Stay (41 page)

“Adeline?” the nurse called before she pulled back the curtain just enough to get into the room. “Hi, I’m Elyse.” She smiled warmly. Her thick dark hair was pulled into a ponytail that swung when she walked. “The police would like to talk to you, but I told them they only could if it was all right with you.”

“It’s okay,” I said automatically.
 

She moved over to the bed. “Are you sure? You don’t have to do this now.”

“No, it’s okay. I just want to get it over with.” I closed my eyes and exhaled. “I want this all over with.”

“Okay.” She gave me another sympathetic smile and left. A few seconds later, a police officer and two detectives pulled back the curtain and came into the room. They had me tell them in great detail everything that happened to me over the last year. They didn’t seem to believe me when I told them Jackson was the father of my baby. Almost as soon as I was done, two FBI agents came in and had me repeat everything again.
 

After they left, a tall and thin older man came into the room. He was carrying a sketchbook and a pencil. “Hello, Adeline,” he said quietly.
 

Everyone seemed afraid to talk to me, like what I had been through made me too fragile to handle real life. I didn’t want to waste the energy telling them they were wrong, that all the horrible shit I had been through only made me more of a fighter than I ever had been.
 

“I’m Ben.” He pulled a rolling stool out from under the counter and sat, flipping open his notebook. “Do you think you can tell me what the guys that took you look like?”

I shifted my feet under the thin, white sheet. “Yeah, I can.”

He nodded. “Good. You only have to describe the younger one. A few of the guys at the station are familiar with the other guy’s … uh, business ventures. They’ve seen him before. Ready to start?”

I nodded and closed my eyes, bringing the terrifying image of Zane’s face to mind. I described his looks the best I could and hoped that the picture resembled Zane at least a little.

“Like this?” Ben asked when we were done. He held up the picture.

“His eyebrows are a little thicker,” I said. I licked my dry lips and looked at the clock.
 

Ben turned the picture around and added to the sketch.
 

“This?”

“Yes,” I said, looking at the sketch of Zane. It was hauntingly lifelike. I felt as if the black and white eyes seared into me. I looked at the drawn-on burn and got a flash of pressing the curling iron to Zane’s cheek. I could still smell the burning flesh.

Ben nodded and closed the notebook.
 
At a loss for words, he only offered me a tight smile and a slight nod before he left, pulling back the curtain to exit the small room in the ER. The manhunt would begin, and the pencil drawing of Zane’s face would be broadcast over the news.

I looked at the clock again. Two armed police officers stood outside the room. They told me that my family, as well as Lynn and even the dogs, had been moved into protective custody and would be brought to the hospital once it was safe. Several uniforms had gone directly to the farmhouse. Lily was still there. I asked what would happen to her and got a vague answer of her eventually finding a foster family. It took me a moment to remember that she was only fifteen

I lay on the bed, scraping my fingers along the sheet, and listened to the seconds tick by on the large, white-faced clock that hung over the door. Jackson had been in surgery for over an hour. I closed my eyes and thought of his handsome face. So badly I wanted to be with him, to hold him, to run my fingers along the many scars that covered his body.

The curtain pulled back. I opened my eyes and whipped my head up, which instantly caused me to feel sick. The same nurse, Elyse, stepped into the room.
 

“Are you doing all right, Adeline?” she asked carefully. She strode over to the computer in the corner and swiped her badge.
 

I didn’t respond. It was a stupid question. I wanted to tell her so, but I could sense her concern and compassion. Besides, what else was she supposed to say?
 

“Are you in any pain?”

“Not really,” I said.

“Your lab work is back,” she said before I had a chance to ask about Jackson. “Your hCG levels suggest you’re about seven weeks pregnant, which means you got pregnant about a month ago.” She paused to let me absorb the information. “The doctor ordered an ultra sound.”

“Jackson will want to be there,” I told her and began to feel like I was getting sucked backwards. The room was spinning, and I slowly pitched forward. Elyse rushed over and helped me up.

“I can’t imagine,” she said softly and sat on the bed next to me. “I can’t even begin to imagine what you went through. I’m so sorry.” She shook her head.
 
