Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Gage Matthews
I was aware of sights, sounds, movement, but I was unable to move, barely able to breathe as I sat in the back of the ambulance, Kylie’s hand in mine. The EMT was working, doing God only knew what, as the other drove with obvious intent.
I answered questions when I was asked—What medications was Kylie taking?
Any previous surgeries? Medical conditions?
—not sure how I even knew the answers. My mind was fogged, my heart breaking as I leaned close to my wife, silently pleading for her to hang on.
She hadn’t opened her eyes, hadn’t moved at all.
I wasn’t even sure she was breathing on her own, but surely she was, right?
They would’ve said something if she weren’t.
The next thing I was aware of was pulling into the hospital, then people filing out, taking over, pushing the gurney while barking orders as the EMTs followed close behind.
I managed to keep up, never releasing Kylie’s hand. She looked so pale, so fragile; it pained me to think they were going to take her away even for a minute. I needed to be with her, to assure her she wasn’t alone.
“Sir, you’ll need to stay here,” one of the masked people told me. “We’ll let you know as soon as we have news.”
I shook my head, tried to go with her, but the hands pulling at me were strong. Too strong.
“They’ve got her. She’s in good hands.”
I knew I needed to hold it together, needed to comprehend what they were saying so I could relay the details to everyone else when they arrived.
If I had to guess, Travis was right behind us.
I prayed he was because I couldn’t do this alone.
I needed him, needed my husband’s strength to keep me standing.
“Come on. This way.”
It wasn’t until I was halfway down the hall that I realized Reese was the one guiding me, Brantley right beside him, their dog leading the way.
“I didn’t believe you,” I whispered.
“What?” Reese guided me into a chair in a brightly lit room with people scattered throughout. “What did you say?”
My legs gave out, the seat coming up to meet my ass. “I didn’t believe you.”
When I looked up, both Brantley and Reese were frowning.
“I didn’t think she was still a threat,” I admitted, my voice rough. “I thought Travis was losin’ his mind. Overreactin’.”
Their expressions went blank immediately.
“It was her. Juliet Prince. She was the one who hit Kylie?”
Brantley’s face was full of sympathy. “We believe so, yes.”
“Where is she?” My eyes bounced back and forth between them. “Please tell me they caught her.”
It was on their faces. Juliet Prince was not in custody. She was not being processed for attempted murder.
“She fled the scene,” Reese answered, his tone smooth and low. “But we’ve got a license plate number, and there’s a BOLO out for the car. We’ll—”
“Where is she? Where is my wife?”
The voice boomed through the space, drawing the attention of everyone.
I was on my feet, moving toward Travis.
The instant he saw me, he was marching over, then his arms were around me, holding me together. I held on to him, inhaling his familiar scent, trying to absorb some of his strength, knowing I would need it.
Travis’s hand cradled the back of my head, holding firmly as we leaned on one another. It didn’t last long, but it was long enough to assure me that Travis was there with me, that I was not in this alone.
When Travis released me, stepping back, I gripped his arm, feeling back in control of myself for the first time since leaving the park. “Come on. Let’s sit.”
“Where is she?” Travis demanded, stopping me when I tried to lead us away from the nurses’ station.
“They’ve taken her into surgery,” I explained, recalling only briefly what I'd been told.
“Surgery?” He frowned. “Why? For what?”
Honestly, I had no idea, and I didn’t want to lead him to believe otherwise.
“Let’s take a seat,” Curtis suggested, his voice low and commanding as he motioned us to the far side of the room.
“I don’t wanna sit,” Travis snapped. “I wanna see my wife.”
“You will,” Brantley said firmly. “Give them time to take care of her.”
My first instinct was to placate Travis, to tell him everything was going to be all right, that Kylie would be fine.
I didn’t say any of those things. Probably because I had so many doubts myself.
Fear, even now, threatened to choke me. It was likely exacerbated by the sheer terror I could see on Travis’s face.
The man who was always strong and stoic looked anything but, and that scared the shit out of me.
Someone directed us to an empty corner of the room, offered coffee. We both refused but took our seats. I settled for sitting silently, my arm brushing Travis’s as we both remained perfectly still, staring at the doors that led to our wife.
Time moved slowly. Too slowly.
“How long has she been back there?” someone eventually asked.
“Not long,” someone else answered.
There were a few hushed whispers, maybe even a group praying softly. I barely heard them over the steady, painful thump of my heart as I sent up my own silent prayer, begging God to spare the most beautiful, the most vibrant woman I'd ever known.
Suddenly, the doors opened, and a man stepped out. Older man, pleasant face, serious eyes. Blue scrubs. He pulled off the face mask and the hair covering as he approached. It was in his movements, a sense of regret that had my heart squeezing.
“Walker family?”
No. Please no.
I got to my feet, shaking my head. It hadn’t been long enough. They hadn’t had her back there long enough to fix her broken, battered body.
“Is Kylie gonna be all right?” someone asked.
No.
I didn’t look away from the doctor. I saw the sorrow and remorse before I heard the words.
No, no, no.
And then the doctor said the words that would irrevocably change the world as we knew it.
“I’m sorry. We did everything we could.”
Travis Walker
Oh, Jesus. Fuck.
I tried to take a breath, but someone had replaced the oxygen with shards of glass that rattled around in my lungs, scraping me raw. The pain was unbearable. I could hear the godawful sounds coming out of my throat, but I was helpless to stop them.
God, no. This couldn’t be happening.
I stepped toward the doctor.
“We got her prepped for surgery,” the doctor was explaining, “and that was when we realized one of her ribs had pierced her aorta. There was nothing we could do.”
Before I realized what I was doing, I fisted the front of the doctor’s scrubs. “Go back in there,” I growled low in my throat. “Go back and fix her.”
A firm but gentle hand was on mine. It was the doctor’s, and he wasn’t attempting to push me off of him.
“I’m so sorry,” he said softly.
Dead.
She couldn’t be dead.
No. Fuck, no.
Someone pried my hands off the doctor’s shirt, urged me back.
Not Kylie.
I stumbled, trying to breathe, but it hurt.
It should’ve been me, not her. I would’ve given my life for hers in a second.
My body was racked with shudders as the sorrow tore through me. This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t.
I stumbled back until I hit the wall, then slid to the floor, my legs unable to hold me up anymore. Tears flooded my eyes, made it impossible to see. I was aware of the people around me, moving, whispering, someone still talking to the doctor, others trying to console one another.
Didn’t they know it wouldn’t work?
Didn’t they realize that the light had vanished, that the heat from the sun no longer existed because Kylie was dead? Without her in it, the world would be a cold, dark place.
I was vaguely aware of guttural cries. It was enough to draw my attention to where Ethan and Beau were attempting to hold Gage up. I could feel my husband’s pain, but try as I might, I couldn’t muster the energy to console him. Not right now.
“Travis?”
I turned my attention to the man squatting down beside me.
“Reese and I will find her,” Brantley declared, his voice low and hard, his eyes glittering with rage. “We won’t stop until we do.”
I wanted to tell him I'd heard that before, that Brantley’s promises meant nothing.
If they’d found her before now, Kylie wouldn’t be dead.
If they’d found that bitch and put her in the ground, my world wouldn’t be flipped off its axis right now.
My kids wouldn’t have to live out the rest of their days without their mother.
I didn’t say those things, though. I couldn’t. Right now, the coldness had frozen my vocal cords, made it impossible to speak, to feel, to move.
It was all I could do just to breathe.