Crystal

The train pulled into the station right on schedule. Jeremy used his app to call for a ride for each of us. We detrained hand in hand with the few other passengers who were getting off in Seattle. Most of them were bound for destinations north. Many of them peeled off toward parking lots and garages or the light rail station.

Jeremy walked me to the street. The nights were getting cold now and felt pleasantly like fall. I snuggled into my jacket and up against Jeremy, still not wanting the date to end.

The city at night should have been quiet. It was nearly four in the morning. Three obviously homeless men huddled near the building just out of the streetlight near the station, trying to keep warm. They were dirty. One of them muttered to himself as if he was stoned.

Jeremy seemed relaxed, but I could feel him watching them as he guided me as far away from them as possible. Only a few other passengers milled around by us.

Jeremy pulled me into his arms as we waited for our rides. "I had a great time tonight. I think a date this good deserves another." He looked at me expectantly.

I was, of course, amused on at least one level that he found a date where he'd been refused a great time. But I kept that observation to myself. I knew what he meant.

"I agree—" Before I could finish my sentence, I heard an oomph and a grunt, then yelling and obscenities from the group of men we'd been trying to avoid.

We turned in unison toward the commotion. The men had grabbed a man I recognized as a fellow passenger from the train and were accosting him. Time moved in slow motion at the very time in the evening I would have willed it to speed past. Even my brain seemed slow.

It took me a moment to understand and realize what I was seeing. The men were in the process of robbing the guy from the train. One of them held his arms behind his back. Another repeatedly punched him in the gut. The third was frisking him, looking for cash.

Druggies. Addicts. Looking for money for a fix.

Jeremy let go of me and yelled at the men, "Hey!" He grabbed my arm and said urgently to me, "Stay here. I mean it." Before I could answer or stop him, he was running to help the man being beaten.

For the first time in my life, I hesitated rather than running immediately to the rescue. I wasn't afraid of heights or fires. I wasn't afraid of drowning. I'd faced all of those. But suddenly I was afraid of some homeless drug addicts. I was frozen in place. Out of my element. My mouth went dry. I tasted fear, real fear. And the tang was bitter and filled with disappointment. I stood still, a passive bystander, like so many people I'd silently berated in the past, while Jeremy raced to help alone.

He was outnumbered and slighter built than at least two of his foes. My mind raced. I reached into my purse for my phone and dialed 911. Did I have a weapon on me? Anything? I had to force myself to run after him. I was rooted in place.

By the time my feet moved, he'd reached the men. He grabbed the guy doing the beating by the back of his dirty coat and pulled him off the victim. Jeremy threw an expert punch, knocking the guy on his back. It was obvious Jeremy had martial arts training. His moves were smooth and calculated to hit vital, vulnerable strike points. He quickly disabled the puncher.

The other thug let go of the victim and ran. The third now had the man's wallet in his hand. He took off, too.

"Nine-one-one. What's your emergency?"

I stared at my phone as if I'd forgotten I'd dialed. When my voice came out, it was a frightened croak. "Three men are beating another man and robbing him outside of King Street Station—"

One of the running men suddenly turned. As he raised his arm, I realized with horror he had a gun. My mouth opened, trying to form words. Trying to warn Jeremy.

There was a crack of gunfire. One shot. Jeremy fell back and clutched his side.

"Ma'am? Ma'am. What was that? Is that gunfire? Are you still there? Are you okay? Are you in danger? Get out of the line of fire."

"Nooooo," I screamed.

The sound of another shot sliced the silence dead of night is famous for. Jeremy fell to his knees, still clutching his side.

"Ma'am. Ma'am." The operator's firm tone reminded me of my mom. "Talk to me."

"Gunfire. Gunfire." My legs felt like lead and rubber at the same time. They couldn't move fast enough. They threatened to go wobbly and not hold me up. The night took on the horror of a nightmare where you run and run and can never reach your destination. It seemed like the distance between us kept growing.

Jeremy toppled over and sprawled on the ground, unconscious.

