Free Fall, page 16
Down the hall.
Through the doors.
The wooden panels slowly closing behind him.
Leaving her in an empty room, the pool of Connor’s bright red blood spreading out by the second.
Thirty-Two
Connor
“I don’t see why the hell I can’t just walk to the bathroom by myself,” he snapped, knowing he was being an asshole yet unable to stop himself.
He’d been in the hospital for a week.
He was more than ready to go home.
The doctors and nurses taking care of him were great, but he still thought that being a patient here sucked—always being poked and prodded and annoyed at all hours of the day and night. Hell, blood had been taken from him enough times that he could have sworn the laboratory department was made up entirely of vampires. Not to mention, his dressings had been changed often enough that he alone had certainly used the entire department’s supply budget.
“No,” Raven snapped back, having every right to be an asshole right back to him, even though she had shown more saintly patience than was really reasonable to expect.
To say they both made terrible patients was an understatement and a half.
It was just as well he was being discharged today.
He needed to get the hell out of here.
Before he did something like jump out a window.
That would hurt.
He was on a lot of meds—antibiotics, anti-nausea pills, painkillers. It was a veritable treasure trove of happy drugs, but he still didn’t have enough happy pills in his body to make jumping out a third story window not hurt.
Plus, Raven had just put him back together.
He didn’t need her pissed at him because he was jumping out windows.
“Why not?” he asked, now amused enough by his mental train of thoughts—windows, anyone?—to rein in his frustration.
“Why can’t my recently stabbed boyfriend hobble his own ass to the bathroom less than a week after nearly dying?” she asked, danger in every syllable.
“Yup. That about covers it,” he said, leaning on her more than he’d like.
But he lowered himself onto the bowl himself. Hashtag, winning.
She leaned against the wall, bracing herself in a way that told him she was going to stay—probably to make sure he wasn’t going to slump off the bowl and crack his skull open on the tile.
“I’ll holler if I need you, sweetheart.”
It was bad enough his ass was hanging out—he drew the line at using the facilities in front of the woman he loved.
She pressed her lips together, crossed her arms.
And didn’t move.
“I promise.”
A scowl.
Then she stomped out, closing the door (most of the way, anyway).
“I love you,” he called.
She popped her head back into the narrow opening. “I love you too, you stubborn man.”
“Just saying,” he said as she started to back out. “I learned from a master.”
A glare, but her lips were twitching.
And she left the door cracked.
Which meant she came back in approximately two-point-two seconds after he’d flushed the toilet, helped him stand up and wash his hands. She even held the back of his gown together when as they shuffled back to bed together so he didn’t flash anyone who might happen to come in.
Which had been a lot of people.
Coworkers. His big ass family. Lex. Frankie. Misty and Rob. Maggie and Kim.
Even Cole had briefly stopped by, bringing Connor one of his favorite choo-choos (trains now since Cole was too big to call them choo-choos any longer—but they would always be choo-choos to him).
“It made me feel better when I was in the hospital, Uncle Connor,” he said, passing it over.
That had been the only moment Connor had thought he might cry.
Because…damn he’d almost died.
And he was relating to a child who’d almost done the same.
He knew that Raven felt that, and felt it as deeply as him, because their eyes had connected and held and—
Her past had been written on her face.
“Baby?” he asked.
“Hmm?” She snagged the sheet and blanket, holding it so he could sit in bed, could slowly and painfully position himself into bed. She lifted his legs, tucked the blankets around him.
“You’ve been holding it together pretty well.”
She stilled, her eyes hit his.
Damn.
She wasn’t holding it together.
It was a façade and—
“You didn’t see my breakdown in the ER,” she whispered, eyes drifting away. “I wouldn’t let them change my clothes or wash my hands or—” A shake of her head. “Lex finally carried me into the bathroom, stripped me down, cleaned me up, and got me into fresh scrubs before he schlepped me to the waiting area.” She blew out a breath, sat on the bed next to him, taking his hand, squeezing gently. “And as we waited for them to come out with news about you, he set me straight.”
Lex had—
“What?”
She smiled weakly. “I was…obviously not in a good place. My mom hurting you, my past flaring up to ruin shit again. And you didn’t have a pulse for…God, for too fucking long.” She exhaled. “But Lex took me in hand.”
Connor scowled. What the fuck did that mean?
Raven saw, of course she did. “He just made it clear to me that if I hadn’t clamped that artery, hadn’t shoved John aside to use the defibrillator again then you wouldn’t be here.” Her eyes drifted to the bed then back up to his. “If I hadn’t resuscitated you, you wouldn’t be here,” she whispered. “He made me realize that—and by making me realize,” she added, “I mean, he kept stating the facts until it finally passed through my thick skull and sank into my stubborn brain.”
His lips twitched, but then he reached up and touched her cheek. “How long did that take?”
“Until about two seconds before John came out and told me you were okay.”
