Chapter 24
Tessa
We were at Sean's for the last load.
Cole had a list pinned to the side of the fridge—paint, trim, a length of pipe for the upstairs bathroom, a box of brushed nickel cabinet pulls he'd been promising me for two weekends.
He'd been working the list down on the days he was off.
Today was the last of it. Day off. Noah at school. No reason not to come along.
I'd come because I wanted to come. That was new—wanting to be in the same truck as a man, on the way to an errand, for no other reason than that he was in it.
I'd been letting myself want things lately.
Coffee at the counter with him in the morning.
His hand at the small of my back on the way out of a room.
The quiet of a Tuesday in our apartment, when nothing was being asked of either of us.
Sean was at the counter when we came in.
"There you are."
"Sean."
"You bringing me the rest of that list?"
"Last of it."
Cole pulled the list out of his back pocket and set it on the counter. Sean read it without picking it up, the way Sean read most things. He nodded twice. He glanced at me.
"Good to see you, Tessa."
"You, too."
"How's the house?"
"Almost done."
He turned and went through the door behind the counter. Cole followed him with the cart. I stayed at the front and looked out the window onto Sean's lot—gravel, two pickup trucks, the hand-painted sign Sean's wife had done twenty years back.
It was a good day. Bright, cool, the kind of late-winter morning that had no announcement in it.
Cole came back through with the cart loaded. Sean had something on his shoulder he'd thrown in for free. Cole protested. Sean waved him off.
"Get out of my shop, Weston."
"Sean."
"Out."
Sean held the door for us. I went first, Cole behind me with the cart. The bell on the door rang.
We loaded the truck.
Cole did the heavier work—the cans, the lumber, the pipe—and I handed him the smaller things from the cart. The trim. The bag of pulls. We had a rhythm now. He took the heavier end. I caught the lighter.
When the bed was full, he came around to my side and opened the door for me.
"In you go."
I climbed up. The seat was warm from the sun. He shut the door behind me.
I heard the footsteps before I saw anything.
Cole turned.
There was a man behind him. Black hood. Ski mask. The man came at him low, a shove with both hands, and Cole went sideways against the bed of the truck. Another man stepped into the gap between Cole and my door. A third stood at the driver's side, his hand flat against the glass.
The cold started low and went up fast.
"Cole—"
I grabbed for the door handle. The man at my window leaned his weight into the door. The handle moved in my hand, and the door didn't.
Cole came up off the bed of the truck and went for the man at my door.
He got one hit in. The jaw. The man's head snapped sideways. Then the one who'd shoved him was on his back, and the third stepped away from the driver's side to come help, and Cole had two of them on him. The third was free, and the third had his fists ready.
I screamed.
I screamed his name. I screamed at the men. I beat my hands on the inside of the glass, and the man at my door didn't look at me. He didn't look at me once. He was looking at Cole.
They had Cole between them by then. One arm pulled behind his back. The other against the side of the truck. The free man worked him over—ribs, ribs, ribs, the side of his face—and Cole made a sound the second time the fist hit his ribs that I would hear in my body for a long time after.
I hit the horn.
The horn went and went. The man at my door didn't move.
I scrambled across the cab for the driver's door. The man at that window leaned in too. The handle moved in my hand, and the door didn't. I scrambled back. I tried to climb over the seat. The third hit landed, and Cole's knees buckled.
"COLE—"
I had my phone in my hand. I didn't remember getting it out. My fingers were going on the screen.
That was when Sean came around the corner of the building.
He had a baseball bat in one hand, and his other hand was already free.
He didn't yell. He didn't say a word. He came across the gravel at the men holding Cole, and he had the bat up over his shoulder, and the two men holding Cole let go.
The third turned and saw Sean coming, and all three of them broke and ran.
Cole went down where they let him go.
The men ran for the road. Sean swept the lot once with the bat—the way you sweep a room you haven't cleared yet—and then he dropped the bat next to him and was at Cole's side and on his phone.
I was out of the truck before I'd thought about being out.
I got down on the gravel next to Cole. There was blood at the corner of his mouth. There was blood at his hairline. His eyes were open, barely.
"Cole. Cole. I'm here. I'm here."
"Don't move him."
Sean's voice was at my shoulder. Calm. Flat. The voice of a man on a call.
"Tessa. Don't move him."
"Okay."
