Page 38

HOLT

I lean forward, looking at her sleeping body. For the five-thousandth time.

“When is she gonna wake up?” I grumble, dragging my good hand through my still bloody and dirty hair.

Plopping back down in the chair, I accidentally hit my temporary cast and wince in pain. Motherfucker, that hurts.

Deke shakes his head. “Son, you may be the most impatient man I’ve ever met.”

I lift an amused eyebrow and nod to the leg he’s bouncing up and down. “You realize that leg’s been shaking nonstop for the past hour? If you were holding a glass of milk, it’d be butter by now.”

He snorts. “Eh, that’s just the farmer in me.” He shrugs. “Always needing to move.”

Marie reaches over and holds his hand, too nervous to join the teasing. But who can blame her, she only stopped crying a couple of hours ago.

Holding hands—it’s a sweet gesture, and it makes me miss my own wife. She’s only two feet away, but it feels like a million miles. She’s been off the anesthesia for hours now. She should be awake.

A small little moan comes from the hospital bed. My body instantly reacts, jumping to be by her side. Pain sears through me, pulsing through every nerve-ending. But it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters now. Because that little moan is the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.

Her eyes flutter beneath her closed lids, and she moans again. Finally, she blinks. One. Two. Three times. It takes a minute for her eyes to focus, but eventually they find mine.

“There’s my girl,” I whisper.

Her swollen face clouds with foggy confusion. When she opens her mouth, nothing but a groggy whimper comes out. I’m not supposed to give her anything to drink when she wakes up—not until the doctors clear her—but I know she has to be thirsty. I dip my fingers in my cup full of melted ice chips and rub them across her lips. Her tongue immediately darts out, licking the droplets. Knowing my good hand still has crusty, dried blood on my fingernails doesn’t stop me. It probably should, but it doesn’t. Slowly, she works her lips back and forth, easing the dryness.

She looks over at Deke and Marie. “Hey, sweetie,” Deke’s voice immediately cracks with emotion. Marie’s started crying again, but this time her smile overshadows the worry.

I know the second it hits her. The memory. The reality of what happened.

Just like always, I can read her face.

Why?

Because Merit was built for me. And only me.

Her eyes widen in fear, and she immediately flinches from the pain in her tender skin.

“He’s fine. He’s safe,” I assure her.

Worried I don’t know what she’s thinking, she drags our son’s name from her scratchy throat. “Daire.”

“He’s fine. I promise. Not a scratch on him. He’s safe. Mom and Dad took him home to sleep. You’ll see him soon.”

There’s so much more to say, but the doctors and nurses come in to check her. Pushing me out of the way, they spend the next several minutes checking her stitches and reading monitors. The activity completely works her into a frenzy. The only thing that calms her down is listening to my voice and holding my hand. My good hand, that is. By the time they leave the room, her eyes are already starting to fall. She’s completely exhausted, but because she’s curious, she keeps trying to talk, keeps trying to ask questions. But her words come out jumbled and sleepy.

“Mer, get some rest. I promise we’ll be right here when you wake up. We’ll talk about everything.” I lean forward and kiss her forehead. “I’ll be right here. I swear.”

The second she’s back asleep, the orthopedic surgeon, Dr. Cain, steps into the room. “I heard she woke up. Everything looks good?”

Ridge leans against the door, hands shoved in his pockets.

Marie nods. “So far so good. The doctor says she’s gonna be just fine.”

He pins me with a stare. “Does this mean I can finally take you into surgery?”

“No. She fell back asleep before I could really talk to her. I need to speak to her first. What if she wakes back up and doesn’t remember that I told her Daire is all right.”

“Then, we’ll tell her,” Deke says.

Dr. Cain frowns and shakes his head. “I have to advise against waiting any longer, Holt. The longer we wait, the more damage there could be.”

“Holt.” Ridge’s stern voice, pierces my ears. “You need surgery. Now.”

“I can’t. I promised her I would be here when she wakes up.” I look at my best friend—my brother—knowing he’ll understand. “You know what that means.”

Sighing, Ridge clamps down on Dr. Cain’s shoulder. “C’mon, Doc. We need to give him more time. He made a promise. He can’t break it. That would make him a liar. And he doesn’t lie. Not to Merit, he doesn’t.”