As I fell to my knees beside him, my field of vision narrowed to just him.

His hand was bloody. He was bleeding from his side.

"Ma'am?"

"They shot my boyfriend." My voice verged on hysterical. "Send help. Send help now. Please. He's bleeding."

The emergency operator murmured something that was supposed to be comforting and began asking rapid-fire questions. Where was my boyfriend shot? How bad was the injury? Where was the shooter now? Were we safe?

"He's shot in the chest. They shot him twice." I began shaking. It took all of my effort to simply concentrate and make sense of the questions she was asking. Unless I thought very hard, they were like gibberish. This wasn't like me. I didn't crumble in an emergency. "I don't know. I don't know. The shooter and his pals ran. My boyfriend isn't conscious. He's bleeding from his side through his jacket."

I followed her instructions and put my phone on speaker and set it beside me. She was telling me to find the wound, guiding my fingers with her words.

I moved like her puppet, carefully, as gently as I could, peeling back his unzipped jacket to reveal his shirt and gently rising chest, spotting the bloodstain and small bullet hole in his shirt on his left side. "I found it—the bullet hole." I described the location. "Should I lift his shirt? I can see the wound."

"We'll leave that to the paramedics." Her disembodied voice was calm and reassuring. "Apply pressure. Stop the bleeding. Help's coming. Help is on the way. Stay with me. Stay with me."

I wished I had a compress, something, anything, to press against his bullet wound. I had nothing. Even my light coat was not made of absorbent material. Why hadn't I worn a sweater or sweatshirt? Something soft.

Jeremy's jacket was no help, either. It wasn't absorbing the blood that had already spilled on it. His blood was trickling off and oozing ominously onto the sidewalk. I was afraid to take his coat off anyway. Afraid I might further hurt him in the process. Afraid of what I might see. He needed the warmth of the coat. He had to be in shock. I prayed he was in shock and not feeling any pain.

I clasped my hands over the bloody bullet hole, prayed, and applied pressure with both hands and locked arms. "Hurry. I can't stop it. Hurry." Blood oozed through my fingers.

I looked down at his motionless body, full of regret. This man was my soul mate. If I'd said the word, he would have been my fiancé. Why had I turned him down? In that moment, all my arguments seemed silly and rang hollow.

Why had I been so arrogant, thinking we had time? Why hadn't I realized that time is an illusion? Why hadn't I realized what a cruel bitch fate could be? How she could snatch happiness and life away at a moment's notice.

"I'm sorry," I whispered to Jeremy. "Don't die. Don't die. I just found you. How will I live without you?" I leaned close. "Live and I will marry you. I promise. We'll have children, two, maybe three. And a house and a beautiful life. Be a hero, my hero, and don't leave me."

"That's right," the 911 operator said. "Keep talking to him. I'll stay right here with you."

I didn't give a damn that she heard me. Or that the call was being recorded.

How would I live with myself for not being by his side when he needed me? If I'd been there to help him, taken down the guy with the gun before he got it out…

Sirens. I jerked my head up. Sirens coming toward us. As I looked for them, I was startled to see a crowd forming around us. My focus had been so narrow, just Jeremy and the voice of the operator.

The guy who'd been beaten crawled up next to me. He had a black eye and clutched his stomach. He touched my arm.

I jumped.

"How is he?" The man's voice was weak, his eyes full of concern. "Are you okay?"

I nodded, still stunned, feeling helpless and powerless. And angry. Damn cowards.

The sirens stopped abruptly. They were replaced by commanding male voices yelling at the crowd to let them through. As the crowd parted, we were bathed in blue and red flashing light. I looked down to shield my eyes from the glare. Two policemen and a paramedic crew waded through the crowd toward us.

"They're here," I said to the operator. "Help is here." My voice broke.

The guy Jeremy had knocked out was groaning and coming to. I wanted him out cold. I couldn't stand the sight of him or the sound of his pathetic moans.

