Lydia
THERE’S NOTHING SCARIER than having a gun pointed at your face.
I’m frozen.
I can’t move.
I can’t breathe.
I can’t think.
All I can do is stare at the chunk of metal in this woman’s hand.
“Did you really think this was about the money, Marcus?” she asks. “You thought I would really leave you two to live happily fucking ever after?” She lets out a short laugh. “I don’t think so.”
“You have what you want. There’s no reason to keep us here,” Marcus tries to reason with her. We’re shoulder to shoulder, and even though he’s putting on a brave face, I can feel the nerves rolling off of him as he trembles. He inches forward to put me slightly behind him.
“See, you’re still not getting it. What I wanted was a father for my baby and a stable life. But I don’t have that, now do I?”
“Do you want your baby to grow up without a mother too? Because that’s what will happen if this doesn’t stop.”
I think my knees might give out. Every cell in my body is telling me to run. Self-preservation is kicking in, pumping adrenaline through my body like a wild stallion on speed. I have nowhere to go though. We won’t make it out the door before she shoots us in the back, and Marcus’s gun is too far away to reach. We’re sitting ducks. Our only hope is to have Marcus talk her off this ledge, and honestly, I don’t see that happening.
The backs of my eyes prick with tears as the realization that this is it settles in. Discreetly, I thread my fingers through his and hold his hand. If I’m going to die, I want to die holding the man I love. He gives my hand a gentle squeeze.
Everything around me becomes a blur. All I focus on is the object that will bring death my way. Everything is reduced to a dull hum as I tune out Marcus’s pleas to let us go.
Her eyebrows draw in as she purses her lips. Fire fills her eyes as she puts her sole focus on me.
“No, you made me suffer, now it’s your turn,” she says. Shifting the gun to me, she’s going to pull the trigger. I’m not sure which comes first; the loud bang or Marcus pushing me out of the way. I hit the ground with a hard thud, a sharp pain radiating out from my shoulder.
Marcus falls on top of me to shield my body with his. My eyes are squeezed shut and all I can do is pray. Just let us make it out of here alive.
Everything goes quiet, unnaturally so, before we hear an engine start. Marcus jumps off of me and grabs his gun off the floor on his way to the door. He raises his weapon, but lowers it again after a few seconds. “Fuck,” he mutters to himself. He comes back to me, his eyes widening in horror as he looks down at me.
“Oh, shit, babe.”
“What?” I glance down at my body and that’s when I see it. A bright red stain spreading inch by inch on my shoulder. My heart rate spikes again as does the pain the adrenaline in my body allowed me to ignore. “Oh God, I’ve been shot!”
“We need an ambulance right away,” he says into the radio attached to him. Bringing his focus back to me, he examines it. “I think you’re going to be okay. It doesn’t look like she hit anything important, but we need to stop the bleeding.” Panic sets in as I gasp for air. “Babe, look at me,” Marcus demands gently while pulling his shirt apart. My eyes snap up to his. He’s being strong for me, and I desperately try to hold on to it hoping to steal some of his strength. “I need you to breathe for me. Can you do that?”
I nod my head and focus on bringing air in and out of my nose. He bunches his shirt into a ball, then rolls me on my side. He places it behind my shoulder before rolling me on my back again. I suck in air through my teeth when I lie on it. The burning sensation is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before, and I grind my jaw to keep from yelling out in pain. “Your bodyweight is putting pressure against the exit wound, okay?” Again, I just nod as I try to breathe through the pain. Marcus strips off his vest before reaching behind him and pulling his undershirt off over his head. I wince once he uses it to apply pressure to the front of my wound.
My body starts to shake and I feel so cold. It becomes harder and harder to hold my eyes open no matter how hard I try. “Stay with me, babe,” he says, but I’m powerless against the darkness that overtakes me.
When I woke up from surgery, Marcus’s face was the first thing I saw. They had successfully removed all bullet fragments and stitched up the wound nicely. Right now, they’re keeping me to monitor my concussion and any signs of brain swelling from when Stacy slammed my head against the floor and knocked me out. Other than some scrapes and bruises, everything else is fine and I should make a full recovery.
