Chapter Six
Beau
The truck rumbles to a stop as the first rays of dawn begin to paint the sky, their light catching the glass facade of the hospital and turning it into a dazzling spectacle.
Before I can even shift into Park, the passenger door flies open, and Rosalie is out, a blur of motion as she sprints toward the hospital entrance.
There are tears in her eyes as she runs. I’m surprised she doesn’t trip as she flies through the automatic doors.
I slam the truck into Park, cutting off the engine with the same urgency. My own heart is hammering against my ribs as I vault out of the truck, fumbling with my keys as I lock it.
She’s not mine, the girl or her friend. Neither of them belongs to me, but more than anything, I understand the helplessness that comes when things are out of control.
Hell, for three days, I’ve watched the girl fall apart.
I’ve held her while she cried in her sleep, mourning her friend she wasn’t sure she’d ever see again.
I felt the same way when I held Eric, desperately trying to stop the bleeding as I watched the life leave his eyes. Still, a part of me held on to the hope that he could be helped. That someone would get there in time and save his life.
No one did.
By the time I’ve reached the entrance and pushed through the doors, Rosalie is already talking to the charge nurse, her words tumbling out in a rush, and then she’s off again, a streak of color disappearing down a long, sterile hallway.
I break into a run, my boots echoing on the linoleum, as I try to catch up.
She pushes open a door and then stops.
“Kristin!”
The sound is raw and pained, and it breaks my heart as she crumbles to the floor in a sobbing mess.
I reach her, dropping to a crouch and wrapping my arms around her, even as I follow her line of sight to the woman lying on the bed, hair matted to her face and eyes wide with tears, looking as broken as the woman crumpled in my arms.
“Rosy,” she whispers brokenly, extending a weak hand toward her friend. “Oh my God, Rosalie. It’s really you. Those assholes told me they killed you.”
I help her to her feet, and the moment I do, she’s off again, running to her friend with her arms spread wide before pulling her into a tight embrace.
The two break into sobs, speaking in rushed words I doubt either of them understands.
For a moment, I picture Eric lying on that bed, smiling after a near-death experience, his wife seated by his side, their son dozing beside him.
For a moment, I see a different reality where he was shot, but it wasn’t fatal. Maybe it only grazed his arm. Maybe he only needed minor surgery, nothing more. He never bled out on the pavement as the people who’d taken his life continued to shoot at us. In this reality, he lived.
Then the image disappears, and reality comes crashing down.
The shot was fatal. Unlike Kristin and Rosalie, there will never be a tearful reunion for Eric and me.
And this is the end of our story now, isn’t it?
I back away, letting the door shut behind me. I turn just in time to spot a cop walking down the hallway, tucking in his shirt as though he’s coming back from the restroom. He stops when he sees me, grinning widely as he moves in to hug me.
“Well, if it isn’t Beau Donovan!” he bellows, clapping my back as we embrace. “Never thought I would see your ugly mug among us mere mortals. Not after...” He cuts himself off, quickly going somber.
“It’s alright, Morris, you can say his name.”
“Sucks ass, man,” he curses, running a hand through his hair. “What happened to Eric changed things at the station. He was like the cool uncle around there. It took a long time for people to recover. We haven’t forgotten.”
“I know.”
Morris shoves his hands into his pockets, suddenly uncomfortable as he turns toward the door.
“You’re here about those girls we rescued today?
” he asks, nodding toward the shut door.
“This one arrived hysterical and wouldn’t let the doctors attend to her until we agreed to have a cop stationed at the door.
I was with the team that found her, man, and fuck, it’s one of those things that’ll stay with you. ”
“I know,” I say sympathetically, patting his shoulder. “It’s good that you were there for her then and now.”
“I heard you played a part in getting the fuckers running the trafficking ring caught.”
“I didn’t do much,” I say, shrugging my own hands into my pockets. “You guys did most of the heavy lifting.”
“Hey, you’re still one of us.”
“I don’t wear the badge anymore, Morris.”
“A badge isn’t something you can just put on and take off,” he says, poking a finger against my shoulder. “It’s something you always carry inside of you. It’s the cop in you who saved that girl in the desert, and it’s that same cop who helped bring justice to those poor girls.”
I look away, uncertain of how to respond to that. When put like that, everything I’ve done sounds like a job. One I appear to have completed.
She didn’t feel like a job, and neither did those moments we shared.
But I can’t ask for more. I just can’t. My role, such as it was, is over now.
“I’m heading out, it’s been a long night.”
“Oh yeah, I heard about that. Cops gossip harder than my nana and her church friends,” he says, startling a laugh out of me. “Word is you fought three armed men; I guess you’ve still got it. That desert hasn’t made you soft.”
“No one goes soft in the desert,” I say, moving in for another embrace and slapping his shoulder, reminded of the days when I was one of them. “We should catch up sometime.”
“We should,” Morris responds warmly. “Knowing you, that won’t happen in this lifetime. Not if you keep yourself isolated in the middle of fucking nowhere.”
“I like it there.”
“Yeah, it looks like it suits you.”
I smirk at that, walking to the door and peering inside through the opening at the top. I watch the woman I’ve fallen in love with cry with her friend. I take my fill of her, loading every inch of her beautiful form into my memory. When I’ve memorized all I can, I turn away.
Then, with a silent goodbye, I walk out of the hospital.