Chapter 30 Sloane
SLOANE
Morning comes in a haze of pain and a tangle of Dane's limbs with mine.
My ribs ache where the bullet struck the vest and my shoulder throbs from where that asshole wrenched my arm behind my back.
But worse than the physical pain is the hollow feeling in my chest. Everything feels dulled, like life is on mute and wrapped in bubble wrap.
Dane lies beside me snoring softly, but I can't get the image of Cal Maddox's wide eyes out of my head as he fell forward and face planted into the bloody snow.
The thought circles through my mind on repeat, even while I'm awake, after a sleepless night of seeing it over and over every time I tried to doze off.
The numbness spreads deeper, and I realize I'm not sure how I'm supposed to feel about what happened.
Guilt, horror, and relief all exist somewhere beneath the surface, but I can't reach them.
They're buried under layers of shock and exhaustion and I'm just waiting to start feeling again.
I have a feeling when I do, it won't be pretty, but feeling the horror of it is better than feeling this numb.
Dane stirs beside me. His arm tightens around my waist for a moment before he wakes fully. He shifts onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow to look at me.
"Hey," he grumbles, voice rough with sleep. "You okay?"
I don't know how to answer that. I'm alive and other than bruises, I'm not physically hurting. But okay feels like a stretch.
"I don't know," I say.
He brushes a strand of hair away from my face with gentle hands. "Do you need anything?"
For a man who's lived through this more than once, the offer is so simple and ordinary, it almost breaks through the numbness.
I consider it for a moment but food doesn't appeal to me.
Sleep feels impossible now that I'm fully awake, but coffee might at least wake up the neurons in my brain that don't want to function.
"Coffee," I say. "I could use coffee."
"I'll make some." He leans down and kisses my forehead, then slides out of bed. He pulls on a pair of jeans and a shirt, then heads for the door. "I'll be right back."
He disappears into the main room, and I'm alone with my thoughts again. I sit up slowly, wincing as my ribs protest. The vest might have saved my life, but I'm going to be bruised for weeks. No one told me how bad it hurts to get hit by a bullet.
The vest itself lies crumpled on the floor beside the bed where Dane left it last night when he brought me to bed.
I lean over and pick it up and drag the heavy thing onto the bed to examine it.
There's a visible dent in the center where the bullet struck, and when I run my fingers over it, I can feel the slug embedded in the material.
I try to dig it out with my fingernails, but the bullet is lodged too deeply.
My nail breaks as I dig into the shell, hoping to dislodge the chunk of lead that almost ended me, and I feel frustration welling up inside me.
Finally, I can feel something, but it's not what I want to feel.
I want the bullet out. I want to hold it in my hand and look at it and understand how close I came to dying.
It might just be the thing that shakes me out of this stupor, and dammit if I'm not failing at something so simple.
Footsteps approach, and Dane returns carrying two mugs of coffee. He stops in the doorway when he sees what I'm doing.
"You shouldn't worry about that," he says, setting the mugs on the nightstand. He sits on the edge of the bed and takes the vest from my hands, tossing it back onto the floor. "It's just a piece of metal now. It can't hurt you."
"I wanted to see it," I tell him quietly, and maybe he can understand but maybe he can't. Maybe the first time he almost died was too long ago for him to remember how terrifying it feels.
"It happened." He hands me one of the mugs, and I wrap my fingers around it, letting the heat seep into my palms. "And you survived it. And now we move on."
I take a sip of the coffee. It's strong and bitter and exactly what I need. The warmth spreads through me, chasing away some of the cold that's settled in my bones. The cabin isn't as warm with no windows, even with the boards in place and a fire roaring all night long thanks to Dane's efforts.
"What happens now?" I ask.
Dane picks up his own mug and leans back against the headboard.
"I have to go to the station and give a statement.
Varen's going to coordinate everything with state patrol, and eventually, the Feds will show up and want their own interviews.
I'll try to keep you out of it for today, let you rest and process before they start asking you questions. "
"But I'll have to give a statement too?"
"Yeah, probably tomorrow or the day after. They're gonna wanna know what happened, why Cal targeted you." He takes a long drink of coffee, then sets the mug down. "When they ask, you need to be honest. But leave the parts about me out of it."
I frown. "How am I supposed to explain any of this without mentioning you?"
"The whole town's already making it look like Cal came hunting for you, specifically," Dane says.
"They're leaving me out of the narrative as much as possible.