I stared to him, shaking, nodding to him. "Him. He's one of the guys who jumped this man." I nodded to the victim, afraid to take my hands off Jeremy and remove the pressure I was applying. "Help this man. Help my boyfriend. And take that man out of my sight."

I had no sympathy for the perpetrator. None.

One of the officers cuffed the street thug as a paramedic kneeled beside me. "What do we have here?" He covered my bloody hands with his gloved one.

"He's shot." My vision was bleary with tears. I choked back my anger and fear and kept my arms locked, hands pressed against Jeremy's wound.

"Let me have a look." He gently pried my hands away from holding Jeremy's life in.

Another paramedic put his hands on my shoulders from behind. "Come with me. Let me have a look at you."

I shook my head. "No. I'm fine. I can't leave him."

"We're here to help. But we need room." The paramedic was gentle. "Give us room to work. Let me take a look at you." He caught me beneath my arms and pulled me to my feet.

I was too weak to resist him. Part of me knew they were right, and I gave up the fight. They needed space. I was no help now. "I'm fine. Just stunned."

He picked up my phone, put his arm around my shoulders, and led me away.

I craned my neck, trying to look past him. "What are they doing to Jeremy?"

"Taking good care of him," my paramedic said. "Right now, the best thing you can do is let me make sure you're okay. He's going to need you later." He said something to the 911 dispatcher on my phone and hung up. He slipped my phone into my purse, which I was stunned to realize was still slung over my shoulder. He handed me a towel from his bag. "Let's get you cleaned up and look you over."

"None of this blood is mine," I said. "I'm not hurt. I was a bystander." I was shamed by the admission.

More squad cars arrived. Police officers were questioning the crowd, gathering statements. As the paramedic finished with me, one came over to take my statement.

An ambulance pulled up. The paramedics hooked up an IV and loaded Jeremy onto a stretcher. I saw them talking on their phones and relating Jeremy's injuries to someone on the other end.

"Where are they taking him?" I tried to push past the policeman by me.

"Pill Hill." The policeman caught my arm.

"I'm going with him." I tried to shake him loose and get to Jeremy.

The policeman held me back. "Are you related to him? His wife?"

I shook my head, hating myself for telling the truth. "His date."

"Sorry. That's not enough. You can't go with him. There's not room. Let them do their jobs. They'll take care of him. Are you up to driving? Do you have a way to get to the hospital?"

I shook my head. "My car isn't here. Our rides." I'd forgotten about the rides we'd called for. "We called for rides."

The officer gently took me by the arm. "Don't worry about that. I'll give you a ride to the hospital. We'll finish getting your statement there." He guided me toward a waiting patrol car with its lights flashing.

I strained to see them loading Jeremy into the ambulance.

The officer helped me into the seat and closed the door behind me. I was cold and shaking. In shock. But there was something I had to do.

As the police car pulled away from the curb, I called Ashley.

She picked up immediately. "Crystal. You didn't have to give me a safe arrival call. I hope you called your friend Anna. You're lucky. She's very diligent—"

"This isn't a safe arrival call. I'm on my way to the hospital." I took a deep breath. I had to concentrate to form words. "Jeremy's been shot."

There was stunned silence on her end. Crazily, the need to comfort her gave me courage. I explained, briefly, the words tumbling out, and told her where they were taking him.

"I'll meet you there," she said.

"Call his friends? His family?" I said. "Let them know." I wiped my eyes. "I'd do it myself." My voice went flat. "I don't have their numbers. I don't really even know their names."

"You bet," she said. "Hang on. We'll all be there soon."

---

They looked me over at the hospital and gave me something for nerves. Otherwise, I was fine. They released me. The police finished taking my statement in a private consultation room. While I was giving the officer a description, he received a call. The guy they'd taken into custody at the scene had confessed. They'd picked up his accomplices. Their friend, the guy the police had arrested at the scene, had ratted them out.

The officer gave me a brief rundown on what would happen next, and escorted me to the waiting room. "Do you have someone you can call to sit with you? I'll stay until someone arrives."