The phone that she carried in her scrub pocket rang. She stood to answer it. “He’s in recovery,” she told me and re-pocketed the phone.

My stomach flip-flopped and I nodded. “Can I go?” I pushed myself off the bed.
 

“Yes. But I’m taking you in this.” She gripped the handles of a wheel chair.

“I can walk,” I told her.

“I know you can, but you’re my patient, and I want to take care of you,” she said with a smile. “Plus it’s hospital protocol.” She wheeled the chair over. “Hang on. You’re more than a little exposed in the back.” She got a second gown and put it on me like a robe. “Better?”

“Yes. Thanks,” I said quietly. She disconnected my IV and helped me into the wheelchair. I picked at the plastic hospital bracelet that was around my wrist as we went through the hall. The nurse hadn’t told me anything about Jackson’s condition, and I was afraid to ask.

There was a family in the OR waiting room. I knew that no scheduled surgeries were being done at this late hour.

“What happened to the people we hit?” I asked suddenly, afraid that the family belonged to the victim.

“Treated and released,” the nurse said.
 

I internally sighed. Elyse pushed a button on the wall that opened double doors to a large room labeled PACU. A police officer stood outside that door as well. My heart began speeding up again.

There were several nurses standing around the very first bed we came up to. An older nurse with gray hair saw me and smiled.
 

“You have a visitor,” she said softly to Jackson.
 

I got out of the wheelchair before Elyse came to a complete stop. The gray-haired nurse stepped aside. I flew to the bed. Tears stung the corners of my eyes.
 

“Jackson,” I said and gently touched his hand. He was connected to a scary amount of tubes and wires going to various machines. One side of his body was covered in bandages, and his arm was precariously placed over his chest and propped with pillows. His eyes were closed, and his breathing was shallow. “Is he okay?” I asked, unable to keep the tears back.

“He’s stable,” the gray-haired nurse told me.
 

“Does that mean he’s going to be okay?” I slipped my fingers through Jackson’s. His eyes fluttered halfway open for a second before closing again.

“He has a long recovery ahead of him,” she said, ominously avoiding my direct question.
 

I just nodded and rubbed the palm of his hand. Using my other hand, I wiped away the tears that streaked my face. Someone else joined the room. I could feel their presence behind me.

“You must be Adeline,” a man with a heavily accented voice said.

I turned around. “Yeah,” I said to the surgeon. His eyes were sympathetic and he looked at me as if he wasn’t sure how to act. Deciding to just go with his professional norm, he began explaining Jackson’s injuries to me.

The bullet shot right through Jackson’s body, hitting his collarbone on its way out. The surgeon told me that the bullet missed his subclavian artery by just a hair. He said Jackson was lucky. Nevertheless, Jackson had lost enough blood to require a blood transfusion. He also sustained minor head trauma in the crash, and had a row of sutures above his right eye.
 

The surgeon’s face paled when he told me that Jackson had multiple fractures to his ribs all in various stages of healing. He was concerned about the old gash on Jackson’s abdomen and the indent of scar tissue along Jackson’s side where his skin had been peeled off. Then the surgeon said something about Jackson’s blood being infected, and that he put Jackson on a strong course of antibiotics.
 

I nodded, pretending to understand everything that was being told to me. After the doctor left, the nurses tended to Jackson and then stepped back, letting me have some time alone with him. Faye, the gray-haired nurse, told me that Jackson was most likely going to be very confused as he woke up. Having me there would help.

“Jackson,” I whispered. “We made it. We got out.” I rubbed my fingers in little circles on the inside of his hand. A monitor beeped along with his heart rate, slow but steady. I was slightly afraid it was a dream, and I was still in the basement. If it were a dream, Jackson wouldn’t be injured. I blinked.
No, this is real.

Jackson’s fingers twitched. I leaned closed. “Jackson.” I ran my hand over his hair, careful to avoid the stitches. “Jackson.”
 

He opened his eyes and he took a deep breath. Then his eyes closed again. The pattern repeated a few times as he struggled to come out of the anesthetic.
 

“Addie,” he mumbled.

“Yes, Jackson, I’m here.”

He tried to sit up and groaned in pain. Faye hurried over.
 