When the authorities ask you why Cal wanted you dead, you tell them about Domingo Maddox and how he died on your operating table—that Cal always blamed you for it even though it wasn't your fault.
That explains why you disappeared from the city, why you were hiding out here. "
"And what about you?" I ask. "Where do you fit in this version of events?" Dane's face contorts into a look of concern and maybe confusion. I'm not sure what he's thinking, but I can tell he's trying to protect me even still.
"I'm just a local who helped you when you showed up in town drugged and disoriented." He scrubs a hand over his face and then looks over at me as I lean on his shoulder. "Can you stick to that story?"
I consider the lie he's asking me to tell.
It's not far from the truth in some ways.
He did help me. He did give me a safe place to stay.
But it omits everything that makes the situation what it really is—his past with the Ferraro Family, his connection to Domingo's death, the fact that Cal was using me to draw him out.
"I can stick to it," I say. "But what if they dig deeper and find out about your past?"
"Well, they might," he says, sighing. He sounds more confident than I feel, and I wish I could muster whatever moxie lies within him.
"But I've been off the grid for five years.
The Ferraros made sure my old identity was erased when I left.
As far as anyone knows, I'm Strouse, a recluse who lives in the woods and keeps to himself.
There's nothing to connect me to what happened in Queens. "
I'd like to think it's that easy and that this will all blow away but I know secrets have a way of surfacing no matter how deeply you bury them.
"Okay," I say. "I'll tell them what you want me to tell them." I have nothing to lose except him, so if he's risking his life—and he has proven he is—for me, then I will trust him and do as he asks.
"Thank you." He reaches over and takes my hand, threading his fingers through mine. "I know this isn't easy."
"I understand." I squeeze his hand, drawing strength from the contact. "And for what it's worth, I don't want to go back to the city. I meant what I said about staying here. I want to be with you."
His body shifts, and he leans closer. "You're sure? Because once this settles down, you could leave. No one would blame you for wanting to put distance between yourself and everything that happened here."
"I don't want distance," I say firmly. "I want you, Dane. I love you."
He cups my face in his hands and kisses me tenderly and I lean into him, letting the kiss ground me in the present moment. The numbness recedes slightly, replaced by warmth and connection and the certainty that this is where I belong.
His hands slide down to my waist, and I shift closer, ignoring the protest from my bruised ribs.
The kiss deepens, and for a few precious moments, the world outside this room ceases to exist. There's only Dane and me, tangled together, holding onto each other until a knock at the cabin door shatters the moment.
Dane pulls back and takes the heat of his body with him. "Stay here," he says, then stands and walks out of the bedroom, closing the door behind him. I hear the front door open, then Varen's voice drifting through the cabin.
"Sorry to interrupt," Varen says, "but we need you to come in for questioning now. The state patrol's getting impatient, and I'd rather you give your statement before they start making up their own version of events."
"I'll be there in thirty minutes," Dane replies.
"Make it twenty if you can. They're already setting up at the station, and I want to get this over with before the Feds arrive later this morning."
"Understood," I hear Dane say and then the front door closes, and Dane returns to the bedroom. He pulls on his boots and grabs a jacket from the chair by the window.
"I have to go," he says. "Lock the door behind me and don't answer it for anyone except me or Varen. If someone else shows up, call Varen immediately."
"I will." I set my mug down on the nightstand and stand, wrapping my arms around myself. "How long will you be gone?"
"A few hours, probably. Depends on how many questions they have." He crosses the room and pulls me into his arms, holding me close. "You'll be okay here. Rest, eat something, try not to think too much about last night."
"Easier said than done."
"I know." He kisses the top of my head. "But you're strong, Sloane, and you're gonna get through this."
I nod against his chest, not trusting my voice to stay steady if I speak. He holds me for another moment, then pulls away reluctantly.
"I'll be back as soon as I can," he says.
"I love you…"
Dane leaves me standing in the center of his bedroom feeling completely out of place and lost, but I know he'll be back. I sink onto the foot of the bed and look at his coffee mug on the nightstand where he left it.
The worst is over now, and rebuilding is all that's left, or so I hope. It's funny how life goes on for the living while death stops those who suffer from it. It's permanent and immovable, an unscalable wall and an unbreachable fortress.
Yesterday, it was a man hell-bent on revenge. Tomorrow, it may be me.
But I'm choosing right now to have a deep breath and refocus, because staying fixed on something I can't change will keep me stuck, and right now, there is too much promise in life to stay stuck here in this mess.
If Dane can do it, I can do it too.
Just need to finish my coffee first.