I hadn't called anyone for myself, besides Ashley. I didn't see her in the waiting room. I was surprised. I expected her to be there for Jeremy, not me. It was early Saturday morning. The lobby was fairly full, busier than one would expect for the early hour. Three men and a woman sitting in a group of chairs near reception caught my attention. Two men faced me. An auburn-haired man and a woman had their backs to me.

The two men facing me looked up as I stepped into the lobby. One was a big guy—very tall, stocky, not fat, but buff and in shape, just big. The other was well built and had the distinctive bearing of a former military guy. The military guy looked at his phone, squinted, looked at me, and showed his phone to the big guy. The big guy looked at the phone and me and nodded.

The big guy stood, saying something to the auburn-haired guy. The auburn-haired man turned in his seat to face me in unison with the woman. She was very pretty, and amazingly put together for the hour.

My mouth nearly popped open. My eyes went wide. What was Connor Reid, the famous Scottish actor who played Jamie, doing here? And then it hit as the big guy approached me—these were Jeremy's friends. The guy who looked like Connor gave them away.

The big man took a step toward me.

The woman seated next to the Connor lookalike put a hand out and stopped the big guy. "You'll scare her away, Dylan. She's had enough of a shock as it is without a big dude like you hovering over her." She stood and made her way through the aisle to me. "Crystal?"

I nodded, trying to remember her name. Trying to remember what Jeremy had called her. Wishing I'd met her before.

She extended her arms to me. "I'm Blair, Jeremy's friend." She pulled me into a hug. "It's all right. It's going to be fine." She pressed me tightly. When she released me, she smiled. "Come. Meet the gang."

She pulled me along to meet the men. The military one stood. The auburn followed.

"This redhead is my husband Austin."

He nodded. "Nice to meet you."

The military one was Cam. The big guy was Dylan. They all studied me closely.

"Sit with us." Blair sat and patted a seat next to her. "We'll be hearing something soon. I expect it will be good news."

"Trust her," Cam said. "Blair's a doctor. She has inside connections. No one will tell us a damned thing, but they sing like a canary to Blair."

She smiled. "I frequently work out of this hospital. I have friends in high places. My little birds, my canaries, say they may even release Jeremy tonight."

"Release him?" My heart pounded. "He was shot. He was bleeding. He was unconscious. I was there. It was horrible."

Cam shook his head. "Probably just a flesh wound. That's what Blair thinks."

Blair put her arm around me. "Wounds often look worse than they are. Trust me. I've done my time in emergency."

Austin shook his head and laughed. "Our hero probably passed out at the sight of his own blood. Jeremy's always been squeamish."

"I don't know," Dylan said. "He did pretty well at your wedding. Held his own in that sword fight."

"There was no' much blood, though, was there?" Austin said in a Scottish accent.

The others laughed with him.

"I would have liked to have been there tonight and taken at shot back at that bastard." Austin looked fierce.

The others agreed.

"You boys are scaring Crystal." Blair put her arm around me.

Dylan, at least, looked contrite. The others, not so much.

Cam just laughed. "If she's going to hang with Jeremy, she'd better get used to us."

Blair sighed and whispered to me, "I'm in the process of taming and training them. Progress, however, is slow. I could use an ally."

"I'm so glad Ashley called you," I said. "I didn't have your numbers."

"Why would you?" Blair said kindly.

"Where is Ashley?" I said, looking around for her. "She didn't come?"

"She went to get coffee." Cam adjusted a bag on the seat next to him. "She thinks we need it."

I stared at them. None of them looked the tiniest bit tired. "We did wake you in the middle of the night—"

"Wake us!" Cam laughed. "It's Friday night. We were awake anyway." He pointed among them. "We were gaming with each other online."

"As usual," Dylan said. "Friday nights we don't go to bed until four or five."

"I was beating their asses, too." Austin sounded regretful.

"We're coders. We're used to all-nighters," Cam said. "We don't need no stinking coffee."

Dylan shrugged. "To be fair, we're already pretty hyped up on energy drinks."

"Which is why we don't need coffee," Austin said.