“Hi Jackson,” she spoke. “I’m your nurse. You just had surgery and need to stay laying down, okay?”
 

“Okay,” Jackson agreed but tried to sit up again.

“Jackson you need to rest,” I said, blinking back tears.
 

“I have to save you,” he faintly murmured. He took another deep breath and opened his eyes all the way.
 

“You did,” I whispered. “You did save me.” I began crying again. I leaned over the bed, getting as close to Jackson as I dared without hurting him. He lifted his right arm, hugging me.

“Are you okay?” he asked me.

“I’m fine,” I said right away. His hand fell back onto the bed. I leaned back and looked at him. His eyes were closed again. “Rest,” I told him.
 

He mumbled something incoherent, but didn’t object. Several minutes passed before he woke up again. He took his hand out of mine and put it over my stomach. I placed my hands over his and nodded, letting him know the baby was okay. His chocolate eyes met mine, and he smiled.

“Addie,” he said. His voice was hoarse. “We did it. We’re free.”

EPILOGUE

“CAN YOU PASS the mashed potatoes?” Arianna asked.

“Yeah, here you go,” Jackson told her and handed her the bowl. I spooned a heaping mound of mac and cheese onto my plate and passed the dish to Jackson, who plopped a spoonful onto his plate and passed the dish on to Lynn. Happy chatter buzzed around the dining room table as we passed plates and bowls of food back and forth.

Jackson looked at me and smiled. I put my hand on his thigh, giving him a reassuring squeeze. Even though he was familiar with my family and Lynn, being around everyone at once caused a bit of anxiety for him. I had told him we didn’t have to go, that everyone would understand. He had just taken my hand and smiled, reminding me that he could do anything, as long as we were together. Plus, that dinner wasn’t just a regular meal. It was a celebration.

The trial was finally over. Nate and Zane, along with a handful of their accomplices, were behind bars for good. It took four months for the police to catch them. It had been a long, nerve-wracking time for us, but I would never forget the look on their faces when Jackson and I walked into the courtroom to testify, hand in hand. I was seven months pregnant at the time. Zane had stared opened mouthed at my belly as if he couldn’t understand what was happening. Then his eyes fastened on Jackson’s fingers linked through mine and he exploded. We enjoyed watching him get shoved around by the police.

 
I picked up the platter of sliced ham, tossing pieces to Scarlet and Rhett, when a baby’s cry came from the living room. I set the platter down. “Grace is awake,” I said, though it was obvious, and started to stand. “That was a short nap.”

“No, no,” Mom said and sprang up. “Grandma will get her. You eat.”

“Are you sure?” Jackson asked. “I can get her.”

Arianna smiled. “You know she loves that baby. Let her,” she said with a wink.

“As long as you don’t mind,” Jackson mumbled, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. Over a year and a half had passed since our escape, and he still had a hard time accepting help. I put my hand on his thigh and felt him relax.

“How’s wedding planning going?” Dad asked Lynn.

She turned to her fiancé and smiled. “Good. Addie’s been my lifesaver. She’s kept me sane through all this. It’s so fun!”
 

Luke rolled his eyes. “You two did it the right way,” he said to Jackson and me.
 

I smiled and subconsciously twisted my wedding band around on my finger. Jackson and I had gotten married at the courthouse a few months before Grace was born. It was a bit of a sore subject for my mother. She insisted over and over that we wait until after I had the baby and could have the big wedding that I always had wanted.

It wasn’t something Jackson could do. He had severe PTSD from being a slave for over a decade. When he was captive, he was able to slink throughout crowds unnoticed. Now that our story was out, we had become uncomfortably famous, in a weird way. The media had a fascination with our tale. We were constantly asked to do interviews or tell our story on TV. Neither of us spoke about our time at the farmhouse outside of the legal system, no matter how much money was offered.

 
I had my issues as well. I couldn’t help but panic when I saw any male with dark hair and blue eyes. I had crippling crowd anxiety, feeling like I could get snatched away at any moment. Though I still wanted to wear a fancy gown and have my overly ostentatious reception, the thought of being the center of attention caused my heart to race. Jackson and I both regularly saw a therapist, but the nightmares hadn’t stopped.