Alexander

I sit outside on a bench, looking at the scuffs on the tips of my black leather shoes. The bottoms are worn from wearing them while riding my bike. It was the only sign that set me apart from the other rich kids where I grew up. Other than Cruise, no one rode motorcycles or had dealt with anything worse than getting a warning after getting busted for smoking, skipping school, sneaking out, smoking weed, getting drunk, or driving over the speed limit. The list could go on.

I have a car. I just don’t drive it much, preferring the freedom I feel on my bike. It wasn’t just my clothes or the bike that set me apart. None of them had lived, breathed, existed simply because their soul mate did. Not even now.

From the moment I saw her, I knew Sara Jane was it for me, an angel in a Catholic school uniform, eating a candy bar. She couldn’t have been more innocent. Except she was. At seventeen, the girl had barely been kissed. It’s like she had been waiting to meet me, as if she had saved herself for me. How a girl who looked that good and smelled even sweeter remained untouched for so long was beyond me.

I would have loved her no matter what. She could have been a prostitute, and I would have only seen her halo. I was a ship navigating a stormy sea, but she called me to her lighthouse, a beacon shining in the dark. It was never about her innocence, or the sins I had inherited. The day I met Sara Jane was about two lives that weren’t meant for only one lifetime, but destined to be together forever.

Maybe that’s what had given me the confidence to break away from the kids I grew up with. I knew I was meant for something bigger than a life of partying and getting high socially.

I was meant for Sara Jane, and she for me.

“Mr. Kingwood?”

Without turning, my gaze rolls to a nurse I recognize, but haven’t spoken to yet. “Yes.”

“You may see your wife now. She’s asleep and could be for hours more. Her body’s been through a lot, but I know you’re probably ready, and if she wakes up, she’ll want to see you there.”

Standing, I casually shove my hands in my pockets. My shoulders feel so tense, they could hold up my ears. “Thank you.” I follow her to a different wing of the hospital. It’s quiet, so quiet I can hear the steady ping of electronic heartbeats as I walk past each room. “I thought she was in ICU.”

“She is. We need to go a little farther.”

She directs me to a locked door with a keypad above the knob for security. After entering a code, she holds open the door. “There’s gel to sanitize your hands on the right and check-in on the left.”

After checking in, I’m led to a smaller hall with only four rooms. No cops stand guard. They must feel the attack was random. This is good for my story, but I can’t help think about Nastas’ partner, Conner Johnson, and if he’s involved.

Lowering my head, I concentrate on the low hum of monitors. You would think they would be disruptive to the peaceful silence of the room, but they aren’t. The sound comforts me.

Her room isn’t large, and the lights are dim, but my sweet angel lies in the bed, her strong heartbeat echoing around the room. Every second, the beat hits a steady peak on the monitor’s screen. An IV is taped to her wrist, so I walk around to the other side and take her limp hand in mine.

Exhaling my anger, her touch soothes me. This is what I’ve needed. For so long. To touch her soft, warm skin again.

The nurse says, “I’ll be right outside at the desk if you need me.”

“Thanks,” I whisper not wanting to wake Sara Jane.

Once we’re alone, I turn her palm up and lean down, studying her lifeline and tracing it with the tip of my finger. It’s too long, too consistent, too defined for her life to be cut short. With my lips against her soft skin, I let go—all the emotions I’ve held back from the moment I saw her on the ground, her life draining from her body. From anger to fear to a life of regrets for dragging her into my hell, I let them flow. My tears pool in her palm before I tilt my head back and stare at the ceiling through watery vision. I won’t be able to return them to the holes from where they leaked in my heart, but I don’t want to risk the chance of her waking up to me at my weakest. I have to be strong. For her, I will be. That’s what she needs from me, especially after her being so strong earlier today.

I won’t show her less. I will be everything she needs. A promise is made through the kiss I place on her wrist, a vow I intend to keep until my last dying day.

* * *

A nudge sends me to my feet, my fists fly up, my arms protect me. In my sleepy haze, I fight first. Catching my attention, the nurse jumps back. “I’m sorry.” Her voice is so low that I can hear my heart thumping in my chest.

Even in the dimly lit room, when her eyes glide to the right, my gaze follows. Sara Jane. My sleeping beauty. Hospital. “I must have fallen asleep. Sorry.” I lower my arms and try to regulate my breathing.

The nurse whispers, “I’m sorry to wake you, but the doctor will be in shortly to check on her. He asked to speak with you.”

Speak with me? My stomach twists, worry the rope that tightens the noose around my heart. “I’m sorry for scaring you. I’m on edge.”

A sympathetic smile creases the corners of her mouth. “Understandable. If it’s any comfort, her vitals are good, better than expected after surgery.”

“Do you think she’ll wake up soon?”

Her shoulders slump, a long shift seeming to weigh her down. With dark circles under her eyes, she says, “The mind is an amazing thing. It’s protecting her right now. By keeping her asleep, the pain she’d normally feel is blocked.”

