Chapter Thirty-Eight After the Storm
SUTTON
The sound of the second gunshot is still ringing in my ears and it takes me a moment to reorient myself.
Slowly, it settles in. Jayce is sprawled over me, his weight pressing me into the cold wooden floor beneath me.
There’s something warm and wet soaking into my side.
I manage to twist my head enough to look and I’m shocked to see blood.
Not my blood, though. Nothing on me really hurts.
Fuck…it’s Jayce! Jayce is bleeding.
Did he get shot? Oh, God, where is he bleeding from?
I try to push at him to get him off so I can figure out where he’s been hurt.
“Why did you do that?” I sob, my voice breaking. “Jayce! You’re hurt…you’re not okay…”
He looks down at me and cups my face. Blood is streaming from his side, but he grits his teeth and ignores it.
“Don’t look there. Look at me. Only me.”
My chest heaves and my breathing is ragged. His calm words aren’t easing the worst of my panic like they usually would. All I can think is that he’s hurt, and he’s hurt because of me…
I’m shaking my head, but before I can get a word out, he keeps speaking. “I’m fine. You’re safe. That’s all that matters. Now breathe, Starling. Breathe with me.”
His words are clipped and leave no room for argument.
I slowly nod, but I’m still shaking with the mix of adrenaline and fear coursing through me.
Suddenly, there’s noise outside the penthouse, and then police come flooding in, shouting orders. I tear my gaze from Jayce and he moves off me so we can both sit up as the officers swarm around us. Jayce wraps his arm around me and pulls me into his uninjured side.
“Hands in the air!” one barks. “Drop your weapon!”
The man Jayce brought with him immediately complies. He lowers his weapon and carefully places it on the hardwood floor, then raises both hands. “Easy,” he says. “Harvey MacAvoy. Private investigator. My ID’s in my right pocket.”
Two officers move in fast. One kicks the gun farther across the floor while the other grabs the PI’s wrist and spins him toward the wall.
“Don’t move.”
“I’m not,” he replies steadily.
The officer digs into his pocket, pulling out a leather ID wallet.
Behind them, Leon groans loudly.
“Fuck!” he gasps, clutching his side as he writhes on the floor. Blood stains the fabric of his shirt where the bullet grazed him. “You shot me! What the hell!”
“Shut up,” Aubrey snaps from a few feet away. She’s on the floor too, her breathing tight with pain, one hand pressed against her thigh where blood is soaking through her slacks. Her face is pale, but her eyes are still burning with fury. “You’re making it worse,” she hisses at Leon.
An officer steps forward, his voice cold and commanding. “Both of you, roll onto your stomachs. Slowly.”
Leon lets out a strained whine. “I’ve been shot, man!”
“Roll over,” the officer repeats, louder this time. “Now.”
Leon swears under his breath but slowly turns onto his stomach with a groan. Aubrey’s movements are more controlled despite the pain as she rolls over onto the floor.
Their knives lie scattered across the hardwood, one near the couch, another near the coffee table. An officer carefully collects them with gloved hands.
“Knives secured,” he announces.
Across the room, the officer checking the P.I.’s identification looks back toward his partner.
“He’s clean,” he says. “Licensed private investigator. He’s the one who called this in.”
His grip on the P.I. loosens.
“All right,” the officer says. “Hands down.”
Meanwhile, two officers move toward Leon and Aubrey.
“Hands behind your back.”
Leon groans again as they haul his arms behind him.
“Jesus! Careful!”
He’s cuffed, and Aubrey right after him. She doesn’t make a sound as the officers pull both of them up to their feet.
Leon stumbles immediately.
“Watch it!” he snaps, glaring at the officer holding his arm.
“Walk,” the officer orders.
As they drag them toward the door, Aubrey’s head turns and her gaze locks on me. It’s cold, sharp, and full of venom. For a split second, I want to glare back. I want to throw every ounce of anger I have at her for what she’s done.
Then Jayce shifts, his jaw clenched against the pain, and Aubrey doesn’t matter anymore. He starts to push himself off me.
“Wait, don’t move!” I exclaim, grabbing at his shirt. He doesn’t stop, though, and makes his way to his feet. Grabbing my hand, he helps me stand as well, then lifts me up into his arms. I whimper when he winces and he presses his lips to my forehead.
“Look only at me,” he murmurs into my hair, his voice rough with pain but steady. “I’ve got you. Always.”
I cling to Jayce as the world feels like it’s tilting, adrenaline still flooding my veins. I’m trembling and don’t bother stopping myself as I raise my hand to my mouth and start biting my thumbnail. Jayce steps over the threshold of the penthouse and into the hallway.
