The doctors were able to determine the toxin that was used to sedate the girls and even how it was delivered. Whoever this sick fuck is knows enough chemistry, or he’s just real fucking lucky, to know the difference between an effective and a lethal dose. None of the women received a particularly harmful dose, but they have a treatment and care plan to make sure nothing further comes of this. I’ll have the nurse repeat all that shit to me when I can concentrate. Right now, I just need Mel to wake up so I know she’s okay. The machines and doctors can tell me all they’d like—until she’s here with me, I won’t be able to feel it.
My eyes droop and my head dips from exhaustion, but I refuse to sleep. I let my head fall back and rest my eyes. I don’t know how long I’m like this before a light squeeze to my hand jerks me awake.
I focus in on Mel’s eyes. She’s awake, a little unfocused but awake, and she seems fine. I page the nurse to come check on her and then lean in and place a kiss to her temple. Tears fall silently down her face as she tightens her grip on my hand and takes a few deep breaths.
There’s nothing I can say except “I love you” again and again and again, and maybe, if I keep saying it, it’ll be enough to believe it’ll keep her safe.
I’m still saying it when she’s discharged the next day. The chemical that was used was similar to chloroform and apparently presents no aftereffects. But I love her and need her here, because this is what our life looks like—us together, safe, and whole. And I refuse to believe it looks any other way. Not when I just got her.
Chapter 25
Melanie
There’s a lot to complain about in the world lately. War is breaking out half a world away. Children are going hungry. People are dying from disease. And even though I know that by comparison my problems are minimal, I can’t help the extreme sorrow I feel at Jameson working a forty-eight.
A forty-eight means two whole days without him in bed beside me. It means two whole days of not feeling his touch, or hearing his teasing voice. It means two days where I sit cooped up in this apartment and worry every single minute he’s out there doing a job that only gets more dangerous by the day.
It’s been two weeks since I, along with my mother, sister, and Royal, were released from Montauk General Hospital. Jameson had the first three days off but insisted on going back to work after that. Chief Delgado could have gone to bat to get him more leave, but he wanted to be back on the job, helping his house. It’s selfish of me to want to keep him here.
“You’re going to wear a track right through your mother’s new rug,” Dad says from the breakfast bar in the kitchen. I lift my head and eyeball him curiously. There’s a sadness in his voice that I haven’t heard in almost a week. It’s weird to see my dad be what I’d almost call weepy. But he was weepy.
“What’s wrong, Daddy?” I ask. I sound so childlike, which is ridiculous for a grown woman who’s living with her fiancé.
Jameson told me how my dad stepped up and the active role he’d played in our rescue. It’s almost strange, having grown up with a dad who’s always in suits and whose idea of adventure is taking a Tuesday afternoon off, hearing that same man commandeered a helicopter for the purposes of rescue.
It wasn’t Jameson, however, who told me about the whole diving-out-of-a-helicopter thing. No, that was Hennessey. He recounted the story in front of both our families—largely earning praise from the men and fear from the women, except Royal, who was all about the praise—and mentioned skydiving one day. You know, this time with an actual parachute. I do my best to avoid thinking about it. They could have all been seriously hurt.
“I miss you, Mellie,” Dad says and sets his coffee down. He turns, hops off the stool, and walks over to me. “You’re all grown up now.”
“I’m five floors down,” I protest. I spent the first week living with my parents exclusively, and Jameson seemed to have moved in with me. Dad never protested or complained about it. I guess they worked out the agreement without my knowledge, because Jameson even slept in my bed with me. Every night. Instead of being a normal father, my dad seemed to welcome Jameson’s presence. After a few days ago, though, an apartment became available down on the eleventh floor. It’s a small little one bedroom, one-bath, and it barely has a view, but it’s ours.
This was the compromise. I want my independence, and Dad and Mom and Jameson need me safe, and since Jameson’s schedule is crazy weird, it works out well that we’re in the same building. When he goes to work on a twenty-four or a forty-eight instead of his usual twelve, I come up here and stay with the ’rents. When Jameson’s home, so am I. We still don’t know why somebody is terrorizing us, or what they’re going to do next, but for now we have a small little bit of peace. It’s not much because it’s always there in the background—he’s still out there. It’s scary.
“It’s not the same,” Dad says. He leans in and places a kiss to my forehead. “You have a good man, and I’m happy for that, but it makes me a little sad.” I wrap my arms around my dad and give him a firm hug. He returns it before looking at his watch and pulling back. “I better walk you downstairs.”