“I don’t want her in any pain. Isn’t she being given meds?”

“She has those too, but her brain will keep her asleep until she’s ready. The trauma she experienced and the surgery were intense.” She leans forward and touches a dial on one of the machines next to the bed. “My guess is she’ll wake in the next six to twelve hours, but it could be tomorrow. Even if she’s asleep, her body is busy healing, so the rest is good for her.”

A dark figure looms just outside the doorway. Sara Jane’s chart is removed from the wall and the sound of paper flipping over the top of the clipboard is heard. Rounding the corner, my spine straightens. The doctor puts me at ease immediately. “Our patient is doing well.”

Thank God. My shoulders drop, some of the tension leaving my body. He leans forward and shakes my hand. “I’m Dr. Levy, the doctor on call.”

“Alexander Kingwood,” I reply, tightening my grip just a tad more than he does.

We release hands, and he nods toward the bed. “Everything is looking good—her vitals and her progress in such a short time. Sometimes we see more activity—a spiked heart rate for instance, but she’s resting quite comfortably.”

“That’s a relief. What do I do? What should I expect?” I can’t handle half-truths, not when it comes to my Firefly. “Tell it to me straight, so I can prepare.”

Pressing the tips of his fingers into the right side of his stomach, he says, “Dr. Curtis spoke post-surgery about her wound. To elaborate a little on that, one inch over and it would be a different case altogether. I heard you found her and brought her here.”

“Yes.”

“You saved her life. A guardian angel watching over her. A few more minutes and . . . well,” he says, glancing to the nurse, “we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

Fuck. “I’m grateful we are.”

“So am I,” he says. “There may be numbness around the incision point. There will be some external scarring, but the liver regenerates quite quickly. In fact, it could regenerate in as few as three weeks. Her belly will be sore, but it’s important she is up and moving around from day one but at small increments. No heavy lifting, and only showers for the first two weeks. She may experience nausea and headaches, but apart from that, we expect a full recovery.”

Tucking the chart under his arm, he maneuvers around Sara Jane, checking her wrist with the IV where a little bruising has formed. Then he just stares at her. It’s easy to get lost in her pure beauty. If he only understood her physical beauty paled in comparison to the beauty of her heart. I know how lucky I am that I’m the one she chose to expose that to.

The doctor’s hands grip the bedrail, and I admit I’m surprised to see his knuckles whitening. When his eyes meet mine again, he says, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

The comment strikes me as odd and my head jerks back. She’s alive. Why is he apologizing? “But you said she’ll be fine.”

“She will.” He takes a deep breath. “But we never detected a heartbeat, so it was concluded the blunt-force trauma to the abdomen caused it. The bruising prior to surgery supports the conclusion. I’m truly sorry.”

“What?”

As if he didn’t hear me, he adds, “If you’d prefer, a nurse or I can tell her when she wakes up. Her stress levels must be kept to a minimum . . .”

His words go on, floating to me but ignored as the first few bounce around my head trying to find something solid to hold on to just to understand them.

I’m sorry for your loss.

Blunt-force trauma.

“Tell her what?” I ask.

“About the baby. I know this is awful . . .” He closes his eyes and shakes his head. When he looks my way again, the pain in his eyes cuts through the low light of the room. “She begged us to save the baby when we wheeled her into surgery. I gave her my word we would. I tried, but the baby was already gone.”

Baby.

Baby.

Baby.

“I don’t understand.”

The doctor tilts his head slightly as confusion widens his dark pupils. The nurse at his side replies, “You didn’t know.”

Not a question. A realization.

She comes around and covers my hand with hers. I hadn’t realized I was gripping the bedrail on this side of the bed just as tight as the doctor on the other. The woman between us made everyone want to protect her from the horrors of life, from me and the pain I’ve rained down upon her. This wasn’t about us anymore, or the petty bullshit tiffs with her family. “Sara Jane was pregnant.” The words are murmured sliding into sequence with the beeping heartbeat of the monitor.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, the nurse moving to the other side again.

I hate their eyes on me. I hate their pity. I fucking hate hate hate . . .

Taking Sara Jane’s hand, I stare at the fine features of her face, something I love love love . . . There’s a frailty that’s not the girl I recognize at all, the hospital bed swallowing her small frame. “Can I have a minute?” I ask. I want them to leave. I need them to go.

I don’t wait for a response, and I don’t think they give one. There are no doors in ICU but if there were, I think they would have given us the privacy we need. I lower the bedrail, but am careful when I sit next to her, leaning my elbows on the mattress. Staring at her stomach, I try to imagine what it looks like under the sheet and woven white blanket. I want to see her body. I want to see where my baby once lived.

My chest aches in ways that remind me of seeing her on the ground, beaten. Shot. The bullet—did it strike her and my baby? My stomach muscles tighten and bile rises. The memory of finding her splayed out under a clear blue sky . . .

