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A collective breath was released, the air lightening by a lifetime of sorrow.
Everyone reached out, grabbing onto each other. Hands twined. Fingers squeezing with all the power our souls possessed. Like with the connection, we could breathe hope and belief into existence, and by extension, it would be poured into Paisley.
The doctor’s attention jumped around to each of us, care in her voice when she continued, “She is stable at this time…” She slowed, carefully phrasing her next sentence.
“But she did code again during surgery.”
I nearly buckled, the air ripped from my lungs. On my left, Dakota tightened her hand on mine and her grandfather clamped down on my forearm as both of us nearly dropped to our knees.
“We were able to get her back quickly, so she wasn’t without oxygen for long, so we are hopeful there is no brain injury. But she did lose a lot of blood. The good news is the cut was at an angle and missed her trachea and jugular, saving her from bleeding into her lungs, but her carotid artery on the right was nicked. We were able to repair the injuries, and she received a massive blood transfusion. Now we have to wait to see how her body repairs itself. We should know more in the next twelve hours.”
“Thank you,” I forced out.
She gave a soft nod. “It’s going to be a long road. You might want to get showers and some rest. I understand the extreme duress of the situation earlier today.”
She looked at me when she said it.
But I wasn’t going anywhere.
Because as soon as they let me in her room, I sat vigil.
Her hand held in both of mine, her knuckles to my lips, the machines beeping quietly in the background while that energy whirred.
Twelve hours passed.
Then twenty-four.
Two days.
It was close to three days before she finally opened those mossy eyes.
Sparks of emerald.
Glimmers of life.
“Reckless Angel,” I whispered at her knuckles, my heart crashing in my chest, battering at my ribs to get to her.
The storm I never expected.
My sweet, perfect chaos.
FIFTY
PAISLEY
Caleb angled into the passenger side of his Range Rover, slipping one arm around my back and the other beneath my knees.
“What are you doing?” I asked as he picked me up and into his arms. “I can walk, you know.”
Except the words came out hoarse, my throat still sore and making it hard to speak.
It only made that stony jaw lock tight as he knocked the door shut with his hip. “What does it look like I’m doing, Paisley? I’m carrying you inside.”
He began up the walkway toward the house.
This house that the last time I left, I’d despaired I’d never see again.
My home that I’d ached for because of the people inside.
This man who was all harsh, rigid lines and steeled, controlled ferocity and the little girl who’d written herself on me in permanent ink.
Evelyn had spent the last two weeks with Dakota and other times with Pat when Dakota was needed at the café. Caring for her. Loving her.
This patchwork family coming together to care for the child who’d come to mean the most.
I’d been hospitalized that entire time, mostly sedated because of the severity of the pain and to help me heal faster, then I’d been asked to speak as little as possible once I’d been well enough that they hadn’t kept me under.
The whole time, Caleb had never left my side other than to go to a hotel to take a shower or to run downstairs to grab food.
This morning, I’d been discharged on heavy meds and instructions that I would start therapy next week. Instructions that I needed to continue to take it easy and rest.
Instructions that Caleb had clearly taken to heart.
He carried me through the door and upstairs to my room while I clung to him.
He set me on the edge of the bed, then he climbed down onto his knees in front of me, the man between my legs as he took both my hands between his.
“Caleb.”
His head shook as he tightened his hold. “You’re supposed to talk as little as possible, Paisley, so please let me be the one who speaks.”
Part of me wanted to roll my eyes and accuse him of being bossy, but I couldn’t with the swell of intensity that blazed around him. Severity binding the muscles of his arms.
The ice of his eyes molten.
Blue fire.
We’d spoken so little during my stay at the hospital. His only concern had been my getting well, his whispered prayers as he’d clung to my hands filling me full of belief.
I’d asked only of Evelyn, and he’d promised me she was safe and staying with Dakota and her mother.
That she was alive and whole because of me.
But the truth was, we were both alive because of him.
Because he’d fought the only way he knew how to.