For a moment I think everything is okay, but then his grip tightens around me, and his steps falter. My panic fades away as I focus entirely on him.
“Jayce,” I whisper, pulling back enough to look at him.
His jaw is clenched tight, sweat beading along his temple. His skin has gone a shade paler than usual.
“I’m fine,” he mutters, but his breathing is heavier now.
Officers line the hallway, clearing a path for us.
“Coming through,” one of them calls.
We reach the elevator and the doors slide open. Jayce steps inside, still holding me, but I feel the tremor in his arms now.
“Jayce,” I say again, more firmly. “Put me down. I can walk.”
“I said I’m fine,” he grits out, squeezing me tighter. The moment the elevator begins to descend, he sways slightly.
Panic seizes me.
“Put me down!”
“No.”
“You’re dizzy. You’re hurt!”
“I’m…”
The elevator dings and the doors slide open to the lobby. Jayce takes two steps forward, and then he stumbles.
“Okay,” I declare. “That’s enough.”
I slide out of his arms before he can protest and grab his arm, bracing him.
“I’m fine,” he insists again, though his voice is rougher now.
“You’re bleeding and you’re about to pass out,” I snap as we continue outside.
Outside, an ambulance screeches to a stop at the curb. Paramedics jump out, grabbing equipment and relief floods me so quickly my knees almost give out. The paramedics rush toward us.
“What’ve we got?” one asks quickly.
“Knife wound to the side,” I tell them.
“I don’t need…” Jayce starts.
“You do,” I cut in sharply.
He looks at me, surprised and I shove him gently but firmly toward the ambulance.
“Get in the ambulance, Jayce.”
“Sutton—”
“Now.”
For a second he just stares at me, then his shoulders drop slightly in reluctant surrender.
“Fine,” he mutters.
The paramedics help him climb into the back and I follow right behind him. Inside the ambulance, they sit him down on the bench. One paramedic carefully pulls Jayce’s shirt up and whistles softly.
“That’s a decent slash.”
“It’s not that bad,” Jayce mutters.
The paramedic shoots him a look.
“Sir, you’re pale, sweating, and dizzy. I’m going to go ahead and disagree.”
Jayce exhales slowly and leans back against the wall of the ambulance. They clean the wound quickly, wrapping his middle with gauze to slow the bleeding.
“You’re going to need stitches,” the paramedic explains. “We’ll take you to the hospital.”
Jayce opens his mouth to argue, but I cut him off again.
“We’re going to the hospital.”
He glances at me, then sighs.
“Fine.”
The ambulance doors slam shut, the siren wails, and the city blurs past outside the windows as we race toward the hospital.
Later that evening in the hospital, the chaos of the day has finally faded into a distant hum.
Now it’s just the steady beeping of a monitor and the muted sounds of nurses moving through the hallway outside.
Jayce lies propped up in the hospital bed, the white sheets rumpled around his waist. He’s shirtless, and the fresh bandage wrapped around his waist stands out starkly against his tanned skin.
The doctor said Aubrey’s knife caught Jayce just below the ribs, missing anything vital by inches. The blade sliced through muscle but didn’t puncture any organs.
Jayce will need a few weeks to recover. The muscle has to heal before he can even think about getting back on the ice, which means at least three weeks before he’s cleared to skate again, but he should be one hundred percent by the Cup if the Night Hawks make it that far.
Jayce had scowled at that part.
I almost cried with relief.
I hate looking at the bandage, but at the same time, I can’t stop. Every time I see it, I remember how much worse it could have been. I curl closer to him, resting my head on his chest, listening to the slow rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my ear.
Jayce’s arm tightens around my shoulders, his fingers brushing through my hair.
“You’re staring at it again,” he murmurs.
“I can’t help it,” I admit.
He exhales but doesn’t argue.
A few hours earlier, once the doctors finished examining him and the police finally stopped asking questions, Jayce filled me in on everything his private investigator had uncovered.
Aubrey and Leon’s first attempt at financial sabotage of Holloway, the interference with contracts, and the way they’d been trying to quietly manipulate deals to weaken the company before finally making their move.
The evidence that Jayce’s P.I. gathered is already in the hands of the police and it’s more than enough to bury them.
Thinking about it sends another wave of anger through me, but exhaustion quickly dulls it. Aubrey and Leon will pay for what they did, but nothing will ever bring Colson back.
At least now I know his death really wasn’t my fault.
Fuck, it’s been a long day.
Suddenly, my phone buzzes on the bedside table. It’s been blowing up for the past few hours, and even though part of me wants to put it on silent and just curl tighter against Jayce, I reach over and pick it up.
Skyler: IS HE OKAY??? ARE YOU OKAY?