Even from a distance, I know it’s her. I make a sharp left and jump from my motorcycle, letting it skid to a stop against the hard ground. I’m running to her when Cruise’s car tires grind against the gravel behind me. The seconds that tick by don’t give me enough time to process that Sara Jane, my Firefly, is lying on her side in a dark red lake of blood. My hands dig into my hair. My vision blurs except when I look at Nastas O’Hare. He knows he’s outnumbered and already has his hands up in surrender. What did he expect? He thought he would shoot Chad, Sara Jane, and then what? Not have me react with unfiltered anger? With Jason at my right and Cruise with his gun already aimed on him, I yell, “What the fuck?”

My gun is pulled from the back of my jeans without a second thought. O’Hare isn’t given a chance to beg before I shoot twice. Did he give her a chance to beg? Did he watch her plead for her life? His body slumps with his hands still in the air before falling face first into the dirt.

The gun falls from my hand as I drop to my knees before my sweet angel. “Firefly. Sara Jane. Stay with me.” I scoop her up, her body never feeling smaller. “Stay with me.”

She whispers, “Don’t cry, not over me.”

“Help me, Cruise,” I yell, looking for him. He’s kneeling next to Chad and he shakes his head.

That’s when I know. It’s too late to help him. “Fuck. Help her. Help her.”

My tears are fucking with my vision, blurring. Her body is so fragile like the firefly she was named after. “You’re gonna be okay, baby. I promise you.”

So light.

So pale.

So goddamn breakable.

I get us inside the car, and Jason shuts the door behind me. Our eyes only connect for a second through the glass, but it’s enough to make me wonder why he’s here. Cruise pops into the driver’s seat and takes off, leaving a dust cloud and Jason behind, along with my suspicions.

Sara Jane has her hand on my chest, her grip is light, but enough to keep me as close as I can. “You lied.” Her voice is meek, and I hate it. Her breath comes shallow, and there’s a soft gurgle in her throat, causing her to cough.

Angling her up so she doesn’t drown in blood, I can’t stop my tears from falling. Fuck Cruise and what he might think. Fuck O’Hare for doing this to her. Fuck the whole fucking world for trying to wipe away my universe, destroying me from the inside until there’s nothing left. I wrap my arms around her tighter. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“No, you lied . . . first time we ever met.”

“What’d I lie about, baby?”

“You whispered . . . right in my ear. ‘I don’t need anything.’ You lied, Alexander. Because . . . you needed me.”

“I need you now. Stay with me, and I’ll never lie to you again.” I glance to Cruise.

“Alexander?”

“What, baby?” Sara Jane and I teeter that line of destruction, the one that straddles heaven and hell. I wish I could give her heaven. Instead, I gave her hell.

Memories of her lying on my bed cast in the dark, seep to the forefront of my mind. She deserved sunshine, but our lives became dust in the sunlight. Our souls, tortured demons that would soon evaporate. Do we exist beyond existing for each other? I don’t.

She whispers, “Tell me something happy.”

Her dying body lies in my arms and my truest and most selfish act comes flashing right back . . . “I can see the fight in your eyes. The decision to stay or leave wages a war. I won’t hurt you, Sara Jane.”

Why did I stop that day to see her? Why did I pursue the angel I knew I would ruin? I could never give her what she needed, the darkness of my shadow always drowning her. But I went after her anyway, not expecting more than a hi, but hoping for a lifetime with the girl who made me feel my heartbeat for the first time in weeks.

Sara Jane reminded me I was alive, I could live again, and I should. She gave me a reason, a purpose. She gave me everything. Anguish flows through me as I stare in to the indigo eyes I adore, watching them grow darker by the second and her lids growing heavier. The apples of her cheeks have lost their pink, and her slim fingers have loosened, giving up the fight to hold on to me.

My body shakes, my tears fall like rain on a stormy day. I want to give her summer, but all I can muster is the dead of winter. I touch her cheek, wiping away some blood slashed from the rocks, and say, “You gave me a reason to live when all I wanted to do was die.”

There’s strength in her voice when she replies, “Live for me.”

“There is no life without you, Firefly.”

“I love you.”

“I love you.” A tear falls streaking through a drop of her blood. I stroke her cheek, missing the feel of her softness under the hardness of my calloused fingers. She begins to shiver, her chin chattering.

I glance to Cruise and mouth, “Faster.” There’s no way I’m losing her. I can’t. “I love you. I’ll save you. I promise I’ll save you.”

“Let me go, Alexander.” She closes her eyes when all I want is to see them. “I’m tired.”

“Don’t go to sleep. Stay with me. Drive fucking faster, Cruise.”

The tips of her fingers reach for me and as if time slows, she runs them across my chin and along the side of my jaw. A small smile appears before her hand falls back to her body again. “Alexander.” My name is just a breath escaping her lips. “Let me go.”

“I promise I’ll get help. I’m never letting you go, Firefly.”

“I’m already gone.”