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“Fuck! Ophelia! Breathe!” He frantically pulled at the straps of her vest as she worked at inflating her lungs after the violent velocity of force that had hit her dead center on her chest.
He pulled at the buttons of her uniform. “No blood. Thank God there’s no blood. We need to get you to the hospital to make sure you’re okay.”
He pulled her to him, holding her too tight, and it should have been more, meant more. But there was nothing. Shouldn’t there be something other than this hollow feeling?
At that thought, she inhaled finally, filling her undamaged lungs with oxygen and the need to explore what had just happened to her. She was alive.
There was constant movement until she was loaded onto a stretcher and transported to the hospital. They x-rayed her upper body, and she was then left alone in a treatment room. She pushed up off the stretcher, groaning softly as her muscles protested. In the small bathroom, she stared at the bruise that took up all of her upper chest. It was almost black where the bullet struck and various shades of red radiating out to her collarbone, her underarms, her breasts, the worst of it concentrated in the center of her chest.
Had that been a wakeup call?
She’d been marching through her life working, sleeping, existing. She had a few friends and Randy was always a willing partner for a romp in the hay. She’d been happy enough. But in that moment between when she knew he was going to shoot her point blank and when she realized she was still alive, she had regrets. She felt them all the way down to her soul.
Dean. Regrets that she’d had to barter with mother and father for control of her life. Regrets that she’d traded Dean for her freedom. Regrets that she knew deep down that it wasn’t Dean that broke her heart. It was all on her. She allowed it to happen.
She glanced in the mirror at the bruise that now wrapped around her waist. It would be a sunburst of color in a few days, a constant reminder of how close she came to death. The thought of the vibrant colors made her think of how she alive felt in Granny Steele’s garden with Dean.
There was a knock and she hurriedly buttoned up her shirt and came out of the bathroom. The doctor was there.
“Good news, Officer Barr. There is nothing broken, just soft tissue damage. You should rest for a week, take an over-the-counter analgesic for the pain, and let me know if you have any problems. Sometimes in these cases there can be blood clots. So, come back if there’s any shortness of breath or abnormal pain.”
She nodded.
When she stepped outside the room, Randy was there waiting for her.
She grimaced. “You waited? You didn’t have to.”
His reply was slow in coming. “I waited to take you home. I thought we could stop for food and then I could stay with you…you know, to watch out for you.”
He was shaken. She could tell. She had to wonder if he’d been the one to clear the warehouse. He slipped his hand against the nape of her neck.
No matter how much she wished it, she felt nothing. No sparks. No colors. Damn him. In a week, Dean had turned her world upside down.
Uncomfortable, she moved away from his touch and murmured, “You didn’t have to do that. I appreciate the offer, but I would rather be alone.”
He looked down at her. For an instant, he frowned, dropping his hand. “Whatever you say, babe.”
“I’m sorry, but I wouldn’t be very good company.” She didn’t know what else to say. She shrugged.
“Do we need to talk about something?” he asked. He’d broached the subject in a public place, at a time when she was still shaken from being shot. All she could do was stare at him.
Curling black hair, blue eyes, and a killer smile. Long legs in his police-issued slacks, broad shoulders filling out the uniform top, his vest embroidered with SWAT in white across the front and back. Randy was handsome and good in bed. She was the envy of all the policewomen and some of the men. But she felt absolutely nothing but a strong sense of friendship and admiration.
The tension in those broad shoulders gave him away. “It’s been a week, babe,” he said in his easy-going manner. “Seems you’ve been off since…hmmm…let me think.”
She knew exactly when things had changed.
“Since you told me Dean Teller was back in town.”
At work the day after she’d released Dean from his handcuffs and had dinner with him, she was slamming things around left and right without realizing it, prompting Randy to ask what was wrong. And she’d blurted out that Dean was back. Since then, she’d been ducking his calls.
Hurting, feeling nauseous and shaky from the adrenaline, she dropped her head and sighed.
“You’ve never really gotten over him.”
His words were a jolt. As if she needed him defining what was between her and Dean. There was nothing but years. That was all. She wasn’t stupid enough to think that he would have forgiven her or that they could have something meaningful. Through the mist of her thoughts, that one hurt. “I’m not talking about this with you, Randy. I’m not feeling very well right now.”
“All right. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make this about me.”
