CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Blanche
We did it. I turn around and look at the home that’s slowly but surely coming together. We opted to not renew the lease on the condo and found a ranch-style, four-bedroom home not too far from the club. We’re renting it now, with the option to own should we decide. It felt like the right move. My job is going well, his counseling is steady, and neither of us is going anywhere. It feels like the logical next step in my life.
The knock on the door makes me frown. Blue and Dixie Rose just left. Did they forget something? I run to the door and peer through the peephole. The blood drains from my face, and I sway. What the hell is Elizabeth Watkins doing here? How does she even know where I live? The things money can do disgusts me. Every time I think I’m moving on, the past resurfaces. I open the door.
“What are you doing here, Elizabeth?” I ask with a sigh.
“I wanted to see you.”
“Well, you have, so you can leave and never return because the next time I see you, I’ll be calling the cops.”
“I had to see it for myself. You living happily ever after with your biker trash while Brooks is out there somewhere.”
“He did that, not me.” My jaw flexes.
“Because he wanted to be with me,” she hisses.
I arch an eyebrow.
“We had a plan. You’d be gone, and I’d step in and take my rightful place. The one you stole from me.”
“Get out.”
She pulls her hand out of her pocket and points a gun at me. My stomach drops.
“I’m going to finish what he started, Blanche.”
The sound of a motorcycle distracts her. I knock the gun from her hand and rush forward with my shoulder. She stumbles back, and I run toward the bike. Bullets whiz by and I run in a zig zag pattern. A door slams. Turning, I see her climb into a black SUV as Jagger pulls up.
“What’s going on?”
I open my mouth to speak, but the SUV roars toward us. He steers the bike in front of me and takes the impact. I scream as he’s flung from the back. She continues to drive, shredding the bike as she runs over his lower body. The metal from the wreckage pierces her tires. Cutting the wheel to the right, she pulls out onto the road, weaving to the right and left like a drunk. I gasp as she slips the rear of the car in front of her and spins out, ending up in oncoming traffic. Unable to decelerate in time, a car slams into her. The hit sends her car rolling.
I run to Jagger and kneel beside him, straightening his body as much as I can without moving him. His face is scraped and swelling. Patches of jeans have been worn down. I can see patches of road rash, split skin. Dark pools of blood stain different parts of him. “Jagger?” I place two fingers on his neck, relieved when I find his pulse, fast but steady.
He moans as his eyes flutter open. I can see the disorientation and pain.
“You okay?” He forces the words out.
Incredibly, his first thought is for me.
I sob as I nod. “Thanks to you I am.”
“Love you.”
I feel like my heart is going to explode from my chest.
“I love you, too, Jagger. So much.” His face wavers as the tears continue to flow.
A bystander runs up. “I saw the entire thing, and I called 9-1-1. How can I help?”
“Wait to flag them down?”
“Okay.” The young, brown-haired man with a crew cut takes off and stands by the side of the road.
Jagger cries out. I place a hand on his chest.
“Try to be as still as you can. What hurts?”
“It’s not what hurts that worries me, B. It’s what I can’t feel.”
“What?”
“I can’t feel my legs.”
The air leaves my lungs. Oh my God.
“B, why can’t I feel my legs?” His voice cracks.
“You just went through a tremendous amount of trauma, there’s all kinds of swelling, and your body is essentially in shock. Don’t assume the worse.”
He closes his eyes and clenches his teeth. I take his hand and bring it to my lips, praying that God won’t take his ability to walk. Riding is his life. Without it, I’m not sure what he’ll do.
The sound of sirens grow closer. I close my eyes and rock back and forth as my stomach churns. The Good Samaritan waves them down, and they park the car and bring the stretcher.
“What happened here?”
I rise and step back to let them do their work.
“He was hit by a car, knocked off his motorcycle, and run over by an SUV. He’s been talking to me, and he’s aware, but in pain, and …” I swallow. “He can’t feel his legs. I’m a physical therapist, so I kept his head and body as straight as I could without moving him.”
Time slows as I watch them return with a back brace. They bend over Jagger, shining a pin light in his eyes as they ask him questions.
“Don’t cut his vest!” I scream as they pull out scissors. They peer at me as if I’ve lost my mind.
“Believe me, this is incredibly important.”