Marcus hasn’t left my side since they wheeled me into recovery. It’s like he’s afraid I’ll vanish if he’s not watching or touching me in some way. He’s been keeping a brave face, but I can see how much this affected him. I know this could have been a lot worse than it was, and all those fears play out in the depths of his eyes. So, while he’s reassuring me that everything is going to be fine, I think part of him says it to convince himself as well.
As much as I love his comfort and support, I needed a second to breathe and process everything that had happened. Between doctors and nurses fussing over me and him hovering, I just needed a minute to myself, so I asked him to get some coffee from the café downstairs. He’s been gone for a little bit and should return any moment, but the short break was a nice reprieve and opportunity to take in everything that’s gone on the last few days.
Marcus struts back in holding two cups of coffee. My mouth waters just thinking about the yummy goodness of caffeine hitting my tongue.
“Do you believe in love at first sight, or should I walk by again?” With a cheesy grin firmly in place, I’m powerless to stop the laughter that bubbles up from inside me.
“You’re such a dork,” I say with a smile. Moments like these make me forget we’re in a hospital because I was shot. It feels normal and natural, everything I crave.
“Yeah, but you love this dork.” He hands me a cup and says, “I wanted to talk to you about something.” It’s usually not a good thing when he begins his sentence like that. I sit up a little, a sharp pain zapping my shoulder when I accidentally dig it into the mattress. “While you were in surgery, I called your parents to let them know what was going on.”
He pauses to gauge my reaction, but I don’t have one. I’m not mad or happy he did it, just indifferent. On one hand, they’re my parents and should know that their daughter was injured, but on the other hand, I still feel like they’ve lost that right. “Okay,” is all I say as he continues to wait.
“Your mom was frantic and came down immediately.”
“Does she know I’m awake?” It’s been a whole day since I came out of surgery and I had no idea she was here. If she was that upset, why hasn’t she come back to see me? He nods. “And she hasn’t been in here to see how I’m doing?”
“Part of that is my fault. I know how you feel about them and I completely have your back on it. So when she showed up, I made her leave. I didn’t want you coming out of surgery and waking up in a stressful situation, so I thought I’d let you make the decision once you were in the clear.”
He looks nervous, like he’s not sure if he did the right thing or not, but all I want to do is kiss him. This man has proven to me time and again that my happiness is his priority. “Where are they now?”
“In the waiting room. They stay there all day and go home at night.”
I’m shocked by his answer. My mother, the woman who couldn’t be bothered to wait for me after school when I was a little late once and left me, has been sitting out there this whole time? Maybe my near-death experience is making me more forgiving, but I find myself saying, “You can bring them in.”
He studies my face for a moment, probably seeing if I’m serious, before kissing my forehead and leaving the room to go get them. Moments later, my mother is busting through the door in a rush.
“Lydia.” It’s the only thing she says as her voice cracks and her hand goes to her mouth. She walks closer to my bed and looks me over, taking in the bruises on my face and sling my arm is in to stabilize my shoulder. When she removes her hand, she says, “My baby.” Her lip trembles and I can tell she’s trying to hold back from crying. She looks as if she’s aged years since I saw her last. “How are you feeling?” she asks once she gains her composure.
“Better. Sore, but I’m okay.”
I hate how awkward this is. A daughter shouldn’t feel uncomfortable by the mere presence of her mother. But I do. I always have.
Tears stream down her face as she continues to gaze at me with worry in her eyes. “I’m so sorry,” she whispers, her throat tight with emotion. I don’t respond because I don’t know what to say. “I know I apologized the last time I saw you and then reverted back to my old ways, but I mean it. You don’t have to believe me, and I know you hate me—”
“I don’t hate you, Mom. I often wondered what I had done to make you constantly disappointed in me. It seemed no matter how hard I tried, it was never enough. Looking at it now, I think it has more to do with you than it does me, but I don’t hate you.”
Her face falls, and for the first time I think I’m staring at the real her. The mask of perfection is gone, and in its place is a woman who is tired and not happy with her life choices. I wonder where she thought she’d end up, and how it’s so vastly different from where she is. My mom isn’t a very open person though. She guards her secrets and I’m sure this is one of those things I’ll never understand. What I do know as I focus on her is I’m not that little girl desperate to please her anymore. I’m a grown woman with my own life choices to make, and I don’t care if they make her happy.
