Page 9

8

January

I t’s after one in the morning on New Year’s when my doorbell rings for the second time. I roll myself out of bed and throw on a pair of gym shorts and a T-shirt before heading down the stairs.

When I open the door, all the air escapes my lungs as I take in the sight before me. A woman with dark hair is bent over, clutching her side. I have to bend down and pull back her hair to reveal who this woman is, but when I do, my heart shatters, and I nearly fall to the ground in shock.

Dakota lifts her chin, and her one green eye that isn’t swollen shut connects with mine. Tears stream down her cheeks, her face is battered, her lips bloodied, and her arm is still holding on to her side.

Shock and anger paralyze me.

“I’m so sorry, I-I didn’t know where else to go,” she whispers.

Her words snap me back to reality.

“Who did this to you?” I somehow manage to grind out through a clenched jaw.

The only response is a gut-wrenching sob that escapes from Dakota’s lips. Whoever did this must be punished, but that will have to wait. Right now, I need to get her to a hospital.

Fuck, I’ve been drinking, and I absolutely refuse to risk it. Instead of calling for a ride service, which I’ve been apprehensive about using since McKenna and Katie’s accident in the back of one, I call a guy I know I can count on at all hours of the night.

“Hello?” he rasps.

“Bennett, hey, it’s Carson. Listen, can you make it to my house as quickly as possible and drive me and my friend to the hospital?”

“Jesus, Wilder. What’d you get yourself into?”

“I really can’t explain right now. If you can’t bring us, just tell me so I can call someone else.”

“No, I’m on my way now. It’s New Year’s. Everyone else is likely still out drinking.”

He’s probably not wrong. Most of our teammates went to a New Year’s Eve party at a club in the city. I cozied up to a bunch of lawyers I don’t even know at my father’s firm’s annual end-of-the-year celebration.

“I’ll be there in ten. And, Wilder, you better not be getting me caught in the middle of a media shitstorm,” Bennett warns.

“I’m not. Thank you, B. I really appreciate it.” I hang up the phone just as Dakota sways on her feet. She groans in pain as I catch her around her waist to keep her from face-planting.

“I’m so sorry, Austen. Don’t worry, I’ve got you. You’re safe. I’m going to keep you safe.”

And I mean every word—keeping her safe has now become my top priority. Most of my anxiety and fear since losing Katie is triggered when I think of losing another person I love and care for. Seeing Dakota bruised and battered—well, it fucking breaks me.

Dakota

Machines beep a steady rhythm even as my lungs fight to expand and contract. I wince as pain ricochets down my spine, but when I do, my face throbs, sending a new wave of pain. I struggle to open my eyes, only able to open my right one. The overhead fluorescent lights are dimmed, but I can make out that I’m in a hospital.

There’s movement on my right side, and I flinch in anticipation of Aaron touching me.

“Austin, you’re okay. I’m right here. You’re safe.” Hearing Carson’s voice immediately puts me at ease. “You’re in the hospital. I’ll call the nurse to get the doctor in here.”

I’m safe, but I’m far from okay. Aaron did this to me—he beat me so badly that I had to be hospitalized.

After pushing the call button on my bed, Carson takes my hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze. Such a small gesture shouldn’t make me feel so much relief, but it does.

“I’m so sorry, Carson.”

His brow furrows in confusion. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

Tears flood the vision in my right eye. “I was terrible to you on the dance floor. I never should’ve said those things. I didn’t mean any of them.”

Carson rubs slow circles over my hand. “You were right. I was prying. If anyone should apologize, it’s me.”

I start to argue just as a woman with platinum blonde hair slicked back into a tight ponytail wearing navy scrubs comes into the room carrying a clipboard.

“Hello, my name is Dr. Frederick. I’m the doctor on call this evening. Can you tell me your name?”

“Dakota.”

“What is your date of birth?”

“8/30/96.”

“Dakota, can I ask you a few questions in private?” the doctor asks before suspiciously looking over at Carson, causing my panic to spike.

