She hadn’t woken up in three days. Three fucking days.
For seventy-two agonisingly slow hours, I sat and watched her, making sure she was still breathing. Her breaths were shallow, and there were times I would think she had stopped completely.
But my Stevie was stronger than that.
When I did briefly pull myself from her side to eat, shower, or tend to Rocky, her soft whimpers carried down the hall in a cry as she slept, giving me mini heart attacks.
And yet she hadn’t moved since we brought her home. Mac visited every day, and we were slowly reconnecting if that was a silver lining to this shitshow.
The doctor also visited and changed her IV bags and took her vital signs, which had improved dramatically. Overall, he was impressed with her progress, but she wasn’t comatose, and he said there was no medical reason why she wasn’t awake now. His best guess was with the emotional and physical trauma she faced from seeing her mom again, she may be shielding herself until she was ready to face reality.
The stab wound on her leg had been stitched, and the swollen skin had reduced, but she would stay on IV antibiotics until she woke up and could take them orally.
I got up from the La-Z-Boy I’d dragged into her room and slept on for the past three nights, like her dark angel keeping watch, keeping her safe and alive.
I moved a strand of her tangled, bloody hair away from her face. The large purple bruise across her cheek had turned light shades of yellow and brown and the red welt from what I could only assume was from the massive fucking diamond ring Emilia dons, had stopped looking so angry and red.
That bitch was going to pay for laying a finger on my girl.
Heavy footsteps signalled Mac’s arrival before he appeared in the threshold of the room. He walked to Stevie’s side and gently placed a kiss on her forehead, murmuring something into her skin like he had the past few days.
“How’s our girl?” he asked, coming to my side and giving me a one-armed hug, slapping my back with such force that I’d swear he was trying to knock the air out of my lungs.
“Good, doc came by earlier and said now it was up to her when she wants to wake up,” I answered, rubbing a twinge at the back of my neck from sleeping uncomfortably on the recliner.
“C’mon, brother, let’s have a beer on the deck. The night’s warm, she’s not going anywhere, and you could do with a change of scenery.”
With one last glance, we left Stevie alone in her room, leaving the door partially open for the off chance she woke and called out for me.
Mac was right; the change of scenery and a nice cold beer were exactly what I needed. The company wasn’t too bad either.
We lounged on the outdoor living set, talking about things that had happened over the last seven years, and played with Rocky.
I told Mac how Dad had taken Mom on an around-the-world cruise the past year, and he told me of his life in the Bulldogs MC, the parties and the sheer volume of pussy thrown at him that almost matched my bedpost notches.
“I love women like any red-blooded man, but it’s getting old,” he said, playing with the strands of his beard mindlessly as he gazed over the firepit to the long stretch of grass out back. “I mean, I’m thirty-one, man. It’s time to settle down and find myself my Old Lady.”
I almost choked on my beer. “Old Lady?”
“Yeah.” He laughed, leaning to the table and picking up his beer and taking a long pull. “The wife, the other half, whatever.” He placed one of his boots on the edge of the table and rested the bottle on his knee, turning to look at me, face serious. “What about you, little brother? You’re getting on a bit now too.”
“Ouch. I’m only a year younger than you. I wouldn’t exactly say it’s time to hang up the condom strips just yet.”
He paused, giving me a contemplative look.
“So no one special in your life, then?” Mac asked. “I’m actually surprised you and Stevie never... you know.”
“Dude, she’s like a sister to me. That’s all kinds of wrong.” I glanced down at the pocket watch tattoo on the back of my left hand with four-twenty-six forever paused for all of time. I traced my fingertips along the hands of the watch wistfully as I thought about the one girl I could never have.
I dragged my gaze away from my ink to the face of my brother, whose lips were parted, looking over my shoulder back at the house.
I turned, following his gaze to find Stevie holding on to the glass door, with her tartan blanket wrapped around her shoulders, and head resting on the metal doorframe, a weak smile on her pretty pink lips.
In a flash, I was in front of her, looking down at her small frame and taking in the sight before me that I had been praying I would have seen much sooner than this.
“Hi,” she said, her voice a croaky whisper before she coughed, bringing her hand to her mouth and clearing her throat.
I took it in my hand and looked at the small puncture mark where she had removed the cannula. A small dot of fresh blood lined the hole, and I pushed my tongue to the top of my mouth. She’d spilt too much blood recently.
“You were to keep that in, Stevie baby,” I chastised. Her big blue eyes sparkled as she looked up at me, and with my free hand, I pushed her hair back from her face to look at her fully. She looked tired and drained, but at least she was awake.
Her smile expanded, and she wrapped her arms around my waist. I stilled, unbelieving that she hugged me first before my arms slowly and gently wound around her and held her close to my chest. I bent and buried my face in her hair, not caring that it was full of stale blood and enough grease to coat a pan. I was just happy I could do this to her.
She shifted in my arms and peered around my body to Mac. I walked us both to join him on the outdoor sofa, placing her in the middle before running back to the house to grab another blanket. She had snuggled up to Mac when I returned, and I draped the additional blanket over them.
We sat in silence, watching the firepit dance, enjoying being in each other’s company. Stevie sniffed and pulled out of Mac’s side and held my face between the palms of her hands, the edges of the blanket stuck between her fingers making the tassels tickle my cheeks.
“You look like shit,” she said, her eyes shifting over my face, full of worry.
“You scared the shit out of me, babe,” I replied, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. “Never do that again.”
She nodded and turned her head to look at Mac. He looked as though he was still in shock, lips still parted, eyes unblinking, as if he thought she’d disappear if he shut his eyes. I knew the feeling well.
He held out a large tattoo-covered hand, inviting her back into his embrace, and she went willingly. He cupped her head, holding her tight to his chest as she wrapped a hand around his forearm.
His eyes were scrunched tight, and his head was turned down, with his forehead lightly resting on the crown of her head. He sat still, breathing her in; stale blood, sweat, and dirt, but not once caring.
“I’m so glad you’re safe, darlin’,” he murmured into her hair, and she tightened her grip on him. Stevie might be my best friend, but she was also his. Losing her would not only destroy me, but destroy Mac in the same way.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice catching as she tried to stop tears from falling. Stevie wasn’t a crier and had always been determined to never show that kind of weakness around us. But I wanted her tears. I wanted for her to shed her pain and trauma and let us take it away for her.
Rocky, the dumb dog he was, finally realised something was up, came bounding over, trying to jump up and lick Stevie’s face, excited that she was out of bed.
I held him back until, eventually, he calmed, and the four of us sat in a comfortable silence once more.
“What’s your plan, darlin’?” Mac asked, breaking the silence by asking what was on my mind too. He gently tickled up and down her back.
The urge to take her away from Mac so I could keep her to myself was unbearable, but knowing I had her to myself when he left, I fought my caveman urges. He could keep her close now, and I would take over when he’d gone.
Stevie’s eyes stayed looking out over our garden, deep in thought. I could see the cogs turning in her head as she formulated her next moves.
“I’m going to destroy them,” she said. “I’m going to make them burn.”