“This experience has made me realize a lot, but the main thing I’m taking away from this is not to take our time for granted. I’m not holding any more grudges, and I’m ready to let the past stay where it belongs because all it’s doing is hurting my future. I can’t tell you that everything is fine now and all is forgotten. That would be a lie, but I am willing to try if you are.” Too much of my life has been spent hating, resenting, and being bitter. I don’t want to live like that anymore. Life is too short to hang on to emotions that eat away at your soul.
With her lips pressed together, she nods. “I’d like that,” she says.
I look over at my dad, yet again forgetting that he’s there since he lets my mother do all the talking for them, and see relief in his eyes. I’ll never understand a man who would let his wife cast out their daughter the way mine did without so much as a backward glance. Maybe with time, we can mend those fences too.
Soon after my parents leave, the girls stop by.
“Oh, thank God,” Charlotte says as she walks toward my bed. Tears fall from her eyes as she grabs my hand. “You had me worried sick,” she says in a shaky voice. I smile warmly up at her, showing that I’m okay. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve been shot,” I reply.
She rolls her eyes at my failed attempt at humor and wipes the moisture from under her eyes. “Don’t ever scare us like that again, okay?”
“I’ll try to avoid it in the future.” My lips pull up in a grin before my eyes close.
“You’re in good spirits, all things considered,” Paige remarks as she sits in one of the chairs in the corner.
I shrug and focus on her again. “I’m alive.”
I’ve been downplaying the seriousness of the situation, telling everyone it’s just a small shoulder wound and nothing major. But I know how close I came to not making it out of that building alive.
“When do you get to go home?” Scarlett asks.
“I should be released tomorrow. They wanted to keep me for a couple days to watch for possible infection and brain swelling, but so far so good.”
I gasp as I remember my baby. “Who’s taking care of Spartacus?” I ask with alarm. I can’t believe I’m just now thinking about him. My heart rate accelerates with mild panic as I realize he could be starving right now.
“Relax, he’s fine. I’m taking care of him,” Charlotte informs me.
I breathe out a sigh of relief. “Good, because he wouldn’t make it a day on his own.”
“I know. That fluffy bastard is pretty pathetic,” Marcus chimes in. His comment earns him a glare.
“Shut it or you’ll be the one out in the cold fending for yourself,” I threaten with a small laugh.
“Sorry, what I meant to say is he’s a ferocious beast who’d have no problem stalking down his prey. He’d be fine.”
“I’m not amused,” I deadpan before my face cracks with a smile.
My friends stay and chat for a few more minutes before getting ready to leave and let me rest. Between the events of the last couple days and the pain meds, it’s hard for me to keep my eyes open for long periods of time.
“Thanks for stopping by,” I say after giving them all a hug. They leave and all I can think about is how lucky I am to have them in my life. They’ve been there for me through my highest of highs and lowest of lows. I’m not sure how I would’ve made it through Seth if it weren’t for them.
I lower the bed so I’m lying down and get situated under the covers. I let out a yawn before pulling them up over me. Looking at Marcus, all I can think about is how close I was to losing him, and I’m not talking about Stacy. I’m referring to myself.
Charlotte told me it was meant to be after Marcus pulled me over and gave me a ticket. That the odds of running into him again were close to zero, yet we managed to find each other. I scoffed at her because I didn’t believe in those kinds of notions. But in this moment, I do. It may not have been ideal, but maybe this is what it takes to give myself to him one hundred percent with absolutely no hesitations or reservations. Because as I look at him, there’s not a shred of doubt still residing within me. I can truly say that I’ve let the past go and am looking at my future, a future with Marcus. So while my body is in pain, my heart no longer is. For that, I’m grateful.
“Thank you,” I say to him.
“For what?” He grabs hold of my hand and rubs the back of it with his thumb.
“For keeping my mother in check, for taking care of me. For putting my life above your own.”
“It’s nothing, babe.” He tries to brush off the compliment.
“It’s everything to me.”