A Merciful Silence (Mercy Kilpatrick #4)(94)

Truman took the mug. “Sit down for a minute.”

Ollie planted himself on an ottoman, gangly legs akimbo, and Simon abandoned Truman for the new arrival.

Traitor.

“I wanted to tell you what happened the night I went in the water,” Truman said. He’d been putting this off until the two of them were alone.

“I’ve heard.” The teen shifted on the ottoman, keeping his gaze and hand on Simon.

“I haven’t told anyone about this particular thing.”

Ollie looked up, his eyes skeptical. “Even Mercy?”

“Even Mercy.” But I will. “I was already beat to hell, you know. My arm, my head was still giving me problems, my stamina sucked. I shouldn’t have been back on the job.”

“You were going crazy doing nothing here. You needed to get back for your sanity.”

“True. But physically I wasn’t ready.” Truman sipped the coffee, appreciating the heat and taste as it hit his tongue. How many days did I crave coffee while I was in the woods? “When I fell down the bank and into that creek, the first thing that happened was I banged my head on more rocks. Several times.”

Ollie gazed at him in sympathy. Truman knew he looked like shit. The rushing water had tumbled him hard, giving him a bruised cheekbone and scraped chin. And those were only the visible contusions. He had plenty of others hidden by his clothing and hair.

“Water up my nose, down my throat, and my heavy coat acted like an anchor when it soaked through.” The terror of that night slammed into him, and the mug rattled as he set it on the adjacent table. “I finally crashed into a bigger rock, one sticking out of the water, and I wrapped my arms around it, ignoring the pain that was shooting up from my broken arm.” He gently touched the new splint. The ER doctor had threatened to cast it this time but agreed to let an orthopedist make the decision. Truman had an appointment tomorrow.

“Mercy told me she found you in the middle of the water.”

“She did. But what she didn’t know was that I’d nearly let go three times. I was long done. The water wouldn’t stop dragging on my clothing, trying to yank me from the rock. It continually splashed me in the face, and I think I inhaled or drank a gallon of it. But do you know why I didn’t let go?”

Ollie shook his head, his gaze locked on Truman’s.

“Because I remembered your story. The one where you’d fallen into the ravine and you didn’t give up no matter how bad the odds were against you. You were a teenager, and there was no way I was going to let a teenager out-survive me. If you had the drive to get yourself out of that situation, by damn, I would too. Step one was to hold the fuck on. Remember how you told me you outlined steps to get out and simply focused on reaching the next one?”

The teen nodded.

“I was lucky. I got help at step one. But it was your determination and success that fueled me to hang on. I don’t know if I would have made it without the memory of your experience.”

Ollie looked away, but Truman saw his jaw tighten, and the teen blinked several times.

“I wanted to thank you, Ollie. You rescued me twice.”

The teen snorted and looked back at Truman with a small grin. “So you owe me double now.”

“I do,” Truman agreed. “You’ve got a home here as long as you need it. I’ll get you set up with college and help you find a job. What else would you like?”

Ollie leaned forward, his eyes eager. “I want to learn to drive.”

The pure teenage normalness of the request made Truman’s eyes sting. Cars. Driving. The things a normal teen male craved. “You bet.”

“Awesome.” Ollie’s face lit up.



Mercy stood outside the study, blatantly listening to Truman and Ollie’s conversation.

I was closer to losing him than I realized.

She sucked in a shuddering breath and wandered back to the kitchen, searching for something to do with her hands and excess energy. She was on leave for two weeks. The doctor said she had created a small tear in her newly healed thigh muscle when she dragged Britta into the house. He said it would heal with time but begged her to follow his advice and restrict herself to light activity. “No pulling bodies around, no jumping into fast creeks, no rushing down steep banks,” he’d told her.

“I don’t usually do that,” Mercy had admitted.

Britta had surgery to repair the artery in her leg, and Mercy had visited her in the hospital after her own doctor visit.

“We have twin injuries,” she’d joked with the woman lying in the hospital bed. “Don’t overdo it when they let you get out of here. I know from experience that you can’t rush the healing.”

I need to take my own advice.

“I suspect we have more in common than that,” Britta had answered, her pale-blue gaze locked on Mercy’s.

Mercy tipped her head as she regarded the woman. They both had violence in their pasts. They both were determined to be self-sufficient. But Mercy still had family. Britta had no one.

“You’re right,” she answered. “We’ll have to keep hanging out together.” She eyed the intricate sleeve tattoo on the woman’s arm. “I’ve been thinking about a tattoo. Maybe you can give me some advice since you’ve had a few . . . unless you’re still thinking of leaving town.”