Guardian (The Guardian Trilogy) (27 page)

When I
hear the familiar touch-tones of the phone, I know he’s in the kitchen.  For
some reason I can hear the operator on the other end of the line loud and
clear.  “911. What’s your emergency?”

As Dane
quickly asks the operator to send help, I feel James’ cool touch against my cheeks,
my neck, and my arms.  I feel his concentrated kiss on my lips and then again
against my forehead.  I feel his coldness slide under and around me somehow,
and I manage to open my eyes to slits.  I see his knee in my line of vision as
he cradles my head against his leg.

“I love
you,” he says, his voice cracking, as he strokes my shoulder with one hand and
my hair with the other.  I close my eyes to try and block out the incessant pounding
in my head, to make my mouth form words.

“I love
you,” I’m barely able to whisper.  I’m not sure if he hears me.

The
light is too bright; it hurts my eyes.  I try again, opening them slowly this
time.  When I see the industrial fluorescent light fixture on the ceiling, I
know I’m in the hospital.  My mind registers the fact that my head doesn’t hurt
as badly anymore; there’s just a dull thrumming that matches my heartbeat.  I
feel tightness around my left hand and the familiar rub of a thumb against
mine.  I roll my head against the pillow and allow my eyes to focus on Dane,
seated by my bedside, holding my hand.

“Hey
Grace,” he smiles at me, relief flooding his features.

“Hey,”
I croak out.

“How’s
your head?” he asks, worried.

“It’s…it
doesn’t hurt too bad.”

He lets
out a nervous laugh.  “You sure know how to give a guy a heart attack, you know
that?”

I smile. 
“I’m sorry.”  My eyes shift to look around the room; they catch the monitors
and other medical equipment on a stand tucked against the side of the bed. 
None of it is attached to me.  I take in the white walls, white ceiling, and the
generic landscape picture on the wall.  The room looks empty except for us.

“Where
is everybody?” I rasp.

“Your
mom and dad just left.”

Images
and sounds start to flood my brain.  I remember heavy footsteps and unfamiliar
voices asking me questions.  I remember hearing my dad’s frantic voice; I’ve never
heard him so panicked in all my life.  I remember lying on a stretcher, my
mother’s concerned face hovering above me as she walked next to me.  I remember
mumbling an apology, telling her I would clean the blood off the floor.

My memory
flashes a picture of Dane walking toward me, holding his side and bleeding.  I
look at him alarmed.  “Are you okay?  Are you hurt?”

He
gives me a reassuring smile and continues to rub my hand.  “Please.  I’m fine.”

“No,
you weren’t fine,” I shake my head, “I mean, aren’t fine…”

Dane
lets go of my hand and pulls up the right side of his shirt, exposing a
bandage.  It wraps slightly around his side and extends an inch or two across his
chest.  “13 stitches,” he states matter-of-factly.  He taps the dressing and
then releases his shirt.  “I’ll live.”

“Lucky
13, huh?” I ask and try to clear my throat.  It’s so dry.

Dane
reaches forward and presses a button connected to the hospital bed.  “I might
even end up with a scar worth bragging about,” he smiles, collecting my hand
again.  “Of course you’ll be the first person I show it to.”  He lifts my hand
and kisses my knuckles.

At
first I smile at his comment, but then my smile slowly fades.  He can see me
processing what he just said; he can see me remembering.  I’m sure I can see my
reaction to his kiss playing back in his hazel eyes.  His face falls a little
and he releases my hand, setting it back on the bed.

The
door to my room opens and a nurse comes bustling in.  “Is our patient awake?”
she asks politely.

I look
at her and nod.  In one hand she carries a Styrofoam cup with a straw and in
the other she carries a small paper dish.  “Water,” she says as she hands the cup
to me.

I take
it from her and take a long pull from the straw.  The water soothes my dry
throat almost immediately.  The nurse – I catch her name badge, Anne – dumps
the contents of the little dish into my hand.  “Take these,” she says.  “They’re
Ibuprofen.  The doctor on call will give you a script for something stronger
when you’re discharged.”

I toss
the pills in my mouth and swallow them down with a gulp of water.

“Are
you hungry?” she asks.

“A
little,” I tell her as she places a thermometer in my mouth.  “When do I get to
go home?” I mumble.

