“She was trying to build a relationship with me,” I blither. “And I… I was being difficult about it.”
Zade grabs my hand and pulls me into him, and though I feel undeserving of the comfort, I take it anyway, allowing it to soak into my bones while I cry into his chest.
I’ve taken pleasure in killing before, but that doesn’t mean I live without a heart. And all I can think right now is how peaceful it must feel to be empty.
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“Addie, wake up.”
A hand softly jerks my arm, tugging me out of a restless sleep. I crack open my bleary eyes, dry and irritated from the tears.
“Is she okay?” I ask instantly, not even fully awake yet, looking around to see my tired father sitting on the other couch, his face set in a frown.
Zade, Teddy, and Tanner stand before me, and I feel a tad like they’re evaluating a patient with the way they’re staring at me.
Teddy and his son look nearly identical. Both with soft green eyes, laugh lines, and square jawlines. The only difference is that Teddy has significantly grayer hair, and more wrinkles. Unlike Dr. Garrison, his presence is soothing, despite the words coming from his mouth.
“She’s not out of the woods yet,” Teddy answers gently. “The bullet just barely missed her heart, but thankfully, it went clean through and missed vital organs. She lost a lot of blood, and she’s still in danger of infection. She’s going to be out for some time, but I want you all to know you’re more than welcome to stay here,” he explains, casting a look at Dad.
I nod, though I find little relief. She’s alive, but that could easily change.
“Do I need to give her blood or something?” I rasp, my throat just as dry as my eyes.
“That’s okay, sweetheart. Your father is a match and kindly provided some, and I also have some bags of O negative stored if I should need it.”
Nodding again, I stand. “Can I see her?”
“Of course,” he acquiesces softly, lifting his arm to direct me forward.
“I’m going to check on Sibby,” Zade says, pointing over his shoulder.
Frowning, I ask, “How long has it been?” I don’t remember how long I cried for until I eventually fell asleep in Zade’s arms.
“Only about three hours. She’s still sitting outside on the doorstep waiting for her henchmen.”
Nodding, I turn and head for the room, heart in my throat. And when I open the door and see her lying there so still and pale, I nearly choke on it.
The machine next to her beeps, her heart rate steady for now. There’s a chair beside her already, assumingly where my dad was sitting. He stayed in the room with her the entire time, and I feel a little guilty for that, too. I should’ve stayed with them.
But even now, being in here is threatening to send me back into that place with Dr. Garrison. I slide my hands through my hair, gripping the strands tightly in an effort to ground me. To keep me present.
I’m safe. Zade is right outside. And there isn’t an evil doctor trying to kidnap me.
Blowing out a breath, I sit in the recliner, and grab my mother’s hand. It’s cool to the touch, but she feels… alive. Not cold and stiff like a corpse, which brings me a small amount of comfort.
“You want to know what really fucking sucks?” I begin softly. “When I came home, there were a few times you had asked me to talk about what I went through, and I could never find the words to describe the terror of waking up to men holding you hostage, threatening to kill you. The unknown if you’re going to live or die. I told you that you wouldn’t understand. But I suppose you know what that feels like now, huh?
“And then, you’d try to explain to me the terror you felt when I was gone and not knowing whether I would live or die. And you said I’d never understand that, either… But that’s also not true anymore, is it?”
My eyes begin to burn again, and I release her hand to rub at them with the heels of my palms, silently threatening myself to keep it together. I’m tired of crying. It’s fucking exhausting.
Once I feel like I have it somewhat together, I drop them and grab her hand again.
“I’m holding your hand, but you’re still gone. And I don’t know whether you’re ever going to wake up. So I feel it now. And that… that just really fucking sucks.”
I sniff, rubbing the pad of my thumb against her hand, not sure if I’m comforting her or myself at this point.
“Dad hates me now, too. So there’s that,” I whisper. “I’ve shacked up with a criminal.”