Cam nodded. "Coffee's for wimps."

I liked Jeremy's friends immediately. They were welcoming and friendly and comforting to be around.

Just then, the doors from the outside into the lobby slid open. A rush of cold air flowed in. Ashley arrived, purse slung over her shoulder, a cup of coffee in one hand, a tray of paper coffee cups in the other. When she spotted me sitting among the group, her face and posture visibly relaxed.

The men gathered around her, looking for their order, and passing the coffee around until each cup found its rightful owner.

When there was just one cup left, Cam turned to me. "How do you like your coffee?"

"With milk and foam. No sugar."

He nodded and held the last cup out to me. "That's black. We'll find you some creamer."

I held my hand up. "That's yours."

He pressed the coffee into my hand. "It's yours now. Drink up. I'll see if I can find some creamer."

"Don't bother." Blair took the lid off her cup. "I'll share some of my foam with her." She poured some of her foam into my cup.

They were all so kind. I took a sip of coffee and had to admit that it was comforting.

Ashley gave me a hug. "How are you holding up?"

"I've been better. It was a perfect date until…" I glanced at Blair. "Blair says he'll be all right." I shuddered. "There was so much blood."

"Trust Blair."

Ashley guided me into a seat and sat next to me. "You forgot about Anna again—no check-in."

"Oh, crap." I dug for my phone.

"Don't worry. I took care of it." Ashley took a sip of her coffee. "Still hot." She shook her head and blew into her coffee. "She wants to hear from you later." Ashley studied me. "You had a good time with Jeremy? The date didn't disappoint?"

"The best." I hesitated. "Wait—are we doing a date postmortem right here right now?"

"No." She smiled. "Just curious. I'll want all the details later."

Blair got a text. Her face lit up when she read it. "They're releasing him. He'll be out in a few minutes, just as soon as they process his paperwork." She looked around the group of expectant men. "It was just a flesh wound. As I predicted and was rumored." She put her hand on my arm. "Flesh wounds can cause a lot of blood. No internal organs damaged. The bullet just grazed him. They bandaged him up."

"But…he was hit twice," I said. "I saw it. He only fell when the second shot hit him."

Her grin was lopsided. "Yes, and apparently, that's a good story. One the emergency docs will remember for a long time. His life was apparently saved by a carbon composite coaster he had in his inside jacket pocket."

"Wait." My mouth fell open. "That commemorative coaster the brewery gave him saved his life?"

"Apparently," she said.

"Carbon composites are bulletproof?" I couldn't believe it.

Cam chimed in: "If they're thick enough. A quarter inch of some of them will do it." He grinned at me. "Almost anything will stop a bullet if it's thick enough—fifteen feet or so of water, seven to eight feet of soil. Unfortunately, neither are practical to carry around or wear as armor."

"The miracle is that the thug hit him right in the coaster," Dylan said. "Not a big target."

"Yeah, I doubt our thug was a sharpshooter. A good shot could hit…" Cam and the guys started discussing who could hit what at what distance.

I barely heard them. My thoughts were elsewhere. I just wanted Jeremy to walk through those doors so I could see for myself that he was all right. "I guess Jeremy and the brewery are even now. A life for a life. They each saved one," I muttered to myself.

Cam overheard and started laughing. He pointed at me. "She's clearly one of us."

I turned to Blair. "So Jeremy is out of the woods? He's not hurt?"

"Oh, he'll be hurting. Have you ever seen what a person wearing a bulletproof vest looks like where they've been shot?" She smiled. "I suppose not. But I have. The impact can do a great deal of bruising. He'll be very bruised and extremely sore for a while. I'm convinced the impact shocked Jeremy's system and knocked him over and out."

I paled.

Blair squeezed my arm. "He'll look terrible. But bruises heal."

I winced, but I was grateful for the explanation.

The doors from the hospital into the lobby opened. We turned to look.

Jeremy wasn't walking out—a nurse was wheeling him out in a wheelchair. Walking or wheeling, he looked good to me. My eyes filled with tears.