“Should
be this afternoon.”  She removes the thermometer when it beeps.  She walks to
my chart and scribbles something.  “You were only admitted overnight for
observation.  Standard procedure for a mild concussion.”

I nod
in understanding.

“The doctor
will be in shortly.”  She looks at Dane.  “Will you be taking her home?”

“Uh,
no,” he shakes his head.  “Her parents said they would be back in about an hour
or two.  I’ll call them to let them know she’s awake.”

“Good,”
she smiles at us as she heads out the door.  “I’ll send in a snack.  Feel
better soon.”

Dane
turns to me as he stands.  “I’ll go, so you can rest.  I’ll give your parents a
call; they left me the number.”  He starts toward the door.

He
can’t go.  There’s too much we have to talk about.  “Wait.”

He
stops and looks at me.

I
clutch my cup of water.  “We have to talk.”

He
shakes his head and gives me half a smile.  “Not now.”

“Yes
now,” I demand and tuck my water cup by my side.  I hold my hand out to him.

He
appears to think about it, then retreats a few steps and grasps my hand.  He sits
down next to my bed again and moves his chair closer.

“I have
to thank you,” I say sincerely.  “Without you, who knows what –”

“Don’t even
think about it,” he cuts me off.  “I’m happy to have put that creep out of his
misery.”

Out of
his misery?  “He’s not…he’s not dead, is he?”

Dane
lets out a sarcastic snort.  “No.  But he should be.”

“Where
is he?”

“He’s
here somewhere,” he frowns.  “But as soon as he recovers he’ll be arrested.” 
His face immediately shifts with concern.  “Don’t worry,” he says looking into
my eyes.  “He will
never
touch you again.”

I
squeeze his hand.  “I held my own pretty good there for a minute.”

Dane’s
frown deepens.  “Not from what I saw.  You really should have gotten out of
there like I told you to.”

“I’m
sorry I have such creepy friends.”

His
eyebrows shoot up.  “Are there more?”

“No, not
as far as I know.”

“Good,”
he sighs with fake relief.  “I was thinking you might have to hire me as your
full time bodyguard.”

I
laugh.

“Not
that I’d mind,” he adds softly.

I have
to admit that my heart does a little flip when he says this.  But I love
James.  I will always love James.  I’ve made a promise to him that I cannot
break.  This is going to be so hard, but things are only going to get worse if
I say nothing, especially after this last incident.

Dane
can sense my apprehension.  “Emma, listen…”

I take
a deep breath.  “I can’t be anything more than your friend,” I say quietly.  “I
wish I could be more, but…I just can’t.”

Dane stares
down at our hands.  “I know.”  He meets my eyes again.  “It’s too soon.  It was
dumb of me to try what I did and for that I’m so sorry.  It’s just…I needed a
question answered and I decided that was the time to ask it.”

My
voice is soft.  “Did you get your answer?”

He nods
solemnly.  “Yes, unfortunately I did.”

Tears
jump behind my eyes.  “I’m sorry about how I reacted.  It’s just that things
are complicated…” I can’t tell him my dead boyfriend saw us kiss.

Dane
rubs my hand gently.  “That’s not what I meant.  I had a question to ask
myself.”

I stare
at him confused.

He
shakes it off.  “Don’t worry about it.  Especially now.  You need to take it
easy.  You need to heal.  And not just your head,” he gives me a crooked
smile.  “But your heart and mind, too.  It’s not going to be easy to forget
what that psycho tried to do to you.”

I blink
to prevent any tears from appearing.  “You really are too good to me.”

He tilts
his head to the side and smirks.  “That’s what I do.”

“Friends?”
I hopefully ask, realizing I don’t think I could bear it if he says no.

He
pauses for a moment, studying me.  “Always.”  He gives me a small smile and
squeezes my hand, then reaches into his pocket.  He hands me his cell.  “Call
your parents.  They’ll be thrilled to hear from you.”

I take
the phone.  “Thank you.”

He
shrugs.

“No,
thank you for agreeing to still be friends.”

“Call
your parents,” he says sternly, obviously done with this conversation.

