Page 57 of Wrap Around (Forbidden Goals #7)

SILAS

My knees ache on the floor of the hospital chapel, forehead pressed to the back of the pew in front of me, arms draped over the wooden rail like it’s holding me up. My tears hit the speckled linoleum floor one by one, silent and steady.

I don’t know if I came here to pray or just to breathe.

Maybe I should be out there with Lily, or Mrs. Shepherd, trying to be strong for someone else. Maybe I should be holding Addy, telling her that her uncle is going to be okay, even if I’m not sure I believe it myself. She’s scared and restless, doesn’t understand what’s happening.

But I can’t.

Not when I can still feel his blood on my hands, hot and wet as it poured out of him. Not when the crack of the gun still rings in my ears. Two deafening shots that blew apart my entire world.

Bullets that were meant for me. Not for Gideon. That was my death, and he took it, traded it for this all-encompassing pain. I won’t live much longer than he will at this rate. I can’t survive it.

He wasn’t supposed to die for me.

My father aimed straight at my heart, and Gideon— fucking Gideon —threw himself in front of me like it was planned.

His blood is still on my skin, soaked into my shirt. It’s cold now, not like how hot it was when it poured between my fingers. My palms pressed hard to the wounds, crying, begging…

Stay with me, baby. Please, stay. I need you. I need you. I need you.

I squeeze my eyes shut and try not to scream.

The door creaks open behind me.

I don’t look up. I don’t have the energy.

A body lowers into the pew across the aisle.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever have him back,” comes a voice, weary and cracked.

Pastor Shepherd.

I don't know if he’s speaking to me or to God, but I answer anyway.

“If you mean the version of him who hated himself, who fought against who he was inside, and barely slept because of the nightmares you gave him, then no. You won’t.”

I sit back slowly and look at the man who raised the man I love. He looks smaller right now. Older. Frail. Maybe he only seemed threatening from high up on his pulpit.

“He’s a better person now,” I say. “He’s finally accepted who he is. He’s not living in fear anymore, none of us are. We’re happy. I don’t care what you think that means. I know it’s not a sin to love him. I know .”

The pastor’s lips twitch downward into a deeper frown. “The scripture says– ”

“Don’t,” I snap. “Don’t you dare quote twisted, cherry-picked scripture at me.”

I shift forward, eyes locked on his. “You used the Bible as a weapon. You twisted God’s words into something hateful and cruel, and you used it to terrorize your own son. That’s the real sin.”

He flinches.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like to live in fear of the very people who are supposed to protect you?” Do you know the kind of man Gideon might’ve been if he’d grown up with love instead of shame?

He doesn’t speak.

“He has nightmares,” I continue, my voice breaking.

“Of you. Standing over him, spitting vile hatred and twisted scriptures at him while he kneels on the ground, grains of rice digging into his knees as he imagines all manner of terrifying, evil, demonic things happening to him. He’s woken out of a dead sleep in pain, either from the memory of the scars on his knees or the burn of hellfire.

And not because he ever did anything wrong—all because you taught him to hate himself. ”

Still nothing.

“You don’t get to call yourself his father. Not anymore. And if he wakes up— when he wakes up—you won’t ever see him again. You’ll never see either of your children, or your grandchild, ever again. Because I refuse to let my family be poisoned by your toxic hate any longer.”

I stand, breathing hard.

“The worst part, to me, is that you can find it in your Christian heart to forgive abusers. You can look the other way for liars and thieves and cowards. But you can’t forgive your son for being who he is.

For being imperfect according to your interpretation of a dusty old book written by power-hungry assholes.

A book by which your actions, your lack of compassion and forgiveness for the people who you’re supposed to love, are just as sinful as the rest of us. ”

Pushing my sweaty hair off my forehead, I stand even taller, because I’m not fucking done.

“Gideon doesn’t need you. Because I will love him unconditionally, enough to make up for all the ways you failed to.”

He stares at the floor for a long time, then at the candles that flicker against the white walls like dying stars.

He stands and walks towards the door. Before he pushes it open to leave, he turns and speaks again.

“They apprehended your father,” he says quietly. “On Route 11, heading west from Knoxville. He’s in custody awaiting charges.”

Waiting to find out if he’s being charged with murder or just the attempt.

Then he’s gone.

The moment the door swings shut, every last drop of adrenaline drains out of me. I slump down into the pew closest to me and bend forward, head in my hands, and try to breathe through the pain.

So much blood.

Don’t leave me…

I’m not sure how much time passes, or even if I’ve been conscious for the whole time, when Lily finds me. She kneels beside me and places a hand on my shoulder. I flinch back, not expecting the touch.

“Hey there,” she says, voice soft. “Gideon made it through surgery. The surgeon just came out to update us.”

I choke.

“They’re settling him into recovery. We can go back soon, but he probably won’t wake up for a few hours.”

My knees hit the ground hard, sobs wracking my chest. This time in pure, shaking relief.

I didn’t want to admit to myself that I didn’t think he’d make it. There was just so much blood. It took too long for the ambulance to get there, and then to get to a hospital with a trauma department.

I squeeze his hand lightly.

