A Graceful Mess (20 page)

“I love you, sweetheart,” he whispers before his chest rises and falls one last time before his eyes shut and he succumbs to the pain.

The loud boom of a gurney hitting the concrete startles me. I crouch down over Parker’s body thinking it’s another gunshot. Paramedics pull me away from his chest and load him onto the stretcher before wheeling him away. I have no time to protest and jump in the ambulance before the driver slams the metal doors shut and speeds off. Standing up I grab my purse and head into the direction of his truck. Jumping in, I see the keys are still in the ignition. Turning the key, the truck roars to life, and I speed off in the direction of the hospital thinking about the last words he spoke.

He loves me?

Have you ever been so scared of something that the thought of it happening takes your breath away? That your chest actually feels tight and your mind races as you gasp for air, praying “not now, it isn’t my time yet.” That is exactly how I felt the moment I made eye contact with the owner of the gun that was pointed at my chest. I wasn’t afraid of him, or even his gun, per se; I was fearful of losing Grace. Scared of the look he had in his eyes when he whispered something to her. Pure hatred poured from his pores and clouded the air around us, and then his finger pulled the trigger. If you've never been in a life or death situation, it might be hard to explain what actually happens. You can read all of the books in the world, or watch those Lifetime movies I’ve seen my mother watching too many times to count, but until you are staring death in the face, it is an indescribable feeling.

Brody Hendricks is one fucked up sociopath.

The sharp, shooting pain that shot up through my shoulder as the bullet pierced my skin was enough to make a grown man weep. I know it did me. The last thing I saw was Grace hollering for help. Tears and mascara were running down her cheeks. I wanted so badly to reach up and wipe them away, but I didn’t have the strength. My vision narrowed as my eyes closed and I drifted off.

“Doctor, I don’t mean to be rude, but he has been asleep for a long time. When are you going to wake him up?”

The sound of my mother’s voice echoes off of the walls. My eyes are too heavy to open, but I hear every word like they are being spoken through a microphone. The smell of clean, sanitized sheets is almost suffocating as my other senses work in overdrive.

“Mrs. Porter, I can assure you this is normal. The anesthesia will wear off on its own. Like I said before, we were able to remove all the fragments of the bullet. Your son is a very lucky man. Please be patient and allow him to wake up on his own.”

“I understand, doctor. But the wait is just killing me. He’s my baby…”

The ache and distress in my mom’s voice is a tone I have never heard from her before. Sure she cried like a baby on my high school graduation and then again at my college graduation, but this weeping is different. Right now I can hear her gasping for air to fill her lungs as sobs escape her lips. No one else is talking, but there are sniffles and coughs in the distance.

I wonder if Grace is here. I’m sure my dad would recognize her, but I hope he has enough sense not to blow my cover. She still doesn’t know about my “day job,” and I sure as hell don’t want her finding out here. Especially when I am lying unconscious and unable to explain things to her. If she doesn’t already hate me for pushing her away, I know that would definitely do the trick. My eyes still seem heavy, but the noises around me are getting louder. Attempting to move my fingers slowly, I am alarmed that they actually move.

“Oh, Hank, did you see that? His fingers moved. Call the doctor!”

I feel like I swallowed a sack full of tacks.

“Water,” I whisper as the pain gets the best of me and causes me to seal my lips and swallow my own spit, just to ease the sting in my throat. I feel like I smoked a hundred packs of Reds, and I’m not even a smoker. One time Carson and I stole a pack from a bum at the park. We coughed so hard we thought we were dying. We both swore never to touch the things again, and we’ve both lived up to that pact to this day. But an outsider would think I was a chain smoker from the sound of my voice right now. My eyes are still closed as my head rests on the cotton pillow underneath it.

“Water, water! We need water!” my mother hollers. My eyelids are still too heavy to open, but I can imagine her pacing back and forth like a chicken with her head cut off, shouting.

“Here, here!” my father’s muffled voice shouts back at her.

Parting my lips, I feel the rim of a plastic cup pressed to them. Someone pours a little bit of cold liquid into my mouth. The wetness filling my dry mouth makes me cough. Swallowing, I feel like the fire in my throat has finally been put out. Slowly I begin to open one eye. There are faces surrounding the bed, all staring at me with concern written all over them. The only person who isn’t here is Grace. My chest aches at the realization as my mind wanders to a million different places. Darting up into a sitting position in bed, I feel light-headed and my bandaged shoulder aches, but I need to look around the room. My head turns left then right. She isn’t here.

