Unveil Me (The Jaded Series Book 3) (20 page)

His body relaxes and his eyes start to drift closed again. I gently grip his hair to get his attention. “No, Jase! You stay awake. Let me know you’re okay. I need to see your eyes, baby. Please,” I add, when he doesn’t respond.

When he opens his eyes again, they are no longer the clear blue I love. Instead, they are pale gray and glazed over with pain. I want to grab the motherfucker who did this and rip him limb from limb. My own chest starts to hurt and my hands shake. I feel sick to my stomach knowing Jase is in pain. I want to take it away and make it my own.

There’s movement behind me, and a second later an EMT squats down beside Mac.

“Sir, you need to move back,” he says.

I scowl at him and am about to tell him I’m not leaving Jase’s side, but Mac grabs my arm, stopping me.

“Let them do their work. You can ride in the back of the ambulance with him.”

Knowing he’s right, I gently place Jase’s head back on the ground, kiss his forehead, and stand. Jase’s eyes have already drifted closed again and fear races through me. I don’t like when his eyes are closed. It makes him look too close to death.

My eyes stay on Jase, waiting for them to open back up, but they don’t. The longer they stay closed, the deeper the fear becomes.

Please, God, let him be okay
. I send up the silent prayer. There’s no fucking way I can manage if he doesn’t make it. Jase is so much a part of me that if he dies, a vital part of me will too.

“Tell me he’s going to make it, Mac,” I beg the man beside me. I need something to help me through this. I need him to tell me Jase is going to be okay. I know Jase is the one on the ground fighting for his life right now, but I feel like I’m right beside him, lying there bleeding out too.

“You know I can’t do that, Andrew,” he says sadly, and grips my shoulder.

I close my eyes at his answer, tears spill over my cheeks.

When I open them again, the EMTs are lifting the stretcher Jase is now on. They have a breathing mask on his face and are pumping the big bulb thingy. I quickly follow them as they rush the stretcher to the ambulance.

On my way, I briefly notice Jaxon has a crying Bailey and Amari in his arms. Mia is off to the side with Mac, watching me with scared eyes. There’s another EMT working on Damien. Rage fills me at the thought of them trying to save him.

Let the bastard die
. If he lives, I can’t promise I won’t go after him and finish the job myself.

When they lift the stretcher into the ambulance, I climb in and sit beside Jase. I grab his hand, lying limply by his side. His eyes are still closed. I squeeze his hand to try to get a reaction out of him.

“Jase,” I whisper.

I don’t know if it’s my voice or if it’s my hand squeezing his, but his eyes flutter open for a second before closing again. Just that little sign helps alleviate the pressure building in my chest.

I lift his hand to my lips and pray the entire way to the hospital.

Jase

I groan as I shift in the bed. A hiss leaves my lips as a sharp pain pierces my side.

What the fuck is that?

I try to open my eyes, but they feel too heavy. My mouth is dry and my head is starting to pound. A strong smell of antiseptic tickles my nose, and I wrinkle it. The bed I’m lying on is too firm and lumpy to be Andrew’s.

Where in the hell am I?

“Jase, baby, can you hear me?” Andrew says from somewhere beside me. The warmth of his hand envelops mine and it’s nice. I wiggle my fingers.

“Open your eyes, baby,” he says.

Yeah, easier said than done.

I try opening my eyes again, and they do, just a sliver. I can see the bright light through the slits and it makes my head pound harder.

“Lights,” I croak.

“Shit! Hold on.”

Andrew releases my hand and moves away. A second later, the light dims, and I crack my eyes open a bit more. It’s blurry at first, but then it clears. Andrew’s face appears in front of me, and he looks worn-out. His hair is more of a mess than usual, his eyes are red rimmed, and his skin is pale. I don’t like the look and want it gone.

I take stock of my body and see an IV in my hand. I touch my side on my lower ribs and feel a bandage wrapped around my chest. I look down and see a long tube about the size of a pencil sticking out of my side. It’s painful to touch, so I move my hand away.

I’m obviously in the hospital, but my brain is fuzzy and the visions in my head are unclear.

“How are you feeling?” Andrew asks, after pushing a cup and bendy straw in my face.

I take a sip and moan as the cold liquid slides down my throat. Water has never tasted so damn good in my life.