“All right. I think we can take it off with the transfer if you’re willing to help so we can keep him steady.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
I rush over and kneel beside them.
“One. Two. Three.”
My hand shakes as I work his arms free of the cut. The cry of pain that spills from his lips when they lift him onto the back brace and then onto the bed rips my heart open. All of this is my fault. I hold back the breakdown. He needs me to be strong now.
“I’m coming with you.”
“Who are you?”
“His fiancée,” I lie. Fiancée holds far more weight than a girlfriend.
Bikes roar up as the EMTs carry him to the ambulance.
Warp jumps off the bike and runs over. “What’s going on here, girly?”
“He got hit by a car. I’m headed to the hospital right now.”
He narrows his dark gaze at me.
“I have to go. Where are we headed?” I yell to the EMT as I rush toward them.
“San Mateo Medical.”
“We’re going to San Mateo Medical,” I yell as I climb up and move out of their way. I hold his hand, bow my head, and pray.
***
I feel like my life is being taken away as we unload and they rush him off to ER. My stomach clenches and I remain at the end of the hallway, unable to follow him on to the next step. This is all my fault. My mind goes to Elizabeth. Where is she now? I turn as the club comes through the entrance no less than fifteen deep. Warp makes a beeline toward me.
“Start talking.”
“I was doing some unpacking when I heard a knock. I thought maybe one of the girls had forgotten something, but they hadn’t.” My voice cracks.
“Who was it?” Warp growls.
“Elizabeth, m-my ex-husband’s mistress.”
“Son of a bitch,” Warp spits the words out. His face twists like he’s tasted something sour.
“She pulled a gun. But then J— Freeze came, and the bike distracted her. So I knocked the gun from her hand, rushed her, and took off out the front door. She fired a few shots, I guess on her way to her car, because the next thing I know she was roaring toward us. H-he protected me with his bike.” I place a hand over my chest and swallow around the huge knot in my throat.
“I told him nothing good would come from this, now look. You can’t ride, you can’t be in the club, gal. What do you think that’s going to do to him?” He sneers. “You don’t deserve to touch this, let alone hold it.” He snatches his cut from me, and I cry out at the loss of his scent.
He’s not saying anything I haven’t already thought, but hearing the words from someone else breaks me. My legs give way, and I lean against the wall to remain upright as guilt crashes over me like a relentless wave.
“That’s enough.”
I peer up and find a furious Stone hovering over him. His nostrils flare and his green eyes seem to glow with anger.
“You don’t put this on her.” Stone holds out his hand, and Warp reluctantly hands over the cut. “Take a walk and get some air.”
He grips my arms. “This ain’t on you, darling. I need you to keep it together, so you can play translator for us with all this medical jargon.” He lays the cut over my arms. “I think he’d like his Old Lady to keep it safe.”
I take a deep breath and clutch the worn leather for dear life. Peering up at the ceiling, I focus on one spot to gather myself.
“What happened to the driver?”
“I-I don’t know.” I’ve been so focused on Jagger, I forgot about Elizabeth until now. There’s no way she walked away from that accident well enough to flee. “She was in an accident trying to speed off. The last I saw, the car was upside down.”
“What’s her name?”
“Elizabeth Watkins. Oh God. Should I call the police?”
“Ain’t no secret cops make me itch, but in this case, you’ve got history. Not following through would look suspicious.”
“I don’t think we’ll need to call,” I say quietly as the police walk in and search the area.
“Go.” Stone steps away to corral the brothers talking amongst themselves.
“I think you’re looking for me, officers.”
“Were you on the scene of the hit and run today, ma’am?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Detective Stevenson—”
“Detective Stevenson, this is attached to an on-going case, and if you contact Detective Russel of the San Diego police department, he’ll be able to fill you in or take this over. I’m not sure how jurisdictions and things like that go.”
“Ma’am, we can’t help but notice the company you keep—”
“With all due respect, Officer, my case is widely known. I’m Blanche Birling, and over a year ago my husband attempted to murder me at our Caramel Canyon home. One of his many mistresses, Elizabeth Watkins, appeared at the home I share with the victim, Jagger Ryan, and attempted to finish the job with a gun. Because of his heroic actions, I’m alive, and he’s fighting for his life. So I know you wouldn’t make the mistake of placing any blame on his door. Because that would just be poor public service, and no one likes that.”