Did he attack her after I blacked out?

“Grace? Dad, where is she? Did he hurt her? Please, you don’t understand. I have to know she is okay,” I beg as a tear slides down my cheek.

Whenever we’d face obstacles when we were younger my mom would always say, “When you feel too weak to stand, kneel.” If only I could crawl out of this bed, I would fall on my knees and pray. Not only for Brody to get what he has coming to him, but for my girl, my sweetheart, my Grace.

My dad’s eyebrows frown. He swallows and then says, “Park, calm down, you just had major surgery and were shot, for Christ’s sake. She’s fine. Her parents met her here at the hospital. Then they all drove down to the station to make a statement. She gave me this.” Extending his hand to me, there’s a little, white piece of paper. I use the arm that isn’t being held in place by a blue and white sling as I unfold the small paper.

Parker,

I do not know where to begin and my heart is heavy with grief that you were hurt trying to protect me. I’m sorry I never spoke the words earlier. I’ve known them to be true for a while now.

I love you, Parker Porter.

No matter how little the amount of time we have known each other, I know what is in my heart and I want to give it to you. I am praying that you accept it and we are able to follow our hearts, because I know you care about me too. You can deny it and write me goodbye letters all you want, but you can’t get rid of me that easily.

The police are making me go to the station to make a formal statement.

He will pay. They will find him and he will pay. Please be okay. I need you to be okay.

Your sweetheart for always,

Grace

Another tear makes its way from my eye and slowly runs down my cheek. I feel it hit my lip as my hand rises and wipes it away. She loves me? They didn’t catch him? So many questions race through my mind and my head feels cloudy. I slide back down in the bed and rest my head against the pillow. Surrendering to the lingering anesthesia pumping through my veins, I drift off to sleep knowing that she is okay, and that she loves me.

My phone buzzes in my purse and my heart skips a beat when I recognize the name on the screen. Fumbling with the buttons, I slide the screen to unlock the phone and open my new text message. It’s from Carson. He says Parker is awake and has read my letter, but he is still pretty out of it and they are letting him rest. Instantly, I feel better. Hitting reply, I type a short message. I know Carson has been stuck in the middle of this, whatever it is, along with Ramsey and Maci, but I know he will relay the message.

I have been so worried, sitting here in the police station not knowing what was going on back at the hospital. Only family was allowed in the room and, well, I am not close to that, so I sat alone worrying in the waiting room until my parents showed up with the police. They drove me down to the station to make a statement. Unfortunately, Brody was able to get away before the police arrived and his whereabouts are unknown. The thought of him out there, possibly lurking around every corner, plotting his next move, makes my stomach churn. He said he would find me, and he did. I don’t know how; I thought he was in jail.

“What I don’t understand is what he was doing here? I thought he was in jail for a long, long time.” Confusion fills my head as I question one of the police officers. My father pats me on the shoulder as my mom takes my hand and leads me towards the exit sign.

“We’ll talk when we get home. Let’s stop by the apartment and grab some clothes. You have a few more weeks until the semester starts. How about you stay with us for a while? I’m not thrilled with the idea of you being anywhere but at home with Brody on the loose. We all know what he’s capable of.”

I plant my feet firmly in place on the floor as my mom continues to walk. For some strange reason I feel like they are hiding something. I am a grown woman; why would I want to hide like a coward at my parents’ house? Do they want me to stay in my small twin bed, with pink sparkly sheets too?

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. My boy…my friend, Parker, needs me here… close by. He is going to have a long recovery, and I want to be around to help him. Plus, I will not leave Maci alone, Mom!”

“Stop it, Grace!” Her voice is low, but I can tell the sternness from her facial expression. Her eyes narrow and she means business.

“You will come back to the house with us. I will not…do you hear me? I will not risk losing you again. Not by Brody’s hand or anyone else’s. Do you remember the hell he caused? How could you want to stay in this town knowing he could still be here?”

Tears pool in her eyes and I understand where she is coming from, but I cannot shrivel up and hide like I did before. I will not let him defeat me again, even if it means staying in my own apartment and sleeping with the lights on for the next year, that is what I will do. If I learned anything from my past, it was that the moments that should have defeated you sometimes fuel you to move forward. I will not backtrack. Not now, not ever. Standing firm and holding my ground, my mother starts to cry before kissing me on the cheek and walking away, leaving me standing on the sidewalk of the police station.