“It-it wasn’t him. He can stay. Carson brought me here when I showed up at his doorstep like this.” I try to take a deep, calming breath, but it gets caught in my throat as pain slices its way through my chest.

The doctor pauses, chewing the inside of her cheek as she assesses the two of us. She seems to believe me, but she also knows someone did this to me.

“Alright. Your injuries were quite extensive. Your left lung collapsed upon your arrival. That, along with the three broken ribs on your left side, may make breathing painful, so we’ll get you some more morphine. Your left kidney has a renal hematoma, also known as a bruised kidney. We’re monitoring it for internal bleeding. You also had several lacerations that required stitches,” the doctor explains before asking, “Dakota, do you feel safe?”

“Right now, yes.”

“Do you feel safe at home?”

I don’t verbalize my answer; instead, I slightly shake my head at her.

“Did someone you live with do this to you?”

Lowering my head, I’m too ashamed to look her in the eyes when I answer. “Yes,” I whisper.

Carson gives my hand another reassuring squeeze, giving me the courage to speak my truth.

“My husband, Aaron Ackerman, did this to me.”

“Thank you for telling me. Dakota, do you feel comfortable answering a few more questions?”

I nod my head in response.

“Perhaps I could ask you these questions in private?” The doctor looks over at Carson again, this time less suspiciously.

In this moment, Carson feels like my lifeline. “He can stay, if that’s alright.”

“That’s okay, I just wanted to make sure you were comfortable. Some of these questions will be quite personal.”

“I understand.” Carson and I exchange looks, and it’s as if a conversation passes between the two of us.

Are you okay with staying here?

I’ll be here as long as you need me.

“Okay. Do you recall passing out or being unconscious for any amount of time during the assault?”

Wincing at that word and the flashback of the look on Aaron’s face it brings, I reply, “No. The only time I recall being unconscious was when I was brought here.”

“Was any part of the assault sexual in nature? Would you like us to run a rape kit?”

At that question, Carson goes completely rigid beside me.

“No,” I answer truthfully. “I don’t need a rape kit. Aaron didn’t sexually assault me.”

Dr. Frederick’s features soften with sympathy. “Thank you for answering my questions, Dakota. There is also a police officer here to ask you a few questions. Do you feel comfortable answering them now, or would you like me to ask him to let you rest and return later?” Fear and panic slither their way back up my spine like vipers ready to strike.

“I’d like to rest, if that’s okay,” I whisper, my voice laced with unease.

“Okay. We’ll be keeping you overnight for monitoring. Do you have any questions for me at this time?” she asks.

“No. Thank you,” I answer.

With that, she gives me a soft smile, nods, and heads out into the hallway, closing the door behind her.

I close my eyes and struggle to inhale through my nose, attempting to calm my nerves, when I hear Carson shift in his seat. If it weren’t for his hand still on mine, I’d have forgotten he was here.

“Dakota, I know you need to rest. I do. But I don’t think you have a choice regarding pressing charges against Aaron. You’ll at least want an order of protection against him so he can’t come near you. My dad can help you. Once he hears about this, there’s no way he’ll stand for a piece of shit with no integrity to stay at their practice.”

My breaths start to shallow as the monitor’s beeping picks up speed. Trepidation and dread consume me as his words sink in.

“Carson, you don’t understand. Aaron w-will kill me if he loses his job. It’s all he’s worked for—all he’s cared about the entire time I’ve known him.”

Still holding my hand in his, Carson gently squeezes my hand three times as he says, “I’ve got you.”

I’m not sure why such a small gesture from a man I’ve only recently become friends with somehow both eases my terror while also earning my trust.

“I won’t let anything happen to you, Austin. I’m going to take care of you, and I’ll have my father help me take care of Aaron. You have my word.”

Maybe it’s the pain medication, maybe it’s the conviction in his words, either way, I find myself nodding in acknowledgment as what I vow will be the last tears shed over my future ex-husband stream down my cheeks.