I clear my throat a couple of times before my voice starts working properly. The pain in my side is getting worse.

“Hurts like a bitch. What happened?” I ask, my voice still sounding weak and scratchy.

“You don’t remember?” he says, and places the cup back down on the table beside the bed. There are flowers in a vase on it, along with a “Get Well Soon” balloon.

“Bits and pieces. Damien showed up, didn’t he?” A flash of Damien holding Chris at gunpoint pops in my head. Other images slowly start to swirl around as well. “Chris? Where is she? Is she okay?”

I try to sit up, needing to get to Chris, but fall back.

Fuck! That hurts!

“Stop, baby,” Andrew says, and puts a hand on my chest, his face etched with pain. “Chris is fine. She’s in the cafeteria with Jaxon and Bailey getting something to eat. You have a tube sticking out of your side. Your lung collapsed when the bullet grazed it.”

“Shit,” I mutter, and close my eyes. “Everyone else okay?”

“Yeah. Except for Damien. That fucker is dead.” The vehemence in his voice brings my eyes open again. Andrew’s jaw is clenched and he’s scowling. The hand on the bed beside my hip is balled into a fist.

I can’t help but feel satisfaction knowing Damien is gone for good.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he whispers. The anger of before is now replaced with worry. “Don’t fucking do that shit again,” he growls. “Mac was there and would have taken him out without you getting hurt.”

I try to draw in a deep breath, but the pain is too intense. “I couldn’t take the chance, Andrew. I had to get him away from Chris. The gun could have gone off at any minute.”

He closes his eyes and lays his head on my arm. After a moment, he lifts his head and the stark pain there has my gut twisting.

“I could have lost you. Do you have any fucking clue what that would have done to me? I love you, Jase. I’m not the self-harm type, but if I ever was, I’d do it then. Living without you is something that’s not possible for me. I
need
you.”

I reach up, grip his hair, and bring his mouth to mine. “You won’t have to. I’m here. I’m okay,” I murmur against his lips.

He rests his forehead against mine and nods.

The pain in my chest is growing and it’s getting harder to breathe. Andrew must sense my pain, because he pulls away and pushes the call button at the side of my bed.

A couple minutes later, a nurse and doctor walk in. They check my vitals, see that everything is okay, explain my injuries, and shoot me up with pain medicine through my IV. Before the medicine takes effect, the doctor explains I’ll be in the hospital for at least a week. I’ll have to do breathing treatments so they can monitor my lung to ensure it inflates properly and stays that way. If all goes well, they’ll pull the tube out in a week and see how I’m doing then. Unfortunately, when the bullet went in, it cracked a few ribs and nicked my lung. They had to do surgery to remove some bone fragments.

Andrew stands to the side the entire time, watching, his brows still pulled down with concern. I know I was lucky. Things could have been so much worse, for both me and Chris. Hell, for anyone there. I know if it were Andrew lying here in this bed, I’d be out of my fucking mind with worry. I hate he went through that. I hate that I can’t get up right now and comfort him.

The doctor and nurse leave a few minutes later, leaving Andrew and me alone. He comes back and gently sits on the side of the bed.

“I don’t know if I’m going to last a week here. I fucking hate hospitals,” I joke, trying to lighten the mood.

His lips quirk up a bit, but I still see the frown lines. I grab his hand and bring it to my chest, over my heart.

“I’m okay, Andrew,” I tell him.

He doesn’t say anything, just nods.

There’s nothing I can say to reassure him. I know he’s got shit rolling through his head right now. Scenarios of what could have possibly happened. He’s just going to have to realize on his own that I’m here and going to be okay. I hate seeing him upset, but there’s nothing I can do at the moment.

My eyes start to become heavy and it’s hard to keep them open. The medicine running through my veins is taking effect, ensuring I get the rest I need. Giving up the fight, my eyes drift closed, and the last thing I see is a single tear trickle down Andrew’s cheek.

Two weeks later, I’m finally home. After having the tube in my chest for a couple of days, the doctors discovered that the top part of my lung wasn’t inflating all the way. They had to take the smaller tube out and put in a bigger one. Putting in the bigger tube hurt like a son of a bitch. I’m still in pain, but it’s mostly because of my ribs being cracked. The doctor said it’ll be a few weeks before I’m properly healed. He also warned me that my lungs could possibly collapse again in the future due to the trauma to them.