His lips form a thin line and his face flushes. “Of course not. I’ll take a statement from you now and contact Detective Russel.”
“Thank you.” I step aside and tell them everything I can remember. It’s like reliving a nightmare I can’t escape.
A doctor comes out. “I’m looking for the family with Jagger Ryan.”
“I’m his fiancée.”
The doctor frowns.
“Sir, he has no other family you can contact. This man, right here,” I gesture to Stone, “is his boss and legal point of contact on his paperwork. I’m a physical therapist, and they want me to break down the diagnosis you give.”
He relaxes. “Okay then, Ms.—”
“Just call me Blanche.”
“Okay, Blanche. I’m Doctor Simmons. I’ll be overseeing Mr. Ryan’s surgery and recovery. Your fiancé has had extensive damage to his spinal cord, which was revealed by x-rays. He has complained of having no feeling from the waist down, but with that kind of trauma, there’s intense swelling, and we won’t be able to say definitely what that means. There will be a lot of tests to come, and the best way to move forward is to keep Mr. Ryan as calm and optimistic as possible. Whether this is a partial or complete spinal cord injury, he’s going to need support.”
“Partial or complete?” Stone queries.
“A complete injury means he has no sensation at all from the injury site down. Partial means he can feel and possibly move some things below the point of injury,” I explain.
“Jesus,” Stone whispers.
“He’s young, fit, and if the waiting room is anything to go by, surrounded by people who care about him. He can still live a full and satisfying life in a different way.”
I close my eyes. The doctor thinks he’s a complete. He doesn’t need to voice it out loud for me to know. I speak doctor well.
“When will we know more?”
“I want to give his body time to recuperate. At least three days before we start running more tests. Our bodies have amazing responses, and they’ll produce pretty fantastic pain blockers that can also be affecting his ability to feel. That’s where we are on that front. He’s going to need surgery immediately to repair the broken femurs, tibias, and a displaced hip. We’ll also be addressing the spine, clearing out the fragments and repairing the broken bones. He was lucky the tires avoided his chest. We’ll begin the operation shortly, and the goal will be to keep him pain free and monitored until we think he’s strong enough for additional testing. I wanted to let you know what was going on before we began surgery.”
“Do what you have to do, Doc,” Stone says.
“I’ll see you in about six to seven hours once we’re done. They’re prepping him now and getting him sedated. The sooner we get this sorted, the quicker his recovery can begin.”
***
It’s incredible how swiftly life can fall apart. One single event started a domino effect. I’m sitting in a plastic chair with my knees drawn and my brain full. I have to get the house ready for rehabilitation for Jagger. Regardless of the final outcome, he’s going to need a lot of therapy, and given his personality and the club, private in-house care would be the best route. Despite the tests they run in three days, it could take up to six months or even a year to know if walking will ever be a possibility.
I’ve seen enough miracles to know hard work and determination can make the impossible happen, but it’s not a guarantee, so getting his hopes up too high could be the kiss of death. I envy the others. Their lack of knowledge prevents them from overanalyzing everything. Jagger’s first response to adversity is to flee. How can he do that with his wings clipped? I’m terrified of his response to this.
I’m also exhausted. My eyes feel like they’re full of sandpaper and my heart is heavy. This is all because of me. Brooks is a cancer that continues to grow in all areas of my life. Detective Russel called. They’d apprehended her at the hospital. She’s under police watch, and they want me to come down to the station tomorrow for a line-up. It’s a nice thought, but I can’t help but think her money is going to get her out of the harsh sentence she deserves, especially once they bring the Motorcycle Club into things in court. Court. My stomach sours. The last thing I want to do is be subjected to that type of scrutiny again. Whatever I did in my past life to deserve this, I’m sorry. Please cut me a break, God.
I glance up and blink as the doctor walks out in garish puke green scrubs. A fine sheen of sweat covers his forehead and darkens his blond hair. My heart pounds in my chest as I stand and sway. Stone grabs me, steadying me.
“You okay?”
“I’ll let you know once he talks.”
We walk over to Doctor Simmons together.
“It was a textbook surgery. I think everything will mend well. He’s got health and youth on his side.”
“Can we see him?”
