Page 120 of Diamonds in the Mud

“One at a time. He’s still groggy but has been asking about you,” the doctor said to Rayne.

“Go.” My mother hugged me. “Go see him first. I’ll come in after and stay with him.”

I wanted to argue but knew better after seeing the determined look in her eyes. I wobbled slightly when I stood since I’d been sitting for so long. Jameson was there to steady me.

“We’ll be right here,” he said softly.

I touched his hand and then followed the nurse back to the recovery room where my dad was hooked up to many loud machines. His leg was bandaged and rested on a stack of pillows. There were tubes sticking out of his arms and his skin was so pale. His eyes were closed but when I moved closer, they slid open.

“You’re okay?” he asked softly. I nodded and sat down next to him.

“You?” I asked, my voice cracking slightly.

“I’ve been better,” he said with a weak smile. “First time getting shot. I think I’ll make it my last.”

His attempt at humor had tears flooding my eyes. I rested my forehead against his chest and felt his hand lift to brush my hair.

“I love you, Daddy,” I said into his chest.

“I love you too, sweetie.” He sighed and closed his eyes.

I watched him sleep for a while before going back out and letting Mom have her turn. An hour later, he was wheeled into a private room. After breakfast, the room started flooding with well-wishers and flower deliveries. My diamonds in the mud, as Jameson had described them.

Jameson tried to convince me to head home to shower, change, and get some sleep shortly before lunch.

“Go,” my mother urged. “We’ll be here.”

“What about you?” I asked her.

“I’ll get some rest while your father does.” She smiled at me. I hugged her and then let Jameson lead me away. I was too tired to argue at that point.

As Jameson and I returned home, exhaustion weighed heavily on my shoulders. The events of the night had left us both drained. As I stepped through the familiar threshold, the weight of worry for my father still hung over me like a dark cloud.

“Shower first and then food?” Jameson suggested.

I followed him through the house to the bathroom and let him strip my ruined clothes from me. How long ago had it been when I’d dressed so carefully, getting ready for the special night that was supposed to be the most magical one in my life?

We showered and Jameson carefully washed away the dried blood still caked on my skin. When he shut off the shower, I stood still as he dried me off and helped me into a pair of soft sweatpants and a tank top. After he pulled on a pair of boxers, he combed through my hair, gently untangling it as he went. Then we made our way to the kitchen, and I sat at the bar while he heated up some leftover spaghetti. We were both too tired to prepare a proper meal.

The silence between us was heavy with unspoken thoughts, questions, and worries, but the simple act of being together gave me a sense of solace.

As we ate, the weariness of the night finally caught up with me, and I struggled to keep my eyes open.

Jameson seemed to notice, and he lifted me in his arms and retreated to the bedroom. The softness of the bed was so welcoming as he lay me down and, after he pulled me into his arms, I fell into a deep sleep.

I woke sometime later with a jolt in the quiet darkness. The memories of the night mixed with other nightmares played just out of my conscious reach, hidden somewhere deep in my mind.

The rhythmic sound of Jameson’s breathing filled the room, a soothing lullaby after the chaos of the night.

As I lay awake in the darkness, the memories of my ordeal with Jackson threatened to engulf me once again. The fear and helplessness I had felt during those long moments of captivity still lingered, haunting the edges of my consciousness like a persistent shadow.

Beside me, Jameson slept peacefully, his steady heartbeat against my ear a comforting presence in the stillness of the night. I reached out to him, seeking solace in his warmth and strength. His hand found mine, offering silent reassurance in the darkness.

“Jameson,” I whispered, my voice barely audible in the quiet room.

He stirred beside me, sensing the unease in my tone. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice laced with concern.

“I... I can’t stop thinking about what happened. I have so many questions.” The words tumbled out in a rush. “I keep replaying it in my mind, wondering if I could have done anything differently. Asking myself why. Why did he come after me? Why Jackson?”