***

I’m crunching on some fresh ice chips, dreaming of the tallest glass of ice water known to mankind. Since I’m still in line for immediate surgery, I’m not allowed to eat or drink anything.

And that just plain sucks.

It’s been three hours since Merit fell back asleep, and I needed to stretch my legs for a minute. The soreness of every bump and bruise and cut is starting to settle in my body with a vengeance. My two black eyes make me look like a rabid racoon. My shredded knees—which still need stitches from where the asphalt tore at the waxy scars from my previous surgery—are staining the bandages with fresh blood. And my broken arm? Well, let’s not even go there.

When I round the corner of the hospital room and see Merit sitting up, awake and talking, I nearly shit my pants.

Well, not literally. But I do drop the ice chips.

“What the hell?” I say, laughing. “How long has she been awake?” I ask Deke and Marie.

“About fifteen, twenty minutes. We told her you’d be right back.”

“Did you tell her anything?” I ask them.

Marie shakes her head. “No, that’s your place.” She smiles genuinely. “She’s your wife.”

“You know, she is right here,” Merit says. Her voice is scratchy and shaky, but perfect nonetheless. “I’m not sure what all is wrong with me,” she frowns, studying my war-torn body, “or you, for that matter. But I’m pretty sure I’m not deaf.”

I can’t help myself. Bending forward, I kiss her, pouring my love into her. Her dry lips grate against mine like sandpaper, and her breath smells like she’s been eating a shit sandwich.

All in all, it’s the best kiss I’ve ever had.

Because she’s okay. And Daire’s okay. And we’re still a family.

She doesn’t waste any time, immediately bombarding me with questions. “He’s okay? Really?”

“Really,” I nod. “He was on the floorboard of the SUV. There wasn’t much damage there. There was one small scratch on his leg, but nothing worse than what he does with his own little fingernails.”

Baby fingernails are sharp.

“You’re sure? You had the doctors check him? What about internal injuries? Damage we can’t see?”

“We’re sure,” Deke answers for me, biting back a smile. “Your husband might have gone a little overboard. I think ‘ berserk’ is what I heard from one of the nurses.”

Her forehead creases in question. “What’s that mean?”

I shrug. “I might not have been satisfied with just the two pediatricians on staff.”

“You got them fired?”

She’s so freakin’ funny.

“No, but…” I draw out my words. “I might’ve flown in a couple of doctors from Atlanta.”

“What? What doctors? Was he acting sick or hurt? What had you so worried about Daire?”

“Not just Daire. You too.” I gently hold her hand, careful to avoid the IV sticking out. “I had some connections from playing—some really great doctors I met before. There’s a traumatic injury pediatric specialist, and a micro-neurosurgeon who’s also certified in facial reconstruction and plastics.”

She gasps in horror. “He needed facial reconstruction?”

“Not him. You.”

Her eyes widen. Untangling her hand from mine, she gasps when she feels the bandage on the side of her face. “I needed facial reconstruction?”

I shake my head. “No, Mer, that’s a poor choice of words,” I explain. “But that cut to the side of your head was really bad. It actually severed your superficial temporal artery. That’s why you bled so much. Not to mention, blood was getting trapped between your scalp and skull, creating swelling.”

She feels the edge of the bandage again. Pressing a little harder, she winces. “Am I gonna be okay?” She bites down on her lip. “My face feels a little numb.”

“That should all go away,” I assure her. “The cut was pretty jagged, but he did an excellent job. He wants you to heal for a couple of weeks, and then he’ll do another surgery. After that? He says you won’t notice anything at all. You’ll never even know you got cut.”

“How did you even get him here?” She looks around the room, searching for something. “Wait, how long have I been out of it. How many days have I missed?”

I can’t help but laugh. I could play a joke on her and tell her it’s been a week.

She immediately cocks her head. “Holt Hill, this is not the time for jokes.”

“I thought I was the one who could read your mind? Have you been holding out on me?” I tease with a wink.

She’s not amused.

“It’s Saturday afternoon. It’s not even been a full twenty-four hours.”

“And you had time to fly doctors in? How?”

Crutch’s voice booms from the doorway. “I might know some state troopers in the Atlanta area.”

Her eyes flicker back and forth between the two of us. “Holy crap. You had the doctors arrested?”

Crutch chuckles. “I don’t have that kind of pull. But they may have had police escorts to the Atlanta airport after they agreed to come.” He clears his throat. “I guess your husband can be pretty persuasive when he wants to be.”

