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Spike?
They’re here?
They came.
They saved me.
I can’t get my body to cooperate, but when I’m lifted off the ground, I get a waft of that familiar smell and I know it’s Spike. Clutching his jacket in my hand, I cling to him for dear life. He holds me tightly, and then we’re moving, his pounding footsteps causing pain to course through my body so intensely I cry out in agony.
“I’m sorry, honey,” he murmurs. “I’m fuckin’ sorry, but I have to move.”
I want to speak, I want to ask if Beccy is okay, but I’m barely staying conscious. It is taking every ounce of my strength to hold on to his jacket, let alone to communicate with him. With every pounding step, we move further and further away from the noise. Where is Cade? Why can’t I hear his voice? Why didn’t he carry me out?
I have so many questions, but I can’t manage to get them out.
Minutes later, I’m being placed in the back of a truck. The familiar scent of leather when I’m laid down on the seat is strangely comforting. A hand strokes my hair out of my face, and a familiar voice fills my ears. “You know how to cause a scene, princess.”
Muff.
They’re here.
They’re all here.
Raising my hand weakly, I search aimlessly for the comfort of him. A moment later, his warm hand curls around mine.
“I’m here. We’re goin’ to get you to a hospital. Hang in there, Addi.”
It’s only now that I realize how shallow my breathing is. With every bump the truck takes us over, it takes me more than a minute to get my breath back. It hurts, and it burns, and I’m terrified. The kind of fear that travels down my bones, a fear that is so incredibly raw I don’t know if I can shake it.
I don’t want to die.
A tear leaks out and rolls down my cheek, and Muff wipes it away. “Hey. Don’t you cry. You’re gettin’ through this.”
He is answering me as if he can read my mind.
I weakly squeeze his hand.
My mind drops in and out for the rest of the journey, and although I can vaguely hear voices and feel my body being move around, I can’t seem to get anything to work. It’s as if I’m aware of the world around me, but I can’t communicate with them. Like I’m trapped with no way out.
Hands and instruments touch me, and the surrounding voices are frantic as the chaos unfolds. Then, before I know it, I drift off into a blissful warm sleep that is, for the first time, painless.
OPENING MY EYES, I blink a few times and slowly take in my surroundings. This time, I can actually focus my vision. I’m in a hospital. It takes a minute or two, but I quickly figure out where I am. Groggily, I have to blink over and over to keep my eyes from closing again. They feel heavy.
“Addison, hi,” A woman’s voice has me slowly turn my head. “You’re in recovery. You had surgery. It might take a while to wake up, but you’re safe, and you’re okay.”
My throat is burning and dry, and I try to swallow, but it feels as though I have swallowed a spoonful of sand. Croaking, I reach up and press a hand to my throat, and the nurse immediately gets me a cup of water with a straw, bringing it to my lips. I sip at it slowly until some dryness eases.
“Are you in pain?”
Shaking my head, I try to take in every inch of my body. I don’t feel any pain. My body is heavy and is trying to take me back to sleep, but I don’t hurt. Not yet, anyway.
“That’s good. We have you on some strong medication, so if you feel any kind of pain returning, let me know. You do not have to suffer.”
“W-w-w-what happened?” I ask.
I’m actually asking what happened with the surgery, but she assumes I’m asking how I got here to begin with. Maybe it’s a good thing if I act like I don’t know.
“You got shot. You don’t remember how?”