I dial
the number and wait for my mom to pick up.  When she does, she tells me that
she and my dad are turning around and headed my way.  As I talk to her I can’t
help but catch Dane’s eye.  He’s looking at me, but it seems as if he’s looking
through me.  I mouth “What’s wrong?” while still listening to my mother.  His
eyes snap to mine and he shakes his head, replacing his sad smile with a more
genuine one.

I hang
up and hand him his phone.  “They’re on their way.”

“Good. 
I think you should rest.”  He stands.  “I’ll see you later.”

“You
don’t have to go,” I protest.  “Wait with me until they get here.”

He
gives me a small smile.  “I can’t.”

“Why
not?”

He steps
forward and leans down to me.  He reaches around my neck, holding me gently,
and presses a soft kiss to the top of my head.  “Feel better Grace.”

He
walks out the door before I can stop him.

When I
arrive home with my parents, Mike, Kate, Matt and Shel are all waiting for me. 
Shel wraps me in a hug that rivals a boa constrictor.

“Jesus
girl,” she holds me tightly.

Matt
envelops both of us in a huge bear hug.  When they release me, my brother walks
up awkwardly.  I can tell he has a lot to say, but doesn’t know how to start. 
I make the first move and embrace him instead, followed by Kate.

“We’re
so glad that you’re all right,” she says in my ear.

Mike,
Kate, Shel and Matt did an amazing job of cleaning up the house after Patrick’s
“visit.”  There’s almost no sign that anything happened, with the exception of the
broken door and missing vase.  We all end up in the living room where Shel sits
protectively by my side and where the discussion, inevitably, revolves around
the events of last night.  Even though the room is full of familiar loving
faces, I can’t help but see Patrick, Dane, and James just about everywhere I
look.   I try to keep the details brief when I’m asked questions; I’m going to
have to relive everything tomorrow morning, when the police send over an
officer to collect my official statement.  I spend a lot of time staring at the
floor.

After
about an hour or so, people start to grumble about hunger and pizza is
delivered.  I pick at my plate and look at the faces that surround me.  My
friends and family eat, smile, and laugh while the gross topic of my attack is abandoned,
for now.  An overwhelming feeling of love and gratitude washes over me.  My
heart wants to burst with the feelings I have for these people, for how much
they love me, and I love them.  For how much they know what I need.  Then,
suddenly, my heart pinches with sadness.  Two very important people that I love
dearly are missing around my table – James and Dane.

My
manager Kris calls in the middle of our impromptu dinner party to express how
horrified she is by what’s happened.  I didn’t ask, but I assume she was told
by Dane.  The doctor who discharged me from the hospital wrote me off of work
for one week.  Kris demands that I take two.

“Don’t
worry,” Shel smiles after I get off the phone.  “We’ll find ways to keep busy.”

Our
guests hang out longer than I expected, and by the time I look at the clock
it’s just after ten.  My dad turns on the TV, and my attack makes the news.  I
don’t know why I would expect any different, especially since we live in a
relatively small town.  Thankfully, the details are very generic and my name is
withheld.

I
decide that now is as good a time as any to call it a night.  “Thanks for
coming over,” I tell Mike and Kate as I hug them goodbye.

“Love
you Ems,” my brother squeezes me.

My mom
reminds me that she’ll be waking me every hour to check on me per doctor’s
instructions.  My dad hugs me good night, as does Matt.  Shel follows me to my
room.

“You’d
think I was leaving or something with all the hugging,” I say to Shel as we
step into my bedroom.

She
turns to me and wraps me in another constrictor-like grasp.

“Oooookay.”

She
steps back.  “Do you know how much you scared us?” she asks anxiously.  “I
mean, it wasn’t your fault, but the whole idea…” She hugs herself and
shudders.  “God Em, how are you handling this?”

“I
don’t know,” I say honestly.  “One minute I’m fine.  Then the next my mind is
replaying what happened, which creeps me out entirely.  Then the next minute,
I’m fine again.”

Shel
looks at me with sympathy.  “You should have stayed with us at Matt’s.  Then
this wouldn’t have happened.  Why did you leave anyway?”

I
ignore her question, but refute her theory.  “Based on what Patrick said, he
would have found another time to get to me.”  I look over at my bedroom window,
the window that he said he came through.  A chill runs down my spine.  “Shel?”