“Fucking warrior,” he said; pride coated each word.
I dropped down next to her, and cried out when I saw her chest faintly moving. “Low,” I said, and cradled her cheeks in my hands. “Babe, open your eyes,” I whispered against her lips, and kissed her softly.
“He’s gone,” I heard Deacon say behind me, and I nodded, even though he had probably been telling Graham.
“Low, it’s over. I need you to open your eyes.”
I held her for a few more minutes, and didn’t care that tears were falling relentlessly down my face as I waited for anything from her. Ambulances pulled up then, and just when I was about to beg her to open her eyes again, her blue eyes shot open and she gasped.
“YES, MR. EVANS,” I said a few hours later, and held back a sigh as he and his wife asked the same questions I’d just answered. “You all know everything I do at this point, and I promise I’ll keep you updated, but I’m going to go back in to check on her now.”
“Well, what did the doctor say? Why won’t you tell us?” Harlow’s mom asked over the speaker.
“I’m not sure; he wouldn’t talk with me in there. I’ll let you know if there was anything wrong, but I’m sure she was fine.” I tried to keep my tone even because I knew they were worried, but I’d already spoken with them half a dozen times since entering the hospital, and I had other things I was worrying about.
I smiled politely at the doctor when he walked out of Harlow’s room, and said, “I have to go now; I’ll keep you updated.” As soon as I was able to hang up, I walked into the room and took my seat next to Harlow’s bed.
My truck had flipped twice, but the impact had been mostly on my side—and the worst of my injuries had only given me problems directly after. I’d had trouble getting my legs to move but was fine for the most part now. Even still, my captain had informed me over the phone that I was looking at at least a month off because of getting shot. They’d removed the bullet and sewn me up, and had barely been able to keep me there long enough to bandage me before I’d tried to leave to find Harlow’s room.
Deacon and Graham were fine, just a little bruised from when they’d smashed into the back of the SUV Collin had been driving. And Collin was gone. That final bullet could have gone anywhere, from the way Harlow had explained the gun had been pinned between them. But somehow it’d gone between both their bodies, through Collin’s throat, and up into his brainstem. He’d died immediately.
Harlow was malnourished—not a surprise. She had bruises all over her body and cracked ribs—almost all of which were from Collin prior to today. The reason the doctor had been in there just then had been to talk to her about the X-ray and scans they’d done on her skull. But the doctor had refused to talk with me in the room since I wasn’t family, so I’d stepped out to give her parents another update.
“What’d he say?” I asked gently.
“I’ve hit my head a lot.” Harlow shrugged. “Really, he didn’t tell me anything I don’t already know. Just that I need to avoid hitting my head from now on, that I was lucky there wasn’t permanent damage, and that it was likely if I do hit my head again—if it’s hard enough—each time I will probably go unconscious for some period of time. But I’d kind of started figuring that out on my own. It’s happened every time lately.”
I clenched my jaw, but tried to relax by repeating over and over that Collin couldn’t touch her again. “It won’t happen again,” I reminded her, and she just nodded.
Harlow had been different since she woke up and realized there was no danger; reserved, almost. I’d mentioned it in the ambulance, and she’d shaken her head. I’d brought it up again after we’d gotten to the hospital and things had calmed down, and she’d just looked away from me. And she hadn’t once looked at me since.
“Your family is already trying to get tickets back here. Hayley and her family are coming, too. They’ll call me when they have something.”
And that time, it looked like she hadn’t even heard me. Instead of pushing it, I just sat back and waited.
When another thirty minutes went by without her saying anything or looking in my direction, I slowly stood from my chair. My chest ached, but I didn’t know what to do.
I stared at the back wall and swallowed a few times before I trusted myself to speak. “I guess I’ll, uh, I’ll let you rest.”
Harlow didn’t respond, but when I turned to leave, I saw the tears falling down her cheeks.
“What’s wrong?” I asked softly, and tried to rein in my frustration when she still didn’t answer. I sat on the edge of her bed, gripped her chin gently in my fingers, and turned her head so she was looking at me. “Come back to me,” I begged, and the ache in my chest grew when her chin began quivering and a sob forced its way up her throat.
“I killed him,” she said between muted sobs. “I killed him, Knox.”