29. Chapter 29
Chapter twenty-nine
‘Lias
Last night was a breeze. We both slept heavily through another early summer storm which clapped thunder and sent lightning glow radiating through the room at oh-two-hundred.
Before it rolled through, a lab tech and physical therapist knocked and slipped inside.
One drew a few vials of blood as the other gently assessed Sadie's bandages.
The nurses assured me that her wounds had closed enough not to bleed through, but at least the physio and I are on the same wave length—don't put it past Sadie to open them again.
The therapist and Sadie, who was less than pleased at being woken up at the ass crack of dawn, checked her range of motion in both wrists and all ten fingers.
Low and behold, no permanent damage. I believe I was more relieved than she was. One day I might need one of those fingers. Who knows.
Thankfully food appeared before either of us went back to sleep—last thing the medical staff need is a pissed off, cranky Sunshine.
Scrambled eggs and turkey bacon hidden under food domes, which failed at keeping everything warm, quickly became her main focus.
With more color in her face than she's had in days, Sadie hovers over the bed tray with her legs crisscrossed beneath her. One ravenous bite after another, she shovels food into her mouth. Funny, I don't think she's come up for air once or swallowed the previous bite before getting another.
At least her appetite has returned, right?
"Slow down. You're going to choke," I speak up, watching my own eggs shift across the plate with every stab of my fork.
"Wouldn't be the worst thing." She gabs with cheeks full of toast.
"True. Let's not add another few days to your hospital stay. I'm sure you're as ready to go home as I am.”
Uneven strands of hair dip to her shoulder when she tilts her head in that too cute way cats do—definitely got that from Bruce. Damn animal.
"No one asked you to stay. That's your problem—like gum on the sidewalk, you don't let go. Instead, you make a fucking mess of my shoes."
Yep, appetite gone.
Just one day, that's all I want. Is that too much to ask for? One where she's not fire and brimstone, and appreciates the fact I'm here with her instead of two thousand miles away while she carves more of herself into shreds.
The last bite of food is tasteless as I swallow and set my plate to the side, balancing it on the armrest of the couch I haven’t left.
Like the feral thing she is, she returns to eating as if she didn't pop off at the mouth—again.
Somewhere out in the world, Sadie is putting a starving mountain lion to shame with how she's ripping bacon to pieces with her canines.
If her comment hadn't killed my mood, I might smirk at the way she's inhaling food, but that jab stabbed beneath my skin.
Yeah, I could start a fight, draw it out, lay her over my left leg with her ass under my right hand.
Hasn’t done much good in the past, wouldn’t be any different now.
She can get her lick in for the day. I just hope she remembers this, because I will.
I'm old, grumpy, and her smart remarks rub the wrong nerves sometimes.
Reaching one arm over the back of the couch, the other hand rests on my thigh where my irritation works its way out as my fingers constrict and straighten, over, and over.
Worn denim barely contains the scrape of my short nails.
Sadly, it's the only act of stress relief appropriate for a public setting.
When we get home, I'll be sure to remind her just how stuck I can become when I'm all over that ass of hers.
Little mercies though, she hasn't started smacking her food. At least she has that going for her; the rest of her manners died a horrible death some time ago.
A bit later, dietary came by to grab her empty tray and my abandoned plate. Being the clingy, sticky, chewable candy she's claimed me to be, I went ahead and put in our orders for lunch. If she makes it there. I may end up locking the door and spanking her ass red before then.
Luckily, she fell asleep before they came in. Made it much easier to pick a protein packed meal versus junk food—she's in dire need of the protein. She will never get better if she doesn’t eat well too.
Ever since she fell asleep, she's been active. Turning her head side to side frequently, arms jerking the restraints, even her lips form silent words between the low grind of gritting teeth.
"P...please," I hear her whine breathlessly.
Whatever plague's coiling inside her pretty head is only a dream—she’s safe. Nightmares we can handle.