He’d been in surgery a long time.
That didn’t make him happy.
What did?
Raven covering his palm. “Turns out that Lex is even more stubborn than me,” she told him. “And that meant I eventually was at a place where I could recognize that I hadn’t killed you. I’d saved you and given you a chance and”—her throat worked—“when everyone else had given up, I was still fighting for you.”
He inhaled so sharply that he winced.
“Shit, honey,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. I—”
“Shut up, baby.” He flexed carefully, pushed himself up so that he could cup both her cheeks. “I am so fucking furious at you,” he ground out, shaking her head just slightly. “How could you possibly think that you were responsible?”
Her other hand covered his other hand. “I think we’ve already established that my first instincts with regards to my family baggage aren’t always the greatest.”
He growled.
“But honey”—her fingers flexed—“the point is that I saw reason. I am not my mother. I am not responsible for her actions or the bullshit she tries to spew at me.” A breath. “I am not my past. I’m only my present. And when my present isn’t good enough and I don’t make the right choice or to the right step or give the right gesture, then…I’m my future. And that’s okay too.”
He was still pissed that she’d blamed herself—even if it had only been for a few hours.
But he was also so fucking happy that she was mentally in this place—and proud of her because that wasn’t an easy thing to come to terms with.
And he was grateful to Lex for supporting her in that.
Lex had been at the hospital a lot since that night, since he’d missed the text Connor had sent him to meet up at Raven’s house—and thank fuck for that little bit of miscommunication. It was one of the reasons he was still breathing, Raven and the rest of his coworkers being the others. However, it also hadn’t escaped Connor’s notice that Raven and Lex had come to some sort of peace.
Knowing that Lex had saved him from a second stab wound courtesy of Sylvia’s knife blade had indebted Connor to him.
But knowing that Lex had then cared for Raven when he hadn’t been able to? Had helped her out of that cycle that could have broken her?
That debt was larger than life.
Still, he leaned in, held her eyes, and said, “This wasn’t your fault.”
“I know,” she murmured, expression gentle.
He sighed, studying her face, taking in what she was saying…and what she wasn’t.
She was okay, but this wasn’t something that would leave her, not for a long time.
“We’ll compare nightmares, yeah?” he asked lightly. “Trade fire for knife wounds.”
A wince. A glare. “Too soon, honey. Too freaking soon.”
“No”—he kissed her nose—“it’s not,” he whispered. “Because it’s never too early to be our future.”
Epilogue
Raven
“And then,” Aunt Pat said, reclining back against the cushions of Raven’s soda, glass of wine in hand, sage tone in full effect, “I told her that her family sounded like a bunch of assholes considering that the first time I’d laid eyes on her, I thought she was a drunk or a drug addict who was too messed up to make it to bed.” She scowled. “Of course,” Pat went on. “That was before I knew her stubborn streak.” A glance at Connor’s belly. “And before I knew her biological one was even worse.”
Raven turned her gaze toward Connor, who was propped up in a recliner and taking his bonding time with Pat seriously.
Very seriously.
And—for God’s sake—like she needed them bonding further.
They were each a terror in their own rights.
“I’m home,” she announced, dropping her backpack onto the kitchen counter with a thunk.
Neither of her Sage Masters looked her way.
“And then,” Auntie Pat went on, “she told me she’d slept on the floor with her duffle because she was too tired to make it to bed because she was recovering from being caught up in a fire.” Pat’s head twisted her way, piercing eyes locked onto Raven’s. “She’d driven four hours and hauled her ass up two flights of stairs after being caught up in a fire.”
Now Connor’s head swiveled, his gaze pinning her in place.
Shit. She hadn’t mentioned that part to him.
“Um,” she began. “I should probably go shower.”
Connor’s lips pressed together. “No, sweetheart, you should tell me why I shouldn’t paddle your ass for pulling that stunt.”
A bolt of annoyance through her belly prompted her to forget about evasive maneuvers.
Or evasive showers, so it was.
It pricked her temper, sent her marching into the living room, stopping in front of Connor, and glaring at him—then at Auntie Pat, for sharing that bit of information. “I’ll have you know if I hadn’t freaked out and ended up next door to Pat then I would have still been running from life and messed up and—”
His lips curved, mirth dancing in hazel eyes.
Oh. Oh.
She glowered, plunked her hands on her hips, and turned to frown at Auntie Pat again. Then back to Connor.
The fiends.
They’d planned this—get her all hot and bothered and frustrated…just to prank her.
“You two are menaces,” she announced. “So I’m taking my Anything Brownies, going to my bedroom, and not coming out for the next century—or until you both put aside your pact to torture me.”
“Now, honey,” Pat said. “You know that’s not going to happen.”
She did know that.
Unfortunately.
“Shower,” she announced, turning on her heel.
“Baby?” Connor asked when she’d reached the hall, started to turn for the bedroom.
She paused, glanced back over her shoulder. “Yeah?”
