“He saved my life, but it was more than that. He kept me afloat. He stopped me from losing it and probably getting shot.” My voice breaks on the last part and I look away.
“I can’t even begin to imagine what you went through, Lucy. I don’t even want to. I’m grateful to that man for helping you. Honestly, if I could thank him I would, but he isn’t here for a reason. You know who is here? Who is scared? Who is desperate for you to be okay?”
I look back to him.
“Gerard. He loves you, honey. Please don’t push him away. Let him take your hand and get you through this.”
Guilt stabs my chest, and I look down at the coffee cup in my hands. “I’m not trying to push him away. I just . . . I can’t sleep, Daddy,” I whisper and a sob breaks free. “Every time I close my eyes they’re there.”
“My sweet girl,” he says, taking the cup from my hands. A few seconds later he wraps his arms around me, pulling me close. He smells like peppermint, and coffee, and my dad. I cry harder. “We’re going to get you through this, I promise you that. I won’t let anything happen to you. Neither will Gerard.”
I just hang onto him, sobbing for the millionth time in days, trying to ease the blinding pressure in my chest. Trying to erase the memories. Trying to forget the sounds. But mostly, trying to forget him.
Hunter.
***
“We’ve given you some painkillers and a sleeping tablet, Lucy,” the nurse says, checking my temperature. “They should help the cramping and let you get some rest.”
It’s late, possibly around midnight, and I’ve called for some pain medication. I’m still suffering some cramping and bleeding from my miscarriage. The doctor said if it doesn’t ease, they’ll have to put me under to clean out anything remaining just in case my body isn’t doing its job. Clean. Like my baby was just a mess they need to clear up.
“Thank you,” I mutter, shifting in the uncomfortable bed.
“Call out if you need anything else.”
I nod and she leaves, closing the door behind her. I got a private room, thanks to my parents and Gerard. I’m grateful, because it means nobody else can hear me cry myself to sleep. Because I do. Most nights I just lie here sobbing until exhaustion takes me. I try to remove all the thoughts from my mind, to shut down, to switch off, but I can’t.
They won’t leave my head. All those people.
Those gunmen.
My baby.
Him.
I start sobbing the second I close my eyes, like my body knows as soon as my lids slide shut that it needs to release. Tears leak down my cheeks and I tremble even though I’m already growing warm from the sleeping tablet. I clutch the blanket and whimper, trying to muffle the sound. I just want it to stop.
“Lucy girl.”
The voice startles me, and I roll so quickly I nearly throw myself from the bed. I grip the side to stop myself going over. I can’t see much; my room is so dark, only the light from the hall flows in from beneath the door. I didn’t even hear it open. I must be imagining things. But a figure moves closer to my bed, big, broad, and I know . . . I just know it’s him.
“H-h-h-hunter?” I sob.
Maybe the medication is messing with my mind. That has to be it. He couldn’t really be here.
He steps up close and looks down at me, the light catching his face just slightly. He’s got scruff on his chin, making his face look darker, but there is no mistaking it’s him. The way his dark hair falls over his forehead. The way he holds himself. He’s here. He came back.
“You’re here,” I croak, trying to sit up but the medication is kicking in, making my body weak.
“I had to see if you were okay,” he murmurs, leaning down and stroking a stray piece of hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear.
His touch brings me instant comfort—a comfort I haven’t felt in days. Not since he left. I want to reach out and throw myself into his arms, to surround myself in the warmth he’s bringing, the relief, the contentment.
“I-I-I . . . they told me you weren’t there and—”
“Hush,” he says, sitting on the bed beside me. “Tell me you’re okay?”
“I’m not,” I sob. “I’m not okay. I can’t get the thoughts out of my head. I can’t stop seeing those people dying, hearing them scream . . .” My sobbing gets so intense my words are cut off.
He moves slowly, gently lifting me from the bed and pulling me into his lap. He’s so big, so strong, and I curl into him like a child, letting his strength engulf me, letting it wrap around me until I feel the pressure easing from my chest, until the sobs subside, until the tears begin to dry up.
He makes me feel okay again. Like the strongest drug, like the most beautiful lie.
“Let me tell you something that works for me—that helps me live with the images.”
“I don’t w-w-w-want to live with them. I want them to go away.”
“You can’t make them go away, honey,” he says, his voice low. “They’re yours now, and you have to work out how to accept them into your life. The more you fight them, the more they’ll haunt you.”
“You want me to accept the horror?”