Chapter 32
Lily
“No,” I cried into the base of my hand so the word wouldn’t hit the air. “No. No. No!”
My tears were like burning lava as they rolled over my eyelids and down my cheeks.
Everything quivered—my lips, my chin.
My body.
There was a weakness moving through me, where everything felt so light and uncontrollable, that I didn’t know if I was sitting or standing or even breathing.
I just knew what I was seeing.
The truth that was lying in front of me, covered in blood, marred with cuts and bruises.
But how?
But why?
And how could this have happened again?
First Preston.
Now Diesel.
And as if his injuries weren’t the biggest knife to my soul, watching Brady from the doorway of the hospital room only slid the blade in even deeper. Because as Brady looked at his friend, holding his hand with such tenderness, careful not to bother Diesel’s IV, there was the sharpest ache in Brady’s eyes and guilt in his expression.
His injuries shouldn’t have occurred.
But Brady had assigned him to stand guard outside the door of our hotel room while we were at dinner. Since the Charleston incident, he didn’t trust that David wouldn’t try to break into our room.
This evening, David proved he didn’t need to go into the room to hurt us.
He had done his damage directly in the hallway outside our door.
Oh God.
If it wasn’t for me, Brady wouldn’t have had to hire Diesel. He wouldn’t have gotten that call while we were at the restaurant. We wouldn’t have had to rush to the hospital.
And Diesel wouldn’t be in that bed. His face … unrecognizable.
But that wasn’t it.
There were other spots on his body that David had attacked.
Before we’d come into his room, the nurse had told us they were still assessing all his wounds, waiting for test results, warning us that many more tests would have to be run.
This wasn’t even the beginning of a long recovery.
“Jesus, Diesel,” Brady exhaled, still clutching his friend’s hand. “What the fuck, my man? He did you wrong. So fucking wrong.” He was hovering over Diesel’s face, taking in his swollen eyes, the cut on his cheek that had been stitched shut, and what appeared to be a broken nose that caused deep purple marks across the bridge toward both sides of his cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
Not nearly as sorry as I was.
Brady had nothing to apologize for.
This was all my fault.
I held the doorway, squeezing it hard enough to keep me standing. Without it, I didn’t think I’d be on my feet.
My knees no longer wanted to hold me.
My thighs felt wobbly and powerless.
Even my feet were unsteady and hating me.
But somehow, I found the energy to push myself off the doorframe, dragging my body toward the bed, my breathing more labored the closer I got.
It was one thing to see the damage from afar.
It was a whole other thing to view it this close.
There were pads on his chest, an oxygen tube in his nose, and machines behind him that were monitoring his status.
The beep, beep, beep was all because of me.
The bruises were a midnight purple, not a violet, like I’d originally thought.
The cut on his cheek was much more rooted and jagged than it had looked from the doorway, the stitches so thick that I could see the exact spots where they had been weaved and sewn through his skin.
I could only imagine what was beneath the blanket. The color of those bruises. The cuts. The blood.
Oh God.
My knees buckled and slammed onto the floor beside his bed. “Diesel …” I sank to the ground, my forehead resting on his arm, a spot that was just as battered. I didn’t want to hurt him more, but I needed to feel him at the same time. “I’m sorry. From the bottom of my heart, I’m so, so sorry.”
That wasn’t enough.
It wasn’t nearly enough.
“I’m going to be okay.” His voice—guttural, scratchy, and hoarse—cut straight through the air.
A reply that might as well have twisted the blade.
“I need you to be okay.” I wrapped both of my hands around his, looking up across his broad chest. “I need you to make a full recovery. I need you to be the same person you were before tonight.”
In every scenario I’d ever seen him, he looked massive.
But not here.
Here, in this bed, he looked small.
Frail.
Fragile.
I tried not to squeeze his palm, but I couldn’t help it. “I’m not going to leave you, Diesel. No matter how long you have to stay in Edinburgh, I’ll be here. At your side.”
I couldn’t do that for Preston. I’d wanted to, but I couldn’t. If Brady had to put a guard at the door of Diesel’s hospital room, I didn’t care; I wasn’t leaving this man alone. Not when he’d risked his life for us.
I rubbed his hand over my cheek. “I promise you’ll have me here until you walk out of this hospital.”
He locked his thumb around my hand. “You’ve got a good one here, Brady.”
How could he say that?
After everything that had happened tonight?
A night that still didn’t make sense to me. All I knew was the phone call had come in from hotel security, telling Brady that they’d found Diesel on the floor in the hallway outside our room. That the ambulance brought him to the hospital. We’d immediately left dinner and caught a taxi and come here, where we were taken into the emergency department.
What my gut told me was that David hadn’t been caught by the hotel security. That somehow, he’d slipped in and out without being detected.
