Shirtless, pinned to the kitchen table, my husband shouts in pain as Celeste continues to pick at the bullet in his shoulder. Blood drips to the kitchen floor staining it and Cobra fights to keep Blackie still.
“Jesus Christ,” my dad hisses, brushing past me. “What the fuck happened?”
“There’s a piece of the bullet I can’t get, and we don’t have any pain medication. The alcohol isn’t working,” Celeste explains as Cobra lifts the bottle of booze to Blackie’s open mouth. As quickly as he pours, Blackie swallows until nothing is left.
“He really should be in a hospital,” Celeste hisses. “His blood pressure is all over the place…and the blood…there shouldn’t be this much blood,” she rambles nervously. “I don’t feel comfortable doing this,” she adds, lifting her eyes to my father. The hand holding the scalpel shakes and she silently pleads with him. “I’m a nurse, Jack. I fucking change IV’s and swap bedpans. I don’t perform surgery on people.”
“Just keep going,” Blackie grunts.
At the sound of his voice, I snap back to reality and gravitate towards him, pushing my father out of the way. Our eyes lock and Blackie’s face contorts with pain.
“What is she doing here?” he spats, slicing his eyes to my father. “Get her out of here,” he shouts.
“Don’t move!” Cobra hollers.
“Get her the fuck out of here,” he seethes, glaring at my father. “I don’t want her to see this.”
Before I can find my voice, Riggs comes up behind me and drapes an arm around my shoulder. Pushing him off me, I take another step closer. His eyes find mine once more and I stare at him, my voice trembling as I throw his words in his face.
“That’s not how this works,” I say, feeling the weight of everyone’s gaze on me. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Not now.
Not ever.
Chapter Twenty-One
Lacey
Celeste sold herself short. Not just by doubting her ability to remove the bullet but by choosing to be a nurse instead of a doctor. She may have been nervous, and her hands may have shaken more than a skilled surgeon’s, but she managed to get all the fragments of the bullet and closed Blackie up expertly. There was no way of telling if there was any damage to his muscle without the proper medical equipment, so she insisted we make it a priority that he sees a doctor once the smoke clears on the latest disaster, but for the most part, he was okay. He was in and out of consciousness and in a lot of pain, but he was alive.
After helping get Blackie situated in the bedroom, Cobra took Celeste home. Stryker and Linc came bearing more alcohol and a prescription bottle of painkillers that Linc had left over from his recovery. Once I was armed with all the toxins Blackie was trying to rid himself of, my father announced it was time for them to roll out. They tied pink bandanas to their heads in support of Wolf’s main squeeze, Maria, who was undergoing a mastectomy and vowed to be in touch.
I still didn’t know what had happened; who shot Blackie and why we were hiding out from the cops was all a mystery. I also had no idea how long we’d be out on the lam and none of it mattered because we were together.
We were right where we belonged.
So, when the leather cleared out, and it was just him and I, I crawled into bed next to him and watched him sleep. I made sure he didn’t turn onto his injured shoulder and when he groaned in pain; I placed my hand in his and lulled him back to sleep.
It was noon when I tore myself out of the bed and made my way into the kitchen. There was a horrible stench of bleach in the cabin and I opened all the windows hoping to clear it out. The cold air filtered through the cabin and I grabbed another blanket from the couch. I was about to drape it over Blackie when I spotted the burner phone my dad left behind.
Still clutching the blanket, I grab the phone and make my way back into the bedroom. Placing the phone on the nightstand in case anyone decided to call, I spread the blanket over Blackie. As I step away from the bed, he starts to stir. A groan escapes his lips and a moment later his brown eyes open.
“Hi,” I murmur, moving closer.
Licking his dry lips, he tries to sit up and his face immediately contorts with pain.
“Don’t move,” I tell him, laying my hand gently against his chest. “I’ll get you another pillow.”
“Fuck,” he hisses, dropping his head back. Moving to the other side of the bed, I grab the other pillow. With one knee on the bed, I lean over him and gently help him lift his head. Propping the pillow on top of the other one, I inch back as he lowers himself.
“There,” I whisper, tucking his hair behind his ears. He wraps his fingers around my wrist, keeping my hand in place. Staring at me with an overwhelming intensity, I wait for him to say something. When he doesn’t, I chalk up the expression on his face to pain.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
Confused by the question, I narrow my eyes.
“You were shot and you’re asking me if I’m okay?”
“I’ve been shot before.”
“Thanks for the reminder,” I say, cocking my head to the side. “I’m okay,” I assure him. “Do you want me to get you something? The guys stocked the fridge before they left.”
“You look tired. When was the last time you slept?”
“I…I’m not sure,” I answer, looking away. “Do I look that bad?”
“You look beautiful,” he replies, dropping his hand from my wrist. My gaze wanders back to him and I watch as he closes his eyes for a moment. Between the small talk and the avoidance, I wonder how much of the last few days he remembers and if he’s still feeling the effects of the booze.
“Lay down with me, Lacey,” he says gruffly, keeping his eyes closed.
Dragging my lower lip between my teeth, I move to the other side of the bed. Since he’s using both pillows, I lay my head against the mattress.
“I’m sorry I left you,” he whispers, reaching for my hand.
“I’m sorry I made you.”
Silence washes over us and though I know I should let him rest, I can’t stop myself from asking the question that’s been burning through me.
“Where were you?”
When he doesn’t answer right away, I turn my head to see if he’s fallen asleep. Keeping his eyes closed, he squeezes my hand.
“I went to see Christine.”
Another woman might be upset to hear her husband walked out on her and went to visit his late wife’s grave. She might feel insecure or think he never got over her. That she and the love they shared will never match up to her and the love they have. The younger me thought and felt all those things. The younger me envied the woman who came before me. It didn’t matter that she was no longer here on earth, she had his heart first and what they shared can never be replaced.
However, when Blackie was first hospitalized for a drug overdose, I made peace with Christine. He was recovering and not able to bring her flowers on a Saturday. So, without him knowing, I did. I sat at her grave and told her all my truths. That I was jealous of her and at times even hated her. I also told her I loved him and somewhere in between all those visits, I realized there was no crime in loving the same man. She had his past, and I had his future.