Tragic Beauty (Beauty & The Darkness #1)(81)

Gavin?

“Hey,” he whispers.

I blink again, still not sure he’s real.

But there he is, leaning against my bedside, his face tired and weary, his jaw dark with stubble. Something warm in my right hand has me looking down where I see his fingers wrapped around mine, his thumb moving slowly back and forth along my skin.

I look back at him, feeling so disconnected, and don’t understand why. He must see this, because he says, “You’re on pain killers, baby. Some heavy duty ones, so you’ll probably feel a little funny. And you’ve been out for a few days.”

His words slip through me, but I catch some of them. I look around, seeing a room I don’t recognize.

“You’re at a friend’s house,” he explains. “A friend who’s away for a while.” I see shimmering walls and dark furniture, but it’s all kind of a blur. I look down at the white hospital gown I’m wearing, and at the brace on my left hand. When I turn to him, his eyes are rimmed red.

“You were at the hospital for a few days,” he says, lifting my fingers to his lips. “And the brace is because your hand was…fractured in three places.” He pauses, and reaches over to my left shoulder, and carefully lifts the collar of my gown so I can see the bandage. “And here…here you were shot, baby.” He lets it go and strokes my cheek, while tears well in his eyes. “And you have some cuts on your…body…that needed stitches. But it’ll heal, Ava. It’ll all heal. And…inside you,” he says, his voice cracking. “That will heal too.” A tear streams down his face, then another. “I’m so sorry, Ava. I’m so sorry you had to go through all that. And all because of me. I’m so fucking sorry.”

He bows his head, holding my hand between his, and starts to cry, and I cry with him. Everything in me wants to tell him it’s okay, but the words aren’t there. I don’t think they’ll be there for a while. And besides, I’m supposed to stay quiet.

After a bit, Gavin lifts his head, his eyes bloodshot and filled with anguish. I look at him then, at the man who came back for me, again. Then I remember—watching him jerk to the ground. My pulse explodes and my eyes go wide, and I search his body for any signs of—.

“Hey, hey—it’s okay. Just grazed me,” he says, lifting up his shirt, revealing a stapled gash in his side. He lets his shirt drop, then takes my hand again and shakes his head. “It should’ve been me, Ava,” he croaks. “That bullet you took should’ve been for me.”

I close my eyes and take a breath, when more memories start flashing through my mind. Memories I can’t quite sort through. I remember Shayne, the beast, losing it. Followed by pain. So much pain. So much pain that I begin to tremble and weep.

“Ava?”

Then a dream, and Gavin appears. He takes me. He takes me away. I remember nighttime, smoke, a fire. But he’s there, waiting for us. Then gunfire. So much gunfire.

“Ava.”

A firm voice brings me back around, but the tears still seep, tumbling down my face. I blink, trying to see Gavin through the haze. Then I hear a voice. Not his, but Shayne’s. The beast. Calling for me. So loud. So loud, I shut my eyes tight while they tear through my mind, working like knives, cutting me to pieces. That strange dark feeling’s inside me again, churning everything up, because I left him behind. I don’t understand. I don’t understand.

“Ava?”

I feel a soft touch along my cheek and open my eyes. Gavin leans forward and gently moves some hair away from my face. His eyes turn glassy, his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. “You don’t have to say anything until you’re ready, okay? I know—I know…what you went through…was…” His words fall off and he just stares at me, that guilt so heavy in his eyes.

I manage to slip my hand from his and lift it to his cheek, stroking away the tear that falls. I blink slowly to let him know I don’t blame him. To let him know it’s okay. To let him know I understand. And I do. Everything he did, he did for me. And by the way he looks at me, he knows what I’m saying, but I know he’ll blame himself anyway. But I want to distract him. Help pull him away from that dark hole I know all too well.

So I motion for something to write with, a slew of questions forming in my mind. He blinks and nods, then leaves the room for a moment and comes back with a pen and a pad of paper.

His hands tremble when he lays the pad of paper on my lap and puts the pen in my hand. He sits back down and holds the pad while I write.

My hand is slow, the letters awkward, but I get my first question down. It’s short, but I know he’ll get it.

How?

“Red,” he says, simply.

Red? I hear his voice then, at the door. On that night. That terrible night. Calling for Shayne. Calling the beast away. Calling him away before he could finish what he started.

The pen shakes when I write the next question.

Red started the fire?

Gavin nods, and then I remember. I remember Red tackling Shayne. I remember hearing his voice. ‘Go on! Get her out of here! I got this.’

I’m afraid of his next answer. I don’t even have to write the question.

He shakes his head. “He didn’t make it, baby.”

A sob stumbles out of me and I close my eyes.

“Hey. He wanted to do this for you. He loved you, Ava. He said he’d loved you all his life. And he knew he’d hurt you. He couldn’t live with that. He said he needed to make things right. No matter the cost. And he did, baby. He did.”