Please. Those doctors jumped at the opportunity. To be the ones to save the redeemed football hero, his injured wife, and kidnapped baby? The doctors may be great, but trust me, they know a dollar sign when they see one. They can ride this for the rest of their careers.

Crutch dramatically sighs. “Not to mention the private planes to our local, podunk airport.”

Merit’s gulp is audible. “Private planes? Do we have enough money for that?”

I take a moment to soak in her innocence. Just another one of the many reasons I love my wife.

“Can you please stop spilling all of my overprotective secrets to my woman?”

Crutch just gives me a shit-eating grin. “And can I please tell everyone she’s awake?” Switching eye contact, he looks to Deke and Marie for their approval as well.

“Yeah, make sure Mom and Dad head this way with Daire. She wants to see him.”

Tears fill her eyes, and she nods. “Yes. Definitely.”

I hand her a tissue with my good hand. “Don’t rub, just dab,” I tell her. “You have to be careful with the stitches.”

“But I’m gonna be okay?”

“You’re already okay.” Emotion catches in my throat, making it hard to speak.

I can’t believe how close I came to losing it all. It still feels like a nightmare. Like something that didn’t really happen. I’ve just been going through the motions—focusing on the health of my wife and son. I haven’t given myself a chance to fully digest what happened.

And that includes killing someone.

Her voice trembles. “What about you?” Her finger reaches out and traces my facial scruff. “Your face is black and blue.”

“The steering wheel won that battle.”

“Did you break anything?”

“Not in my face.”

“Your arm.” Horror streaks across her face. “I heard it. When he hit you with the baseball bat, I heard it break.”

Marie sniffles, wiping away more tears. “Oh, my goodness.”

I snort. “Yeah, that didn’t feel too good.”

“That’s it?” she asks, nodding to the cast. “It looks kinda flimsy. How long do you have to wear it?”

I glance at Deke and Marie, pausing before answering. “Well… I… I actually need some surgery myself.”

“You do? When?”

Ridge strolls into the room, smiling brightly at Merit. “Look at you. You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

“Ridge, Holt needs surgery.” Merit thinks she’s the first person to deliver this news.

He cocks an eyebrow in my direction. “Yeah, I know. I’m the one who’s been trying to calm his orthopedic surgeon down since last night.”

“Since last night?”

I skirt the subject. “I flew in Dr. Cain too. You heard me talk about him. He did my surgeries last time—my fusion and my knee work.”

“Yeah, but what is Ridge talking about? Calming him down?”

I scowl at Ridge. “Nothing,” I say, trying to downplay it. “He just wanted to do surgery last night, as soon as he got here. And… I wanted to wait.”

“You mean you wanted to wait until my surgery was done and you knew I was okay.”

“There was no way in hell I was gonna let you wake up without me by your side. No damn way.”

“But waiting may’ve caused more damage,” she says with a sniffle. “Is your arm hurting?”

Yeah. It feels like I’m being pummeled by a hailstorm. And the ice balls are stuffed with razor blades.

Since I don’t lie to her, I just shrug with a smile. “It’ll be fine. It’s not my throwing arm.”

Not satisfied with my answer, she defers to the firefighting paramedic. “Ridge?”

“Broken in six places. He needs two rods and more screws than a Home Depot. There could be permanent nerve damage from waiting, and limitations to his mobility.”

I roll my eyes. “Well, thanks for sugarcoating it, dumbass. Why don’t you go tell Dr. Cain I’ll be ready as soon as I reunite my wife with my son.”

“Holt, how could you wait? This could affect your career, the way you coach.”

“Hey, I told you. Nothing comes before our family. Not even football.” Wrapping my good arm around her, I hold her close to me. Her hair smells like blood and antiseptic.

After a couple of minutes, her haunted whisper cuts through the room. “What happened to him? Is he dead?”

I clear my throat, trying to find the words. I repeated them ten times over for the authorities, but it’s different saying them to Merit. Because I never want her to be scared of me.

And frankly, I’m a little scared of myself.

What if this makes me different?

What if this changes me?

It was different before, with the arrest. Because I didn’t do that. I didn’t do what I was accused of.

But this?

I did it.

There’s no denying I did it.

“He’s dead. I killed him.”