“It’s just you and me now,” I whisper, voice cracked and raw. “You can wake up. Open those pretty green eyes and let me see you’re okay, baby.”

Once the surgeon confirmed that Gideon was stable and through the worst of the danger, Lily took Addy back to the trailer so she could sleep. None of us thought Addy should be in a place like this overnight. Not after what she saw.

Everyone else left when they did.

But not me. I’ll never leave his side again if I can help it.

I haven’t moved in hours. Barely even gone to the bathroom.

I sit beside his bed, holding his hand in both of mine, pressing it to my mouth every so often, whispering promises into his skin like they might sink in and travel up to his brain.

The beeping of the monitor is the only sound in the room, but I don’t mind it. The steady beeps are proof he’s still here.

Dawn is breaking when the surgeon comes in again to check Gideon’s bandages and vitals before shift change. If his quiet nods are any indication, he approves of Gideon’s progress. I want to ask when he’ll wake up, but I can’t seem to remember how my voice works. He talks to me anyway.

“It was close,” he says. “The first bullet missed a major artery by millimeters.” He pauses. “Actually, hold on a second.”

The surgeon leaves the room for a few minutes, then comes back, holding a small bag. It’s clear plastic like a sandwich bag, but there’s a red bio-hazard stamp on the front. Inside the baggie is a dark grey lump.

He passes me the bag, and I hold it in my free hand. A river rock, cracked along the middle and a deep gouge on one side. When I wrap my fingers around it tighter, it feels almost warm.

I look up in confusion.

“That was found in his t-shirt pocket,” the surgeon says. “Might’ve been just solid enough to deflect the bullet even the slightest bit. It’s possible it could’ve been what saved his life. I thought you might want to keep it.”

My breath catches, and I wrap my fingers around the rock tighter. It feels… warm. Maybe I’m making that up. And surely it’s my own pulse I’m feeling from holding onto the rock so tightly.

The monitor beeps out of sync, just a small spike in the rhythm that gets my attention. My head snaps up to see it happen again.

Gideon’s fingers twitch in my palm.

Gideon is awake, but groggy. Part of that might be my fault, the nurse showed me how to work the morphine pump and I keep pressing the button. I don’t want him to feel a second of pain.

Lily comes into the room just as I’m getting Gideon to sip some water. Her eyes are red and wet from crying. She burst into tears as soon as I called to tell her he woke up. He’s drifted off once since then, but he just woke again.

“Addy?” Gideon rasps, voice barely there, throat raw from the intubation.

I ask how our little girl is for him.

Lily nods. “She’s okay. Confused about where her daddy and Uncle Gid-On are, but she’s okay.

She’s with Sister Eleanor, our old Sabbath school teacher, happily making a mess of her arts and crafts.

” Lily looks at me. “Don’t worry, she knows not to discipline Addy without my say-so, apparently word got around about my little blow up on Sister Paula.

But Eleanor was always kind to us. And Addy seemed happy. ”

She walks over and sits on the edge of the bed, opposite me. She takes Gideon’s hand in hers and says softly, “I’m so glad you’re okay. You really had us worried there, big brother.”

She takes a shaky breath. Then she clears her throat, and her voice sharpens. “You’re a fucking idiot, you know that? You almost got yourself killed.”

Gideon’s gaze flicks to mine. He turns his hand over and drops something into my palm. The river rock.

I smile down at him and nod.

“What’s that? ”

“This was in Gideon’s chest pocket. They think it might have saved him.”

Lily gasps and covers her mouth. Her eyes fill again.

Once she collects herself, she shakes her head. “It’s a shame our parents couldn’t recognize a real miracle.”

We sit in silence.

Then she clears her throat. “I spoke to Zac this morning.”

My spine tenses.

She goes on. “He understands we can’t stay in Tennessee.

And he has to get back to Arkansas for school, too, but we’re going to keep talking.

He was shocked about Addy. Still thought you couldn’t get pregnant the first time.

” She snorts a derisive half-laugh. “But he told me, under no uncertain terms, that he understands Addy is your daughter, Silas. And he would never try to take that from you. He hopes to be a friend of the family, but he’d never come between you. ”

The relief I feel is rivaled only by seeing Gideon’s eyes open this morning. Emotion clogs in my throat and I take a deep breath for the first time since my plane landed.

Gideon rasps, “So we’re leaving?”

Lily nods. “Yeah. I told Dad. He didn’t even fight me.

I said I can’t raise my daughter here. I told him to hire a home health nurse to help Mom, but that if she isn’t going to follow the doctor’s orders, she won’t be alive much longer.

She needs to understand that by ignoring her actual physician, she’s making a choice that she will not be able to come back from. Either way, we’re done here.”

I nod, impressed, and ask, “Will he be coming by?”

She shakes her head sadly. “No. But he gave me this. ”

She pulls out a scrap of paper and hands it to Gideon. With a nod from him, I open it and read it aloud.

“Judgment without mercy will be shown to anyone who has not been merciful. Mercy triumphs over judgment.” - James 2:13

It isn’t an apology, and it isn’t closure, but it’s something.

Something that says maybe, just maybe, he heard me.

Maybe he’ll change.

Maybe he won’t.

But either way, we’re moving forward.