Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Hattie Lynn
There was so much blood.
It was everywhere—on Bash’s shirt, pooling beneath him on the concrete floor, on my hands as I pressed my palms against the hole in his chest.
“Hold on, honey,” I whispered, my voice breaking as I tried to keep pressure on the wound. “Don’t you leave me now.”
His eyes found mine, and for a second, I thought he was going to say something. His lips parted, but instead there was a horrible rattling coming from his lungs. Then his eyes rolled back, and his lids fluttered shut.
“NO!” I screamed, pressing harder against his chest. “Weston! Don’t you dare leave me! You promised!”
Strong hands grabbed me under my arms, pulling me up and away from him just as the EMTs rushed in. I fought against whoever was holding me, desperate to get back to him, but they were too strong.
“No breath sounds on the left side,” one of the paramedics called out as they worked.
I watched in horror as they shoved a tube between his ribs, and suddenly he was breathing again.
“It’s back up,” the second EMT said, relief evident in his voice. “But he needs a hospital now.”
Everything happened so fast after that. They had him loaded onto a gurney and out the door before I could even process what was happening. I just stood there in shock, feeling like someone had reached into my chest and torn my heart out with their bare hands.
“It’s okay, Hats,” Gator said gently as he wrapped his arm around my shoulders. “I’ve got ya.”
“There was so much blood, Drake,” I whispered, staring at my hands still covered in his blood. Gator His life force—he’d lost so much.
Gator nodded against the top of my head. “He’s a tough motherfucker, doll. He’ll be okay. You’ll see.”
I nodded woodenly. “He has to be, Dranke. I won’t make it again without him.”
“Hey.” Gator tilted my chin up so I had to look at him. “That man has been pining for you since the day you left town eight years ago. He’s not gonna give up now that you’re back. You’ll see.”
One week later
“She won’t leave.”
I heard my grandmother sigh.
“She’ll be okay, Jean.”
That was Tacoma. He’d been there most of the morning. “I’ll be back, Hattie.”
I waved as he left the room.
I’d been beside Weston’s bedside for a solid week, and people had been coming and going. Some sat with me for a little while between doing whatever it was they did during the day, while others popped in to bring me food and check in on Weston.
I’d lied when I got to the hospital on the first day, telling the staff that I was his wife. With all his blood on me, nobody had questioned it.
Thank the gods for that. There was no way I could sit out in the waiting room knowing he was back here by himself.
“How you doin’, darlin'?” I glanced up and smiled at Weston’s dad, whose eyes were only for his boy.
“Gamble,” I breathed, climbing to my feet. “When did you get back?”
I’d asked for him at the clubhouse during my Welcome Home party, but he’d been out on a run.
“Came straight here when I got the news.”
He pulled me into his arms and squeezed. “Good seeing ya’, girl.”
I nodded against his chest. I just wished it were under different circumstances. Gamble’d been like a dad to me growing up. Mostly because Weston and I had been joined at the hip our whole lives. Pete and Repeat, they’d call us.
“How bad is he?” Gamble asked, his hands gentle as he pulled back to look at me.
“It’s a miracle he’s still here,” I whispered, reaching for Weston’s hand. It was warm, which I took as a good sign.
He’d been out for six days. The doctors said it was a good thing. That it was his body’s way of healing from all the trauma he’d sustained.
“Wake up, Weston,” I murmured, squeezing his fingers. “I can’t do this life without you.”
I’d been talking to him about everything and nothing, hoping that somewhere in the darkness, he could hear me.
“Hattie Lynn.”
I looked up to find Granny Jean standing in the doorway with Papaw Pete behind her, both of them wearing matching expressions of concern.
“Hey, Granny,” I said, trying to muster up a smile.
“Glad to see you made it back, Gamble,” Papaw said, coming into Weston’s room and taking Gamble’s hand.
“Drove through the night.”
Papaw nodded, his concerned eyes landing on me, taking in the dark circles under my eyes. “Darlin’,” he sighed, “you need to eat something and get some rest. He wouldn’t want to see you like this.”
“I’m fine.” I wasn’t leaving his side. “I can sleep when I’m dead.”
“Hattie,” Granny scolded. “This isn’t healthy.”
I gave her a look that I hoped conveyed exactly how I felt about that suggestion. I wasn’t leaving his side. Not for anything.