Another email pops into my inbox, its bold letters draw my attention immediately.
Cases are piling up left and right, most on the western seaboard where I won't be anytime soon. The guys have to manage them on their own. If they knew what the hell I'm dealing with, they would have stopped sending me new jobs days ago.
I need the normality though, the distraction. It gets me through days like this, where there's a mound of weight crushing me along with dreadful silence.
The track pad makes a low click when I press it—hate this damn thing—and bring up the new email.
It fills the screen as I snag a bottle of water off the armrest. Unscrewing the top, I take a drink despite the condensation slicking my hand.
Cool water rushes down my throat, my Adam’s apple working the gulps down as I read the pertinent details inside.
Mainly the pay, location, timeframe, and complaint.
Easy work. I can hit traffic cams and what not from here. Research possible suspects and dig up what they're after, then send everything I find back to Mav.
One drink shy of emptying the entire bottle, I replace the cap, sit it on the armrest, and get to work.
This part's a cake walk.
Case : Erhart, Talia
Age : 24
Location : San Antonio, TX
Description : Caucasian female. Blonde hair, golden eyes, medium-toned skin with freckles. Five foot six, 175 lbs. Tattoo on left shoulder blade, no other identifiable marks.
Occupation : Military
Complaint : Received death threats via social media following father's company merger
Detail request : Full-service escort and armed security
Timeframe : Two weeks, 24/7
Pay : $23,750.00
A low whistle escapes my lips when I see five digits attached. Must be serious if they're paying that kind of money and requesting twenty-four-hour detail.
In a browser, I dive into researching who she is and why she's important enough to threaten—rather, why her family matters and if I can get eyes on her now.
It doesn't take me long to find a few photos of her at formal events. One appears to be at a military ball, another some charity gala in Austin, and finally a family photo. She's beautiful in that southern belle way. Curls, sun, and likely a twang you couldn't miss if you tried.
"Ahh, there it is," I rumble under my breath.
Isaac Gardner, twenty-eight, rodeo circuit. The boyfriend. Coiffed hair, cocky smirk, and women hanging off of him in photo after photo. My money is on one of the fans—parasocial obsession. Those get dangerous.
Moving on, I drain the remainder of my water while looking into her parents—big time cattle drivers Frederick and Barbara Erhart.
Eight-hundred-fifty-acre ranch that's been in the family for generations.
Migrated from the Carolinas to follow the railroad during the wild west era.
They have serious roots and even more serious money.
As for the merger, Mr. Erhart recently acquired eight ranches in west Texas that he's now refusing to let oil companies drill on.
The whole team is going to have to sit on a case this big and if not them, she’ll have to see what her branch can do. It's not our job to figure out where the threat's coming from, just protect the girl. The very one who's still on active duty and might disappear to base in two days.
"Can't protect you on base, Private," I murmur. "Might as well go back instead of staying home with Mom and Dad."
A few more clicks and I dive deep into the rabbit hole.
Chasing down leads I have no business looking for because, at the end of the day, I won't be going.
I can only send what I find to Mav and wash my hands.
I'm needed elsewhere and that comes first. My head wouldn't be in the game and that's just as much of a risk as unverified threats.
"P...pl..eas...e," Sadie gasps, almost background noise now that I'm focused on productivity.
Just part two fifty-three of a nightmare.
Her legs shift under the few layers of blankets, filling the room with a subtle rustle then stills.
My phone lights up with a text I'm quick to ignore—probably Mav waiting for me to acknowledge the email he sent—when she whimpers.
"J...d...do it. K...kill me."
My head snaps away from the laptop screen at Sadie’s stuttered words. Through dimmed lights, her relaxed features twists into sorrow then misery.
Wide eyes sting the longer I stare at her.
Part of me prays I'm trapped in a dream I never asked for, one that has yet to decide if it's a nightmare or not.
The rest knows better. History's repeating itself; like a hurricane, I can't stop it.
