I can’t stop. I don’t stop until staff members yank me off of his still body. He’s breathing, but completely fucked up, and I don’t have a drop of sympathy.
Spinning around, I rush to Lainey’s side.
God please don’t take her away from me after all of this. She deserves better.
Her breathing is a thin whisper in the room. The pale, delicate skin on her neck is already darkening with bruises where that son of a bitch wrapped his hands around her neck, trying to steal the very breath that gives me life.
The commotion in the room is like the buzz in a hive to my overstimulated mind. Lainey is surrounded by doctors and nurses, her care being their main priority. A group of staff members lifts Cal onto a stretcher, assessing his many wounds. The kind nurse that helped Lainey shower guides me to a chair. Carefully, she starts to cleanthe wounds on my hands that I hadn’t even noticed were there.
“I almost lost her again,” I say softly to her.
“I know, sugar. I know.” She hums. “But you got that bastard. And your Lainey is going to be more than fine, because you are her hero—so many times over.”
Looking up I see the cop in the doorway, the one that was supposed to be guarding Lainey. Fury ignites all over again, and I jump up.
“Where the fuck were you!?” I scream at him. His eyes go wide, confused and afraid.
“I went to get a coffee. Her brother was here for a visit, said he would make sure nobody would come in and bother her.” The young cop’s face is as white as the walls surrounding us.
“He just tried to fucking strangle her to death, you useless piece of shit. Stand outside that door and don’t move an inch. I am calling Danny.”
“Remington?” The softest, whispered cry of my name comes from the hospital bed, and I am next to Lainey instantly, pulling her into my chest. Her sobs are nearly silent because of all the trauma to her throat over the past forty-eight hours.
“I’m here, baby. I’m not going anywhere.” I gently rock her body, holding her tighter, needing to not let her slip out of my grasp.
“It was Cal,” she states, shocked and broken.
“I know. I know, and I am so sorry. I don’t know why he would do something like this, but I will never let him hurt you ever again.” She gives me one tiny nod as I swipe away her tears.
“I know.” She gingerly touches her neck and whines. “Why.”
“Don’t talk yet, okay? Let’s wait for Danny to come so you only have to say it once?” Again she nods.
Fate. Angels. Miracles. Whatever was on our side, letting me get to Lainey not once, but twice before it was too late? I am so fucking grateful. I can’t even let myself think about the “what ifs” of that timing being off. My arms firmly wrapped around her trembling body in this moment are the only things keeping me from falling apart from the magnitude of what just happened.
51
Lainey
Danny and a detective from the Fox Grove police department came to take our statements. I quietly, slowly, painfully recounted the whole story, once, like Remington wanted so my voice was strained the least amount possible. It was difficult. To speak. To tell the horrors of what happened in that room. The things that Cal admitted to. He was sick, twisted, and not the man I thought he was. Not the boy I grew up with. I knew he was an asshole, never really cared for me, and was manipulative. But never in a million years did I think he was capable of all this.
Right now he was laying in the very same hospital, guarded by cops much more capable than the one that left his position for the temptation of coffee and a break. Danny waslivid. He felt enormous guilt for what happened to me, having picked the cops on the rotation to watch over me. I told him that he was not allowed to carry that—the weight of someone else’s mistakes on his shoulders. He was too good of a man, of a cop, to let that sully his integrity.
Remington was not being charged for ripping Cal off of me and beating him nearly to death. It was being ruled as self-defense. We had a floor of witnesses ready to go to bat for him, and we are so grateful to the hospital staff for taking care of both of us.
As nice as they have been, I am ready to get out of here.
I would love to say “let’s go home,” but that is gone. So when they let me out of here we are moving in with Remington’s parents. His mother insisted, so she is able to take care of me for now. The doctors have me on strict instructions to rest, and I am supposed to limit my speech as much as possible for the next month. My vocal cords have severe bruising and trauma—ya know, from my brother trying to burn me alive and then strangle me to death.
I’mdefinitelygoing to need to start up my therapy sessions again. Sarcasm is not going to be enough to cope with the shit he put me through.
“Remington,” I whisper, and he’s instantly at my side, his deeply bruised hand holding mine tenderly.
“Yes, baby? What do you need? More water?”
I shake my head, whispering, “These won’t fit.” I point to the two dozen bouquets of flowers decorating my regular hospital room. I had been downgraded from the ICU, and for the past week flowers had been showing up constantly. Some from our friends, Remington’s parents and Sutton, my work, but mostly from Remington. He didn’t leave me to pick them up though, he had them all made and delivered.
Staring at all these bouquets this week has given me a lot of time to ponder which flowers were my favorites. I appreciated and enjoyed them all, of course, but I think I finally decided on a favorite for myself—I just hadn’t told Remington yet.
