Grace

 

  It’s almost time for me to go home, so I stop by one of the incubators and continue my daily routine. “Hey, little strong one. I want to tell you something,” I whisper softly to the tiny infant as I reach through the porthole and let him take my finger in his hand. I see babies all the time. And I talk to them all. Every shift. New faces join familiar ones. Some of them stay for a day. Some of them weeks. Black, white, Hispanic, Asian. Most of them tiny. All of them strong. And I remember every single one. 

“There’s a woman. Not far from here. In another room.” My breath blows across the hard plastic of the incubator when I speak. He’s sleeping again. “She’s waiting to see you, waiting to hold you. Her heart is so full. Full of love. Full of hope. Full of fear.” The alarm on a nearby monitor beeps but doesn’t distract me. “You’re probably wondering how I know that, huh?” I stroke my thumb against the back of his little hand. “I know, because not too long ago, I was in that bed. With a full heart. Hoping. Praying. For my own little one.” The pain of the memory makes my stomach cramp. “Let’s make a deal, you and me. You keep fighting. You stay strong. And I’ll keep doing everything I can to get you out of here.” I tap the outside of the incubator. “Deal?” He squeezes my finger as though he knows what I’m saying, even though I doubt he can even hear me at all. “Okay, then. It’s a deal. Be brave, little one. And sweet dreams. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

*** 

 

  The parking lights flash as I click the key fob and unlock my doors. It’s unusually cold for a California night in October. So, I hurry across the parking lot to get to my car. Our hospital is one of the few left that doesn’t have separate parking facilities for employees. One day I’ll upgrade. I laugh to myself. No, you won’t. And I’m probably right. I wouldn’t even know what to do at a fancy hospital with all the bells and whistles. Who needs a parking garage anyway?

 I pull my arms against my chest and start to walk faster. A circle of people to my right grabs my attention. The second I make eye contact with one of them, he yells out.

“Hey. Lady.” I stop moving but don’t answer. “Yeah. Doctor lady. Come here. Quick.”

 You had to make eye contact, didn’t you? My heart races. My hands are shaking. Think, Grace. My car is only a few feet away. A lot closer than the group of guys. Five steps. Maybe six. And I can crank it and drive away. They won’t chase me. Right? They can’t. I can do this. I can get away.

 My feet feel full of lead as I take the first step. Then another. On the third step, a gunshot makes me flinch. I force myself to breathe. But my chest grows tighter.

“Wrong way, gorgeous.” Howls of laughter fill the night air.

My head is throbbing. Deep breaths, Grace. Just see what they want and get the hell out of here.

 Slowly, cautiously, I walk away from my car and toward the group of men. I mentally count how many there are, telling myself I need to remember as much about them as I can. Five. Two white. Three Hispanic.

“Hurry up,” a different guy shouts.

The first guy meets me halfway, his grip on my arm making it nearly impossible not to scream. His fingers dig deep into my flesh while he pulls me toward the crowd.

There’s a sixth man. On the ground. His shirt is covered in blood.

“What happened to him?” I’m surprised I’m able to find my voice.

“None of your fucking business, puta. Can you help him or not?”

“Not if you don’t tell me what happened.” I don’t know where this boldness is coming from. Inside I’m trembling with fear. Maybe it’s the adrenaline. I don’t know. But it shuts the guy up.

“He got knifed.” He raises the wounded man’s shirt. Just below a tattoo of the number 13, is a trail of blood. A lot of it. He’s been bleeding a long time. There’s no telling how much he’d lost before they brought him here. I have to help him before he goes into shock. It’s so dark. I’m struggling to find the wound.

“Does this bitch even know what the fuck she’s doing?”

“Shut the fuck up. She knows more than you.”

All the different voices make it hard to concentrate.

“It’s too dark. I can’t see. We need to move him,” I say before I can think about how they’ll react.

“We’re not going anywhere,” the first guy tells me. Then the heavy steel of a pistol digs into the base of my neck. “J-Mac. Get your phone. Give her some light.”

“Holy shit. 18th Street,” one of them yells.

The gun leaves my neck, as their attention focuses on two cars pulling into the parking lot. “Fuck,” another one shouts.

18th Street. I know that name. It’s a local gang. The tattoo. The number 13. I should’ve known. I’ve been sucked right into the middle of a gang war. And my only weapon is my brain. Which will probably be blown to bits in about two minutes.

Two of the five guys lift the sixth man from the ground and throw him into the back seat of a pickup then speed away. The other three jump into a Mustang and drive off, leaving me standing alone in the middle of the parking lot. With two cars coming at me at full speed. What if they have guns? They probably have guns. I need to run, but I’m paralyzed. I can’t move. I can only watch as the cars get closer. They’re going to hit me, and they won’t even care. Probably won’t even stop. Oh, God. This is it. This is how I die.

 

A black SUV cuts between the speeding vehicles and my trembling body. The window rolls down. It’s dark, and my vision is blurred. I can’t make out the driver, but I would never forget his voice.

“Get in.”

 Deacon. How?

I don’t move. He reaches across and opens the door, almost knocking me backward. “Grace. Get in.”

I climb into the passenger seat and close the door just as the two cars race past the front of Deacon’s SUV. He follows them, ignoring red lights, and bypassing stop signs. He touches the screen on his dash then starts rattling off numbers and letters.

“What are you doing?”

“Voice to text. I’m sending myself their plates.”

“Why?” I ask. Although, I’m not sure I want to know.

