Nate.
Someone is watching over us.
Someone is going to keep us safe.
A hand drops onto my shoulder and I gasp, nearly falling over as I twist around to find Sergio standing over me.
“I figured I’d find you here when you didn’t come back out.” He drops into the pew behind me. “What’s happening with Nate?”
“He’s in surgery,” I whisper. “And I’m sorry I didn’t come to find you. I just needed to come here.” I look around. “To talk to someone.”
Sergio nods. “I’ll leave you alone. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” He rises and I grasp his hand.
“No, wait,” I say, patting the seat next to me. “Don’t go. Stay here with me.”
His eyebrows furrow but he nods and lowers himself into the pew.
“I bet you didn’t think we’d end up here when you kidnapped me this morning, huh?” I ask, laying my head on his shoulder.
He gazes down at me. “End up in a hospital? Or end up with a whole lot of feelings I can’t explain for a girl I was trying to extort?”
A tiny smile plays at my lips. “Both, I guess.”
He nods. “Then, yeah, I did. On both counts. Guess you can say I’m a glutton for punishment.”
“And, uh, what about those feelings?” I whisper.
He shrugs. “I’ve never met anyone like you. You’re fire and ice, lethal and scorching hot. I never know what you’re gonna do next to make my blood pressure skyrocket. You drive me absolutely crazy with need, like I can’t breathe with you or without you. And that mouth…” He traces the outline of my lips with his forefinger.
“My mother always did say I was a mouthy one,” I say.
“You make me irate one second, and then ache for you the next.”
“Is all of that…bad?” I ask, tilting my head to the side.
“It’s fucking horrible,” he breathes, his lips hovering over mine. “And incredible at the same time.”
“So, then…good?”
He nods, sweeping his tongue over my lips, dipping between them as he gently fists my hair. He kisses me deeply, his tongue coiling around mine, devouring me in a way that tells me in no uncertain terms that the someone I need is the someone pressed against me right now.
An unlikely choice, to say the least, but the warmth that infuses my heart and body confirms it.
He’s the peace and the hope and the light.
And I’m going to cling to it…to him.
It’s a startling realization, one I never expected.
But for the first time, I begin to think Mom was right. She prayed for us and maybe, just maybe, God did listen.