There's no amount of dodging and weaving that will protect me from what's coming.
Hell, fuck protecting myself, what about her?
The laptop makes a quiet snap when the lid closes and I set it to the side. Can't concentrate on work, not now. Maybe not for a while, if I'm being honest. I lean forward and dig my elbows into the tops of my thighs, clasping my hands together in front of me like the useless man I am.
We take two steps forward, get Sadie into a better place, and fall back five. Nothing works. There will be a three second sigh of relief then whoosh, it's gone and we're scrambling to pick up the pieces.
We're stuck in a perpetual loop: medicate and stabilize, develop a routine, get comfortable, then one wrong move brings it all crashing down. Neither one of us can keep our heads above water right now and it's slowly killing me.
I don't know how to help Sadie anymore. Frankly, my PTSD hits like a Mack truck each time I see her go still. Even now, safe, alive, and sleeping, I'm still terrified I'll look away and she’ll stop breathing.
I needed to step back—to catch my own breath, then come running back to her. We're too toxic for one another; not in a sense that we don't care because we do, it's how messed up we both are.
There are no words for me to explain how I feel about Sadie. Damn woman came into my life when duty was all that mattered, and in the past five years she's warped me into someone completely different.
In her head, she's convinced the only way through is to escape, but to me? She represents a future I never thought I could possess. Belonging, hope, getting to finish my days with someone who I can't live without.
I no longer only want Sadie.
I need her.
I love her.
Tired knees groan when I stand—protesting along with the tense muscles that cramp in my lower back. I've slept on slabs of concrete that feel better than the trash hospitals give us to lounge on. Neither compare to how agonizing life would be if I lost this woman.
At her side in a few steps, I pull the blankets back and see how she’s curled in on herself as she sleeps, with her arms wrapped around herself as if that’s the only thing keeping her in one piece.
Breaks my heart seeing this supernova of a woman reduced to a gown many people have given birth, or died in.
It’s unacceptable. She deserves to be wrapped in silk, or my clothing—more so the latter—than rough cotton that's seen too many bodily fluids.
It's moments like this where the world is too large, too lonely, and I won't let Sadie suffer anymore. If we're to be isolated, then we're doing it together. She can fall apart, break into millions of pieces, hate herself—I'll still be here. Loving her.
Cautiously, I climb into the bed. She's so cold the chill sends a deathly shiver through me on contact, then I hook an arm over her waist and pull her back into me.
Damn thing slots against my body like some cosmic entity built her specifically to fit in my arms, against my chest, and in the gaping hole I've had blown through my heart for decades.
Drawing the blanket over the both of us, I share my warmth and kiss the back of her head. My scruff captures a few rogue strands of her platinum hair that tickle, but I don't mind. It's the smallest price to pay for invading her bed and space.
This is where I'm meant to be. Not Oregon at briefings, or somewhere protecting debutantes who never have to look over their shoulders. Right here, with her.
As much as I like to keep things private and not allow people close enough to stick their nose where it doesn't belong, I want others to see us together.
To know I'm happy even when I'm wiping up her blood and using a mop to make sure I've picked glass off the floor so her bare feet never know the pain of stepping on the shards.
I have to be careful though—if the wrong people know, it could backfire.
Sadie's already beat the shit out of someone for their judgement; who's to say the guys won't look at me the same way?
That I've taken advantage of her and have been since she was under age.
I can argue all day that there wasn't a bit of interest until she turned twenty-one, but good luck getting very protective men to see it that way.
They'll come at me with Molotov’s and harpoons if I let them. Paint me as a predator instead of the man who had no choice but to fall for this spawn of Satan.
Between them and the monsters in her head, we're barely holding on anymore. As if that’s not another variable aimed at destroying both of us.
I'm already stressed over losing her. Pretty sure I’m grayer now than I was when we first met, but if I lose her like I lost Dom?
She might as well take me with her—a world without Sadie is not one I want to be part of.