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He touches my face. “Good. You’re stronger today than you were then… the night we officially met in your apartment. You’re doing great. I see it. You’re blooming like a flower, Violet.”
“In large part because of you. Thank you. If I’m like a flower, I need sunshine and nurturing and affection to grow and you’re giving me that, you know? Thank you, Killian. So much.”
His phone’s text alert goes off and he uses his free hand to pull it from his pocket, keeping his other hand on my face.
“Driver’s pullin’ up. Let’s go home. Time for some dirty, drunk sex.”
I giggle. “Are you drunk?”
“A little,” he admits.
“It was a beautiful wedding,” I say.
“It was,” he agrees softly, his voice husky. His eyes meet mine and they sparkle. It makes me wonder; does he see himself married some day?
I don’t ask.
We’ve been together a week, we’ve known one another a month, though known of one another for over three years, but I’m the one trying to say we should go slow. He’s obviously intent on showing me the value of fast without putting pressure on me, and I appreciate it. It’s too soon to talk about anything serious.
We round the building, hand in hand, and leave the fenced-in garden area. Across the street, there’s a car idling at the curb.
“That’s him,” Killian says and then we’re heading that way when suddenly shadows move in from multiple directions and I see Killian fall forward as someone hits him on the back of the head.
I scream as Killian falls face first onto the road.
A guy in a dark coat, a hood hiding most of his face, has a shovel in his hand. He hit Killian with that shovel!
I’m pulled back by someone and a car goes by, swerving to miss us and squealing on the brakes.
“Throw her in the back!” One of them in the car yells, and the back door is opened.
I struggle, screaming as two other men jump out of the car and are kicking Killian. They’re hoofing him in the legs, in the gut, and then I’m released and they’re running in multiple directions as a gunshot sounds. A man runs over, Killian’s driver, Stan. He shot his gun up in the air, I think.
“Call an ambulance, call for help!” I shout, dropping to my knees and putting my hands on Killian. He’s unconscious. His face is bleeding. “Oh my God!”
I’m vaguely aware of Killian’s driver on the phone with a 9-1-1 operator.
60
Killian
Noise pulls me from darkness. I can’t open my eyes. My lids are glued shut. Why? It’s noisy and dark.
Violet!
I was swarmed. I was knocked unconscious.
Where’s Violet?
Fucking where’s Violet?
Don’t let them have hurt her.
Who the fuck was it?
Why did I let my fucking guard down?
“Killian, it’s okay.”
That’s her voice. Why can’t I open my fucking eyes?
I hear a groaning sound. I think it’s me.
Floaters are behind my eyelids. Red ones. White ones.
“Violet?”
Is that my voice? It sounds weak.
“You’re in the hospital,” she says, and her voice sounds wet. She’s crying as she squeezes my hand. “You’re okay. You’re okay, Killian.”
“Baby?” I call out.
“It’s okay. Shh. Just rest. You’re okay.”
I smell her. I feel her holding my hand tighter, but I can’t unglue my eyes.
“The doctor’s coming in a minute. Just hang tight. Try to rest.”
I pry my eyes open enough to see the slivers of light, then they get so bright, and it hurts but I search for her anyway. I need to.
Big, scared dark eyes are at me. Wet eyes. Red eyes. Her beautiful eyes.
I squeeze her hand.
Fuck, my head feels fuzzy.
“Who hit me? What the fuck happened?”
That bullshit with Amber. Is that what this is? Can’t be. Can it?
Violet leans in and looks about to speak, but then I hear a male voice and see a guy in a white coat moving behind her, over me. A doctor. Behind him, I see my brother in the doorway.
At least my brother’s here. He’ll know to take care of Violet, to keep her safe.
But it’s my job to do it. Mine.
“Keep her safe, Willie,” I groan. “Call Nino or Tino.”
“Yeah, man. On it. It’s all good,” he responds.
“Violet?” I call out.
My voice sounds funny. Weird sounds echo in my ears. A nurse moves in past Will and my vision goes spotty with more floaters.
“Violet, I love you,” I say before I sink into darkness.
***
She didn’t leave. She’s sleeping in a chair directly beside me. She looks uncomfortable.
I don’t know how much time has passed. It’s dim in the room, but the sun is rising, I think.
“Hey,” I rasp.
She jerks awake, though I know my scratchy voice didn’t get loud.
“Hey baby?” I say. “What happened?”
She leans over and rubs my hand. I grab hers and tug, wanting her closer. Chair legs scrape across the floor as she scoots closer.
“We were walking toward your driver and three guys swarmed us. One hit you with a shovel, one held me and two more guys got out of a car and they were kicking you and Stan shot his gun into the sky, I think. They took off.”