Mac came by while I was in the hospital to get my statement. He also informed me that it was because of Damien that Mrs. Cranny died. Apparently, he had been holed up in her house, without her permission. He barreled his way in and held her hostage. Toxicology reports showed drugs in the old lady’s system. He kept her drugged up so she couldn’t escape or call someone for help. Her old body finally tired out, along with the help of the drugs, and she passed away, hopefully painlessly. She had been dead several days before someone reported they hadn’t seen her for a while. Mac went to investigate and discovered her body. He saw the condition of the house and found a picture of Damien, his brother Drake, and his mom in a duffle bag. That’s when he knew Damien had been staying there and called Andrew. He was on his way out the door of Mrs. Cranny’s house with Andrew on the phone when Damien showed up.

I wasn’t able to attend Mrs. Cranny’s funeral, but Andrew told me the whole town showed up to pay their respects. He also said Mac is the one who took it the hardest. He complained of her shenanigans constantly, but he was still very fond of her.

I was surprised when Mac told me he found the girl who had been tied up in the shed. Her name is Bryanna Canton. She had just turned fourteen the week before she was taken. Drake had her in that shed for five days, doing numerous horrible things to her. Her parents were worried sick about her and had called the cops the first night she went missing. Her physical injuries were extensive, but nothing she wouldn’t heal from. It’s the emotional trauma she’ll deal with for years to come. I ache for her and what she went through.

Her dad, who happened to be a government official, came to visit me at the hospital. With tears in his eyes, he thanked me for saving his daughter and told me he was pulling strings to ensure I wasn’t charged for the murder of Drake. I told him I wasn’t sorry for what I did, that I would do it again, and I was prepared to face the consequences. He was adamant I let him help. I’m not sure if or how he’ll pull it off, but if he feels he needs to do it, then I’ll let him. I don’t need his gratitude or his help, but I understand
his
need to give it.

His wife and daughter want to meet me. I told him when the time is right and they’re ready, I’d like to meet them too. Seeing the girl I pulled from the shed and seeing with my own eyes that she’s okay will be the final closure I need.

Chris called our parents to tell them about the accident. I wasn’t surprised when they refused to come visit. They’ve written me off just as completely as I have them. I’m just sorry Chris is stuck in the middle. I hope she’s able to hold on to a relationship with them.

Andrew and I have both just sat down on the couch. When we got home, the house was full of guests welcoming me back. They left about an hour ago, and while it felt nice to know so many people cared, I’m grateful the house is now quiet.

“Do you need anything? Are you hungry? Thirsty?” Andrew asks, for what feels like the hundredth time.

“Andrew, baby, please stop, okay? I can get my own food and drink,” I tell him. My head, resting on the back of the couch, turns his way.

He’s been trying to baby me for the last two weeks and it’s starting to grate on my nerves. I appreciate his help and his caring, but I’m not an invalid. I understand his concern, but he needs to chill. I still see the worry in his eyes sometimes, but it’s not as pronounced as it was when I first woke up in the hospital.

“That’s probably not gonna happen,” he says honestly, which I figured. “I need to be able to do stuff or my mind starts to wander. My mind wandering right now isn’t a good thing. I keep seeing you on the ground with blood all over your chest.” He squeezes his eyes closed for a brief second and when he opens them again, the pain is back full force.

I scoot over and turn my body to face him, the pain in my ribs sending a jolt through me, but I ignore it.

“What’s it going to take for you to believe I’m not going anywhere? That there’s nothing that could take me away from you? Even a bullet.”

“Time,” he says. “I can’t help what I feel in here.” He puts his hand over his heart. “Or here.” He taps the side of his head. “When you were laid out on the ground, my whole world stopped, Jase. It felt like I was the one on the ground with a bullet in my chest. That bullet could have landed in your heart or your head. It could have been over so fast.” He scoots closer to me, so my bent leg is hanging over his. “I’ll eventually get to the point where the visions don’t almost debilitate me, but I’m just not there yet.”

I nod, understanding his meaning. A scare such as ours doesn’t just go away quickly. Emotional pain can be just as painful as physical pain. It needs time to heal as well. I can put up with Andrew’s hovering if it helps him deal with it.

“Now stop complaining, lie down and rest, and give me your feet.”