“I was impressed at how you slipped out of his grip,” Lance said.
Although he should have expected her to act heroically, considering how she’d broken Dean Voss’s wrist earlier. But even after seeing her in action, he had trouble reconciling her feminine appearance with her abilities.
She was a girly girl who could kick serious butt. He’d have to get used to that fact.
“I’ve told you before that my dad and granddad trained me in self-defense, but remind me that I need to practice now and then. I’m lucky I remembered.” Morgan gritted her teeth as Lance and the young doctor helped her to her feet. “I knew if I could get out of the way, you’d take care of the rest.”
Lance squeezed her fingers.
“Let’s get you down to the ER.” The nurse guided Morgan toward a wheelchair.
Lance held onto Morgan’s hand. He didn’t care where they were going.
He wasn’t letting go.
Chapter Forty-Two
Morgan held her bandaged arm against her body as she slid into Lance’s Jeep. “What time is it?”
“Almost midnight.” Lance closed the car door, rounded the vehicle, and got into the driver’s seat. “Are you in pain?”
“Nope. Not yet.” The painkillers the hospital had given her made everything fuzzy. Her mouth tasted like she’d eaten cotton balls.
“I’ll have you home in fifteen minutes.”
Morgan didn’t remember the drive. She must have dozed off. The next thing she knew she was home and Lance was helping her into the house.
Her grandfather held the door open. Gianna was waiting in the hall.
“She’s fine,” Lance said. “Just a little spacey.”
“If you can get her to her room, I can take over from there.” Gianna followed them down the hall.
“I only hurt my arm. My legs are fine. I can walk.” But Morgan wobbled more than walked.
Lance half carried her to her bed. “Looks like she doesn’t tolerate painkillers any better than alcohol.”
She stretched out. “I can hear you.” But she couldn’t sit up. Her head felt like a water balloon.
“Thanks for saving my girl,” her grandfather said from the doorway.
Lance’s answer surprised her. “Wasn’t me. She saved herself.”
“Not exactly,” she mumbled. She knew she wouldn’t be here without him.
He straightened and shifted away from the bed.
She grabbed for his hand. Her eyes welled with tears. Gratitude and something more filled her with contentment. “Thank you.”
“Anytime.” He leaned down and kissed her hand before setting it on the bed. “Get some rest.”
Morgan must have fallen asleep. When she opened her eyes again, morning blasted through the blinds. She threw an arm over her eyes. Pain sliced through her arm. “Ow.”
She sat up. She was still wearing her slacks from the night before. But someone had removed her bloody blouse and replaced it with a soft flannel button-up. Her feet were bare, a blanket drawn over her. She eased her shoulders higher on the pillow. Her mouth was desert dry.
“Hey, how do you feel?” Gianna stood in the doorway.
“Like I ate chalk.”
“Want some water?”
“Yes.” Morgan shook her head. “And coffee.”
“Lance left a few pain pills for you if you need them.”
“I’ll stick with over-the-counter if possible. Clearly, I have no tolerance for anything stronger.” Morgan swung her legs over the side of the bed.
“Take it slowly, OK?” Gianna suggested.
“I will.” Morgan eased to her feet. The room remained stationary. She walked to the bathroom. But when she came out, she decided being upright was overrated and went back to bed. Her head ached.
Gianna brought her water and coffee.
“It’s like I have the worst hangover ever.”
“The coffee should help.” Gianna handed it over. “I guess there’s no worry about you becoming an addict. You wouldn’t be awake enough.”
Morgan drank. The coffee went down her throat like liquid gold. “Where are the girls?”
“School.” Gianna said. “The bus came a half hour ago.”
“Where’s Sophie?”
“Your grandfather has her outside with Snoozer. He didn’t want her to wake you.”
The caffeine cleared the cobwebs in Morgan’s head. “Wait. It’s Wednesday. You have to get to dialysis.”
“Will you be all right by yourself? If not, I’ll call a cab and your grandfather can stay with you.”
Morgan drained her mug. “I’m fine now that I’m caffeinated. Seriously, I have a cut on my arm. That’s it.”
“You were pretty out of it last night.” Gianna hesitated at the door.
“The drugs are out of my system now. I’m fine.” To prove it, Morgan got out of bed. Her head felt like someone had just bowled a strike in it, but she faked a smile as Gianna left her bedroom. The second they all left the house, she was getting right back in bed.
“Mommy!” Sophie ran at her.
“Sophie!” Grandpa called. “Remember Mommy’s arm.”
Sophie slid to a stop, her sneakers squeaking on the wood floor of the hall.
“It’s OK. You can hug me.” Morgan crouched down, holding her injured arm up high.
Sophie gave her a gentle hug and a kiss on the cheek before spinning around and rushing back to the door. “Grandpa is taking me to school.” She hefted her Hello Kitty backpack onto her shoulders. Taking Grandpa’s hand, she tugged. “Come on. I’ll be late.”
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Grandpa’s eyes were worried.
“I’m perfectly fine,” Morgan said. “I’m going to get another cup of coffee.”
“I’ll be back in an hour,” Grandpa said.
Gianna took Sophie’s hand and the three of them went out the front door. Morgan heard the deadbolt sliding home.
As soon as the house was empty, she went back to her bedroom. But now that the coffee was buzzing through her system, she couldn’t sleep. Giving up, she went to the kitchen, refilled her mug, and took it back to her bed.
The previous night, when Phillip Emerson had put a knife to her throat, she’d realized that life was short.
Despite all the people she’d lost, it had taken a threat to her own life to bring her to her senses.
For the last two years, she’d been squandering her life. Her children were the only things that gave her any joy, and that wasn’t right.
She opened the nightstand and took out the letter that she’d been avoiding for two years. Tears burned the corners of her eyes as she read her husband’s handwriting on the outside of the envelope. Morgan.
“I’m sorry,” she said to John’s photo as she slid a finger under then flap. “I couldn’t read this before.”
Tears blurred the page as she read the words her husband had written to her before he’d left for Iraq. The letter he’d left with his commander in case he didn’t make it home. The fact that she’d never been able to read it before now suddenly felt selfish. The note was short. John had never wasted words. He hadn’t been a poet, just a good man. He’d always gotten to the point and said what was on his mind. His final letter was no different.