“Yes, but only for a short while. His body has been through a lot, and he needs his rest.”
“I–I understand,” I say quietly.
“Can’t she stay here with him, Doc?” Stone asks.
He narrows his gaze.
“I understand he needs rest more than most people. I just don’t want him to wake up alone after that.”
He nods his head. “I’ll have the nurses bring in a cot.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
“You, however, sir—”
“Call me Stone, Doc.”
“You, Stone, a few minutes, and then you need to let him rest.”
“Understood. Thank you for taking care of him for us.”
“We’re going to do everything we can to give him the best life he can possibly have after this. When he’s situated in the room, the nurse will come and bring you back.”
As he disappears down the hallway, I have to ask the words burning my brain.
“Was what Warp said true?”
“I don’t blame you—”
“No. Not that. If he can’t ride, he can’t be in KOC?”
He sighs. “It’s the rules.”
“That would kill him, Stone.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“He has to know there’s still a place for him among you, or this recovery is doomed before it starts.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. He’s good with money, and our treasurer is thinking of hanging up his cut. If he’d be willing to take it over, I can take a vote on … bending some rules.”
I close my eyes. “Thank you.”
We walk back to the area where he relays the successful operation and dismisses everyone with a promise to keep them all posted. I’m only half aware of what’s going on in my tired stupor. I have calls of my own to make, but they’ll hold.
The nurse returns and I sink into my seat.
“You go first. I’ll hang back.”
I place my head in my hands and run over the insanity of the day. I haven’t forgotten Elizabeth’s words. They planned my death out. Was he still around? Did he put her up to the attack or was she acting solo? I used to think I knew Brooks. Now I see how wrong I’ve been. Who’s to say what his next move may be? My gut tells me I should bring this up to Stone, but he’s already got so much on his plate. I don’t want to be labeled a drama queen or a trouble maker.
“Hey, you ready?”
I glance up. “You have a quiet walk.”
“Comes in handy,” Stone says.
I snicker. “I bet.”
He holds out his hand.
“I had a Prospect lock your place up. I’ll have them swing by in the morning with your keys and your car. Here.” He pulls out his wallet and hands me two hundred dollar bills. “This should get you food, and a change of clothes from the gift shop in the morning.”
I smile up at him. “Thank you.”
“You’re family, and we take care of our own. Don’t let Warp get to you. We don’t think that way at all. The odds were it’d be our drama coming to your door sooner or later. How are we going to be upset that it happened the other way around?”
Some of the weight shifts. “Thank you for the kind words.”
“Not kind, true. You need to work on believing that if you want to stay with him. Guilt’s a nasty little thing. It’ll tear you down, make you paranoid, and ruin any chance of happiness. You get me?”
“I think so.”
“You’d best know so. ’Cause my brother in there needs solid ground right now. If both of you are going to hell in a handbasket, there’s no stability. So put that shit up somewhere until it’s time for your meltdown.”
I tilt my chin and stand taller. He’s right. “I can do that.”
“Knew you could. Takes one hell of a woman to catch Freeze’s attention. If you need anything, call.”
“I will.” I turn back to the nurse. “I’m ready.”
She leads me back to a room at the end of the car. He’s so still and pale. His skin stands out against his light brown hair. The steady beep of the heart monitor and the rise and fall of his chest are reassuring. I move to his side and bend to kiss his forehead. His eyelids lift.
“Hey, baby. I’m going to crash in here with you tonight, okay?” I run my fingers over his strong jawline and cup his face. He turns into my palm, and I close my eyes and enjoy the closeness. “You have to sleep, or they’re going to kick me out.”
“B.”
“Mmm-hmm?”
“Love.”
I kiss his lips and whisper, “I know.”
His lips twitch upward, and I step away and turn toward the nurse.
“We have your cot set up with a pillow and a blanket.”
“Thank you so much.”
“I also brought you a little self-care kit. It’s not much, just a comb, toothpaste, and a toothbrush.”
“That’s plenty,” I look at her nametag, “Amy.”
“I’ll be on the night shift, so if you need anything, you can call up.”
“Thank you.”
I feel ten years older as I sit, remove my shoes, and crawl beneath the white blanket. A part of me hopes I’ll wake to find this entire day was nothing more than an impossibly morbid dream.