Like a cockroach, scurrying toward a tiny hole, never getting slapped or stomped on.
That was David.
“Tell me how you’re feeling, buddy.”
It wasn’t a chuckle that left his busted lips, but an attempt at one. “I’ve had better days. Doc is mostly worried about my lungs and spleen. Hoping it’s nothing too?—”
“We need to take you in for X-rays,” a nurse said as she poked her head into the doorway. “We don’t know if you’ll be coming back to this unit or going onto a floor or straight into surgery. Best say your goodbyes now.” She held up her finger. “I’ll be back in one minute.”
The moment she was gone, Brady said to Diesel, “Have the police been by yet?”
“Not yet,” Diesel answered. “I was only in this room for a couple of minutes before you guys came in.” His mouth was the only thing that moved when he talked. His face was too puffy to blink or wrinkle, to even raise his eyebrows.
“I’m sure they’ll be here at some point to question you,” Brady told him.
As if my stomach couldn’t go any lower, it practically sank to the tiles beneath me, my mouth filling with a salty taste from the tears.
“You’re all set with your story?” Brady inquired.
Diesel gave him a thumbs-up.
Brady then softly put his hand on Diesel’s shoulder. “We’ll be back to check on you. If you need anything in the meantime, you know how to reach me.” He walked to my side of the bed and put his hands under my arms, helping me get up.
“I don’t want to leave you,” I said to Diesel.
“I’ll be all right,” he voiced to me.
Just all right?
That wasn’t a good enough answer.
I needed certainty.
I needed a guarantee.
“I’ll be back as soon as they let me see you,” I whispered through a sob, and I let Brady take me out of the emergency department, the cool evening instantly slapping my wet face.
I couldn’t take another step.
Not until I knew what they had been talking about.
So, I halted under the awning by the exit and waited for Brady to look at me. “What is he telling the police?”
“Nothing. He’s paid to keep his mouth shut.”
What did this mean?
Why couldn’t I process anything?
“What about the footage from the cameras at the hotel?” I asked. “Won’t there be proof?—”
“There is no footage, Lily. With the renovation, the security feed is choppy at best. It hasn’t been working correctly since the rehab started on the floors of the hotel.”
That wasn’t true.
I knew there was footage. I’d heard Brady ask about it at the restaurant.
“Are you telling me the truth?” I pressed.
“No.” His voice stayed low. “But that’s what the police will be told by every member of my security team.” He rested his hands on my neck, his fingers fanning up to my face. “Georgia can’t protect that motherfucker here. I could easily turn him into the authorities and have them deal with the bastard.”
David would run.
He’d never let the police in Scotland find him.
He was probably already on his way back to the States.
“Brady—”
“But that would be too easy.” He rubbed my cheeks as though he was trying to calm me. “Edinburgh won’t give him the punishment he deserves, which he’s going to get the second I put my fucking hands on him.”
This was too much.
I couldn’t handle any more.
I couldn’t breathe.
I wiggled out of Brady’s hold.
“Where are you going, Lily?”
“I need air,” I said over my shoulder.
He moved in beside me, his hands somewhere on my body, but I was too numb to place their location; I could just feel the heat his fingers were giving off.
With each step, the weight of my feet was becoming too much.
So were my legs.
And my torso.
And my damn chest and head.
“This is my fault.” The tears were coming much faster now. But instead of feeling like hot lava, they were more like acid. “Diesel is lying in that bed because of me. Every discoloration on his skin and cut and bit of swelling is because of me. And that’s just on the surface. I don’t know what’s happening underneath.” I tried to draw in some breath. “The same thing happened to Preston. Don’t you understand, Brady? I’m the problem. I can’t?—”
“Don’t start blaming yourself.” He moved in front of me, blocking me so I couldn’t continue to walk. “Diesel knew what the job entailed before he took it. He knew something like this—or even worse—could happen. And he’s not the only person who would stand in the way of harm to protect you, Lily.” His hands returned to my face, tilting my chin so my eyes were pointed at him. “I would do the same. I would take a fucking beating if that meant keeping you safe. I’d take whatever that asshole gave me as long as I knew you were okay and that he didn’t lay a finger on you.”
How?
Why?
I don’t deserve this. I don’t get to have someone like him.
“Brady …” I gasped in some air. “Why?” My head shook. “Why would you do this for me? Why?—”
“Because I love you.” He pulled me against him, holding me in his arms. A place I never wanted to leave. A place that felt more like home than anywhere I’d lived since my parents had passed. “Because I fucking love you—do you hear me?”
With our chests aligned, I could feel the beating beneath his skin.
And the strength in his hands as they held me.
And the warmth from his body, protecting me from everything, even the chilly breeze.
“I love you. Oh God, I love you.”
When the words were said a third and fourth time, they weren’t uttered in his voice.
They were spoken in mine.