“Our family wants to come over for dinner tonight. Is that okay?”
Our family. Our family.
Simple words.
A simple question.
And yet, it meant everything.
“Yeah, honey,” she whispered. “That’s good.”
Then, before she could get sappy and emotional—or at least reveal that she was about to turn into a sentimental, watering pot—she turned and headed for her bedroom.
Small things.
Simple words.
The family.
All held close.
She was her present.
Her future.
And that was fucking perfect.
One year later
* * *
She walked into the cafeteria and grinned.
Connor was at their table, trays in front of him—soup and fries and her favorite grilled cheese.
Which was good.
Because she was starving.
She’d stayed on day shifts after the stabbing, knowing that she would never trade time with Connor for an adrenaline rush, not ever again.
The present was precious.
The future even more so.
Today, though, they hadn’t been able to time their breaks as well as they normally did.
Connor had ten more minutes.
She had her full forty-five minutes.
But that present was precious.
Which was why she hurried over, slumped into the chair next to him, and leaned in.
He kissed her lightly, brushed her hair off her forehead. “Tough morning, huh?”
She nodded.
They’d been busy, as busy as during a full moon on the night shift. Way busier than she was used to.
“I’m ready for sweet potato fr—” She froze.
Because the cardboard tray she’d thought was full of fries wasn’t. Onion rings were in the paper container.
Delicious crispy onion rings.
But they weren’t sweet potato fries.
Connor picked one up, started crunching on it. “Eat, sweetheart,” he murmured. “You’ve been going all day.”
And great.
Now she was grumpy—because orders and no sweet potato fries. Poo.
But she picked up her sandwich, began scarfing it down.
At least she had melted cheese and crunchy, perfectly toasted bread.
“Here you go.”
She blinked, watched as a tray of—and okay, now she felt like an asshole—freshly made sweet potato fries appeared on the table in front of her. Which was why she made herself wait at least ten whole seconds before scarfing those down as well.
It took a solid five minutes for the food to hit her system, for her to be firmly removed from the throes of hangry.
“Hi,” Connor said, clearly recognizing that she’d emerged back into the land of humanity.
“Hi,” she whispered back.
“My sweet girl,” he murmured, leaning in, and brushing his finger over her cheek.
“Except when I get mad about you not getting sweet potato fries.”
A grin. “Well, you kept the mad inside, so gold star for the day.”
She wrinkled her nose. “No gold star if you noticed my mad in the first place.”
“I notice everything about you,” he murmured. “Including the rage that comes from having your sweet potato fries not ready for immediate consumption.” Another brush of his fingers. “They burned the first batch, sweetheart.”
“Great,” she muttered, picking up another. “Now I feel like even more of a jerk.”
He shook his head, lips curved. “I know when I need to feed my woman.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Just saying, that doesn’t really make me feel better.”
“No?” he asked lightly. “Then what about this?” He reached forward, reached into the pile of fries she hadn’t gotten down to scarfing, and shifted a few to the side.
Raven sucked in a breath. “What the fuck is that?”
He retrieved the sparkling band of silver and diamonds from beneath her fries, held it up between thumb and forefinger. “Does this make your feel better?”
“No!” she exclaimed. “It doesn’t! Because I’m a cranky girlfriend who was mentally complaining because I had onion rings instead of sweet potato fries and—”
“You want to be a cranky fiancée complaining about onion rings instead?”
Her eyes welled. “Connor,” she whispered. “This is the wrong time. I’m a mess. I’m emotional. And I’m cranky and—”
“You’re my present and my future,” he whispered back, taking her hand, slipping on the ring.
She sniffed, losing her hold on those tears, feeling them drip down her cheeks.
The weight of that metal band felt right.
Felt like the present.
The future.
“And I don’t care if you’re cranky or pissed that I forgot sweet potato fries.” He touched her cheek. “Because you smile at me when you wake up in the morning and you burrow close when you go to sleep. Because you battled your demons and never shied away from the strength that took to most beyond them. Because you love our family and show it, despite all the shit you had to overcome. Because you’re smart and capable and beautiful and…” A sigh, his forehead dropping to hers. “And you’re everything I’ve ever wanted, baby. Now. Forever. Always. So maybe this isn’t the most romantic proposal—”
She thought it was the most romantic thing she’d ever heard of.
He saw her.
Her.
And he loved her.
Her.
As she was.
“It is,” she whispered.
“And that,” he murmured, “is why I don’t care that you’re cranky. Because you think sweet potato fries are romantic and love my brownies and can clamp an artery like a fucking champ.”
She giggled. “Yes.”
He lifted a brow. “To the clamping or the proposal?”
“Both.”
His arms banded around her, his laughter in the air, his ring on her finger. This was the now. This was the future.
This was their lives becoming one.
Because he loved her.
And she loved him.
And his ability to spring for sweet potato fries at precisely the right time.