Granny sighed, recognizing the stubborn set to my jaw. She’d seen it enough times growing up. “At least eat something, sweetheart. You’re wasting away to nothing.”
I glanced down at myself. The jeans I’d been wearing for a week hung loose on my hips, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d actually finished a meal.
“I’ll eat something in a little while,” I promised, though we all knew it was a lie.
Granny and Papaw exchanged a look, having an entire conversation without words.
“We’ll be back tomorrow,” Papaw said finally, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “Call if anything changes.”
“I’m gonna head out too, darlin’,” Gamble said, giving me another squeeze. “Once I wash the road off and catch a nap, I’ll be back. I’ll call before I come and see if you need anything, yeah?”
I nodded and settled back into the uncomfortable plastic chair that had become my second home. The nurses had offered to bring me a cot, but I wanted to be able to hold his hand and see his face in case he woke up.
It was about an hour later when Gator appeared in the doorway, his massive frame filling it completely. He looked as tired as I felt.
“Any changes?” he asked, dropping into the chair Tacoma had been in earlier.
“I felt his fingers twitch a few times,” I said, hope creeping into my voice. “The nurses said that was normal.”
Gator nodded, his ice-blue eyes fixed on his best friend’s face. “He looks better.”
I studied Weston’s face, trying to see what Gator saw. Maybe there was a little more color in his cheeks. I wasn’t sure. I just knew that I was desperate to see improvement where maybe there wasn’t any.
“How are you holding up?” I asked.
Gator’s eyebrows shot up. “Me?”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t act all tough with me, Drake Montgomery. He’s your best friend. You two have been friends since you were in diapers.”
His expression softened. “Been better, doll,” he admitted with a shrug. “I’ll be happy when he’s awake and bitching at me about something stupid.”
“Me too,” I whispered.
“You two miss me?”
My eyes shot to Weston’s. They were open.
“Welcome back,” I choked out, tears streaming down my face as I gripped his hand with both of mine.
Gator was on his feet in an instant. “You scared the shit out of us, brother.”
“How long have I been out?” Weston rasped, his voice rough, like he’d gargled gravel.
“Six days,” I said, bringing his hand to my lips and pressing kisses to his knuckles. “Six very long days.”
His free hand came up to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing away my tears. “Don’t cry, Songbird. I’m right here.”
“I thought I lost you,” I sobbed. “There was so much blood, and you stopped breathing, and—”
“Hey,” He soothed. “I’m okay. I promised you forever, didn’t I?”
I nodded, not trusting my voice.
“I don’t break my promises.”
“I should get the nurse,” Gator said, but neither of us looked at him. We were too busy staring at each other like we were afraid one of us might disappear.
“Do you remember what happened?”
“That fucker took you.” His eyes narrowed to slits, then instantly flashed with worry. “Are you hurt? Did he hurt you?”
I shook my head quickly. “No. I’m fine. You’re the one who got shot when I told you to stop doing that.”
He sighed. “I’m sorry, baby.”
“I love you,” I whispered.
“I love you too. More than anything in this world.”
Gator cleared his throat. “Okay, lovebirds. As much as I enjoy watching you two make googly eyes at each other, the nurse here needs to check him over.”
The next few hours were a blur of doctors and nurses, tests and questions. Everyone wanted to poke and prod, and shine lights in his eyes. But through it all, Weston kept his eyes on me, that crooked smile never leaving his face.
When the medical staff finally cleared out, promising to check on him again in a few hours, we were alone for the first time since he’d woken up.
“Come here,” he said, patting the hospital bed beside him.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“The only thing that’s gonna hurt me is if you don’t get your ass over here right now.”
I carefully climbed onto the bed beside him, curling up against his good side with my head on his chest. The steady thump of his heart under my ear was the most beautiful sound I’d ever heard.
“I’m never letting you out of my sight again,” I murmured against his hospital gown.
He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest. “That gonna be a problem when I have to take a piss?”
I lifted my head to glare at him. “Weston Basham, you almost died. This is not the time for jokes.”
“Actually,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, “I think this is exactly the time for jokes. We’re alive, baby. Both of us. And that psycho can’t hurt you anymore.”
He was right.
Rodney was dead.
The threat was over.
We were safe.
We were together.