Page 105 of Hostile Saint

I appreciated him wanting to capture moments that were more innocent. It was as if he knew they would soon disappear. That the life ahead of me would steal them all away and keep offering me different points of view.

Including the one after having a loaded gun placed in my hand.

After I ate and was in the hangar with those permitted to overhear club business, it was explained to me that I needed to tell Lacey I would be gone for a few days. The thought of not seeing her was enough to make my full stomach turn, but it’s what was needed in order to make this world a safer place for her.

That’s why, when at a shooting range on Stallion property, I focused on every bit of instruction I was being given. How to hold the gun. What kind it was. How to reload it. How to aim. To remember it is hot after firing… The first time I fired it, I was flabbergasted. The loud boom echoed through my arms, my chest, my whole body. It was exhilarating and terrifying.

It was deadly.

It was lifesaving.

It was what I would conquer for my Lacey…

Thankfully, Doc had heeded my warning, and he had yet to replace the bars on Lacey’s windows. And, on this night, she wasn’t even drugged.

As I crawled through the window, she was full of smiles. “Hi.” She shyly waved.

Once to my feet, I stood there staring at every ounce of her perfection, yet scared shitless.

Was I petrified to soon be a state away from her? Maybe. But I couldn’t shake the dream state I felt I was in while in her room. I just couldn’t move. Still staring at her, I hoped it wasn’t the last time.

“Are you okay?” Her smile faded as she approached me. She reached up and touched above my upper lip. “You’re sweating.”

Barely audible, I told her, “I never want to be away from you.”

Her head tilted. “That sounds wonderful.” She took two steps back. “So, why do you seem anything but?”

The milkshake bag hung from my sweaty hand. “They say I have to go.”

She grabbed her chest. “W-What? W-Where? W-When?”

I stared… “I have to go home.”

Maybe going home is what had me so frightened. Maybe it was both.

“Y-You’re scaring me, Tate.”

“I… I don’t want to go.”

She swallowed. “Will you be back?”

“For you? Always.”

Timidly nodding and nervous, she stepped toward me. “Who says you have to go?”

“My friends.”

She peered up at me. “Are they good friends?”

Even as if everything suddenly felt hopeless, I whispered the only truth I knew, “The best.”

Her arms gently came around my waist. “Then trust them.” She whispered, “Then come back to me.”

Needing her touch, her essence, I held her. My eyes slid shut, and I almost moaned from the comfort she was offering me. Here she was in a mental institution, doing her best to make me feel better.

After kissing my chest, she took hold of my hand and led me to her bed. She placed the plastic bag on her nightstand, then made me lay down. Lacey crawled into bed with me, reminding me of my nightmare as she snuggled to me. I squeezed my wife tight, so grateful for her to be in my arms.

Then, as only an angel could, she began to hum a song I somehow recognized. “Pretty Girl, what song is that?”