Olivia
Sleep. Is that too much to ask for? All around me there’s an incessant beeping, the sound of trolleys, and hushed voices, and the cloying scent of flowers fills the room. There are warm hands, though—or at least there’s one warm hand tracing patterns on my palm. August. I open my eyes, blinking up at the stark white light above my bed.
I groan. My throat is dry and scratchy from misuse. My whole body aches, and my head feels as if it’s been stuffed full of cotton. Did I die? Surely Heaven wouldn’t be this annoying, would it? “Am I dead?”
August smiles. “You think I’d let them take you away from me? Darlin’, even God is afraid of Marines. He knows I’d beat down his door until he gave you back. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me a bit longer, princess.”
“I like stuck,” I mumble, more to myself than to him. Drugs cloud my head, making my thoughts foggy and incoherent.
“How you feelin’?”
“Like I got shot,” I say, giving him a sleepy smile. “I don’t … I remember the pain, knowing I’d been hit and looking down at all the blood, but the rest is hazy.”
“The bullet grazed your side, it’s pretty deep,” he shakes his head. “But you got damn lucky.”
I know he’s right, I am lucky, but it feels like a slap in the face because I still lost my friend. I wasn’t there for him, and now he’s dead. “What happened to your face?”
“The Du Ponts’ back door. Cut me all to ribbons.” He rolls up his sleeve, displaying the long angry scratches marring his biceps and forearms.
“Are you okay?”
He chuckles and leans in to kiss my hand. “Now that you’re awake, yeah. You scared the shit outta me, princess.”
“Where’s Bettina?” I say, and my heart squeezes when I remember August and I weren’t the only ones caught up in Dalton’s madness. “Where’s Betty?”
“Bettina’s out in the waiting room with the boys, and Jude has your piglet. She’s stable, but a little beat up. She had a broken rib or two, and a twisted stomach.”
I put my hand over my mouth. “Oh, my God.”
“Doc tells me she’s doing fine.”
I stare blankly at August. “You’ve spoken to him?”
A muscle in August’s jaw ticks. “Yeah, I talked to him.”
“Without kicking his ass?”
“Let’s just say he’s lucky there was a wounded piglet between us.”
I attempt to shift into a more comfortable position and it feels as if my torso is on fire. Resigned, I lay my head back on the pillow. “He knows he did wrong by you, but he’s trying, August.”
“Yeah, tryin’ my last freakin’ nerve.” He trails his lips up my wrist. “Olivia, I don’t want you doing this anymore.”
“It’s part of who I am.” Tears well in my eyes and I blink them back, but they spill over anyway. “If I don’t . . . if I don’t help men like Dalton, who will?”
“Someone who ain’t you. Someone who ain’t mine.”
I lift my hand and wipe the salt from my cheeks. “I’m not yours.”
“Who says?”
“I do.”
“Then you’re lying to yourself.”
“I can’t fight with you anymore,” I whisper. “I can’t fight anymore.”
“Then come home, where you belong. We need you.” He winces as if he’s in pain. “I need you.”
I shake my head, but I don’t say a word, because I’m not sure I can trust my mouth not to betray me. I want to come home with him, but it’s not that simple.
“You might not want a fight, but I’m a Marine. It’s what we do, and I won’t give up without one. I’m not perfect; the last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt you, but I’m working on it. Put me in your program. Help me be a better man.” He squeezes my hand tight. Too tight. I should pull away, but I don’t because that pain is the only thing keeping me from losing it and giving into sorrow. “Help me be the kind of man you deserve. I know it ain’t foolproof, but I love you, Liv. And I can’t let go. Please?”
I don’t want to go back to Jude’s. I don’t think I could deal with standing in that kitchen, where August killed another man—my friend—to protect me. I don’t blame him. Dalton would have killed us both. I failed him, and I’ll live with that for the rest of my days. The choices August made are the reason I have more days to live through, but I’m not sure I can return to Tanglewood and fall back into the way things were with him either. He needs help. We both do. “I need to think about it.”
“Come home, Liv.”
A nurse chooses that time to enter my room and check my vitals. She asks me a bunch of questions that I feel too exhausted to answer, and tells August that it’s time to let me rest. The stubborn ass doesn’t like it, but he leaves with the promise to be here again soon, the second that visiting hours start up.
I watch him go and I’m thankful for the reprieve, because I don’t think I could stomach saying no to him again. I don’t think I’m capable of it, and that frightens me more than the idea of Dalton holding a gun to my head. My heart is stuffed full of explosives, and August Cotton holds the trigger, and I don’t know how either of us will survive the blast when it detonates.