“Did they hurt you?” He looks over at me. It’s the first time he’s taken his eyes off the road since I got in. I almost melt in my seat. God, I’ve missed those eyes.

“No.”

“Good. This way, I know they never will.”

There’s so much about him I don’t know. Like how he sent me the picture. How he found me tonight. How he managed to make it across an entire ocean at the exact moment I needed saving.

“Who are you?”

He chuckles under his breath as if he’d been reading my thoughts. “I’m Batman.”

“If I weren’t such a realist, I’d probably believe that’s true,” I reply with a smile.

“You got my gift.” It’s more of a statement than a question. He already knows the answer, but I give it to him anyway.

“Yes.”

“And you’re wondering how I found you.”

Add mind-reading to his list of superpowers.

“Don’t say instinct. Because I’ll call bullshit.”

He laughs and looks at me again. The car we were following turned off a couple of blocks ago. But I don’t think Deacon cares. He got what he needed. What he plans to do with that information, only him and God know. But knowing he has it makes me feel safe. I don’t know why, but I trust him. I just don’t trust myself when I’m with him. I lose control of all my senses. The fluorescent light of the interstate flashes across his face as we drive. I don’t even care where we’re going. I’m just happy to be with him again.

“I asked for it. At the hospital.”

My mouth falls. “And they just gave it to you? Just like that?”

“Well, I can be quite charming,” he says, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Agreed. But… that’s my personal information.”

“And I promise no one but me has access to it.”

How? I want to ask a thousand questions. But he’d just derail them all. So, I don’t bother.

“Well… thank you. For the gift. And for showing up when you did.”

“You’re a beautiful woman, Grace. I just thought you might need to be reminded of that.”

He thinks I’m beautiful. He. Thinks I’m. Beautiful. I’m certain if it weren’t dark outside that he’d see me blushing right now.

“Thank you.”

“And for the record. The hospital only gave me your name and address. Google told me the rest.”

“Gotta love Google.”

“Right now, I’m pretty fond of it.” At this very moment, I’m pretty fond of it, too. I’d be a parking lot pancake if he hadn’t shown up when he did. How did I let that happen? When did I become so vulnerable? “So, what was all that back there, anyway?”

I huff a laugh. Because my only other option is to cry. And I’m not doing that in front of him.

“That was me helping.” His jaw clenches in the moonlight. It’s almost audible. My defense mechanisms kick in. This time it really wasn’t my fault. I wasn’t careless. Except for the fact that I didn’t have my mace ready. Like that would have helped against five dudes with guns. I shouldn’t have flinched at the gunshot. I should have gotten in my car and drove away. Who would take care of my father if something happened to me? What would happen to Lucas? Or Natalie? Deacon’s right. I should be more careful. “But it’s not what you think,” I continue. “I didn’t have much of a choice this time. Wrong place, wrong time, I suppose.”

“Did they touch you?”

“No,” I answer almost too quickly. I’m pretty sure if he looked hard enough he’d find the first guy’s fingerprints on my bicep. No doubt there will be bruises there tomorrow. If there aren’t already. I change the subject before he has time to doubt. “One of them was hurt. He was bleeding badly. Then the other guys showed up. Then… you. You just appeared out of nowhere.”

“Gangs?”

I nod. I know where I work. I know it’s not ideal. I know there are dangers. But I can’t be afraid to wake up in the morning and do it all over again. I can’t give up on who I am. On what I do. I can’t let one single incident wrap me in fear and keep me from doing what I love. But it is. Because every time I think about having to go back to that parking lot, a chill speeds through my veins. I hear the gunshot. I smell the blood. I see the headlights coming at me at full speed. And I’m afraid. What if they come back?

An invisible fist punches me in the gut, knocking the wind from my lungs. The first drop falls. Then the second. Before I know it, my cheeks are stained with tears, and I’m fighting to breathe. I look out the window, hoping Deacon doesn’t see. He does. The SUV pulls into an empty parking lot, and he takes my hand. I blink back any more tears before they fall then turn to face him.

“I’m fine. Really. It was just… a lot.”

He leans across the console. His other hand wipes my cheek as he brings his face close to mine. His breath kisses my skin when he speaks. Peppermint. I can almost taste it on my tongue.

“It’s okay not to be fine,” he says.

I part my lips for another imaginary taste. His eyes fall to my mouth, and for a second I hope he’ll kiss me. He doesn’t. But I want him to.

“I know. But, I really am okay.” At least I will be. Once I have time to process it all and plan a way to make sure it doesn’t happen again. I’m a fixer. I’ll fix this. I don’t want to talk about tonight anymore. Not right now. Not with him. I just want to enjoy the scent of peppermint against my skin and the feel of his strong hand in mine. I wish I knew more about his touch. His taste. I wish we’d had more time. “I’m sorry. For not saying goodbye…”

“Don’t,” he interrupts.

“Don’t?”

 He looks up, his eyes gazing into mine. And every thread of self-preservation I had left holding me together rips apart at the seams, leaving me vulnerable.

“Don’t look back. You might miss what’s right in front of you.”

My heart drops. Falls into the pit of my stomach. Pounding. Beating. Nervous.

“I should go. Renee is probably freaking out right now.”

He lets out a heavy sigh and turns my hand loose. I immediately miss his touch. “I’m not taking you back there. Not tonight.”

I don’t know if I could even go back there tonight.

“Can you take me home?”

A smile tugs at his lips, like he’s relieved I didn’t put up a fight. He taps the screen on the dash until the GPS comes up.

“Tell it where you want me to go, and I’ll take you wherever you like.”