"Yes—I need an ambulance. Assault. Male victim, conscious. Multiple blows to the chest and head. He's on the ground. We're not moving him."
He was crouched on the other side of Cole. He held the phone against his ear with his shoulder, both hands free. One of his hands was at Cole's throat for a second—checking—and then off. The other one came up to Cole's face, light, two fingers under his chin.
"Weston. Hey. You with me?"
Cole's eyes moved.
"Good. Stay with me."
I had Cole's hand. I didn't remember taking it.
"Tessa." Sean again. "I need you to stay calm. I've seen worse than this. He's going to be okay. But he can't get worked up right now. So I need you to stay with him and stay calm. Can you do that?"
I was crying. I didn't know when I'd started.
"Tessa."
"Yes."
"Five minutes. Ambulance is five minutes out. I'm running in for the kit. Stay with him. Talk to him. Don't move him. You got it?"
"I got it."
He was gone.
Cole's hand was warm in mine.
"Tessa."
"I'm here."
"You okay?"
His voice was a thin thing.
"I'm fine. Cole. I'm fine. Don't worry about me."
"They didn't—"
"They didn't touch me. I'm fine. You have to stay still."
He closed his eyes. He opened them again. He was working at the staying-with-me. I could see him do it.
"Cole. You're bleeding."
"M'okay."
"You're not okay."
"S'fine. As long as you're—"
He stopped. He swallowed. The breath caught. The ribs.
"Don't talk. Don't—just don't talk."
"Yeah."
I put my other hand on his face. Lightly. The side of his jaw that wasn't bleeding. I didn't know where I was allowed to touch him. I didn't know what was broken.
Sean came back across the gravel. He had a red plastic kit in one hand. He went down on his knees on the other side of Cole and opened it.
"Tessa, I need you to keep his head steady. Just your hands at his temples. Light. Don't press. Yeah. Like that. Keep him talking."
I moved my hands to his head.
I kept him talking.
I told him Noah was at school. I told him Noah was looking forward to the playdate with Jack and Ben tomorrow.
I told him the cabinet pulls he'd just bought were going to look good in the kitchen.
I told him I was going to make him eggs when we got home.
I told him every small ordinary thing I could think of while Sean worked on him with the kit, and Cole's eyes opened and closed and opened, and somewhere a siren started in the distance, and the siren got louder, and I kept talking.
The ambulance came around the corner of the building.
Two paramedics out the back, fast, with a bag and a stretcher. The driver was a man I didn't know. The other one was Quinn.
"Cole?"
She saw him on the ground. Her face did something I didn't have a word for.
"Cole!"
She was on her knees beside him before I'd registered her crossing the gravel.
"Quinn—"
Her partner was right behind her, his hand on her shoulder. He was older. Calm.
"Quinn. Step back. You can't work this."
"I've got him—"
"Quinn. You're too close. Step back."
She looked at him. She looked at Cole. She looked at Sean.
"I've got him," she said again.
"Quinn."
She let out a breath. She nodded. She moved a foot back. Her hand was on Cole's good shoulder.
"Cole. It's Quinn. I'm here."
"Quinn." Cole's voice was quiet, thin.
"I'm here. I've got you."
Sean's hand was on my arm. Light. He pulled me back from Cole's head, gently, to make room for Quinn's partner to work. I let him pull me. I didn't let go of Cole's hand until Sean's hand closed gently over mine and lifted it.
The partner was fast. He had a collar around Cole's neck before I knew what he was doing.
He had Cole's shirt cut open, and he was checking his chest, and his hands were going over Cole's ribs in a way I didn't have words for.
Quinn was at Cole's head, holding it steady.
Her partner called things out—numbers, words I didn't understand. Quinn answered them.
"You're doing good, kid."
Sean's voice was quiet. He was speaking to Quinn.
Quinn didn't look at him. Her hand stayed on Cole's head. Her face was very still.
"You're doing good."
They got Cole on the stretcher. Her partner started loading him into the ambulance.
Quinn turned to Sean.
"Thank you."
Sean nodded. Once.
She turned to me. She held out her hand.
"Come on."
I took it. Her hand was steady. She walked me to the back of the ambulance and climbed up first, and pulled me up after her.
The doors shut.
The hospital room was small.
Two chairs. A monitor. A window with the blinds half-pulled. The light coming through them was the kind of late-afternoon light that didn't match the inside of my head.