Fleeting Moments(10)

“How are you feeling today, princess?”

I shrug, taking the coffee he hands me. It’s warm against my palm. “Thanks.”

“Your mom said she’ll be in later; she had to go into work.”

I nod.

“Lucy,” he says carefully, sitting on my bed and facing me. “Talk to me.”

“I don’t know what to say anymore, Dad. Nobody believes me.”

“I believe you.”

I meet his eyes, and I know he’s telling the truth. “He saved me. He got me out of there.”

Dad nods, sipping his coffee and pausing for a second before answering, “Maybe he’s working in a case where his identity can’t be known. It happens.”

It does?

My heart skips a beat. “Do you think that could be true?”

“From what you’ve told me about him being overly calm, talking to people like he was on a mission—yeah, it’s quite possible.”

“Then how am I supposed to find him?”

His face drops. “The problem is you’re not supposed to. It’s likely he gave you a fake name. Lucy, honey, maybe you need to accept that he saved your life and be grateful for that, but let it go.”

I can’t. I can’t let it go. Nobody understands what Hunter, if that’s even his real name, gave me in that stadium. He was more than a rock; he protected me, comforted me, held me up when I wanted to fall. He made sure I survived.

“He saved my life, but it was more than that. He kept me afloat. He stopped me from losing it and probably getting shot.” My voice breaks on the last part and I look away.

“I can’t even begin to imagine what you went through, Lucy. I don’t even want to. I’m grateful to that man for helping you. Honestly, if I could thank him I would, but he isn’t here for a reason. You know who is here? Who is scared? Who is desperate for you to be okay?”

I look back to him.

“Gerard. He loves you, honey. Please don’t push him away. Let him take your hand and get you through this.”

Guilt stabs my chest, and I look down at the coffee cup in my hands. “I’m not trying to push him away. I just . . . I can’t sleep, Daddy,” I whisper and a sob breaks free. “Every time I close my eyes they’re there.”

“My sweet girl,” he says, taking the cup from my hands. A few seconds later he wraps his arms around me, pulling me close. He smells like peppermint, and coffee, and my dad. I cry harder. “We’re going to get you through this, I promise you that. I won’t let anything happen to you. Neither will Gerard.”

I just hang onto him, sobbing for the millionth time in days, trying to ease the blinding pressure in my chest. Trying to erase the memories. Trying to forget the sounds. But mostly, trying to forget him.

Hunter.

***

“We’ve given you some painkillers and a sleeping tablet, Lucy,” the nurse says, checking my temperature. “They should help the cramping and let you get some rest.”

It’s late, possibly around midnight, and I’ve called for some pain medication. I’m still suffering some cramping and bleeding from my miscarriage. The doctor said if it doesn’t ease, they’ll have to put me under to clean out anything remaining just in case my body isn’t doing its job. Clean. Like my baby was just a mess they need to clear up.

“Thank you,” I mutter, shifting in the uncomfortable bed.

“Call out if you need anything else.”

I nod and she leaves, closing the door behind her. I got a private room, thanks to my parents and Gerard. I’m grateful, because it means nobody else can hear me cry myself to sleep. Because I do. Most nights I just lie here sobbing until exhaustion takes me. I try to remove all the thoughts from my mind, to shut down, to switch off, but I can’t.

They won’t leave my head. All those people.

Those gunmen.

My baby.

Him.

I start sobbing the second I close my eyes, like my body knows as soon as my lids slide shut that it needs to release. Tears leak down my cheeks and I tremble even though I’m already growing warm from the sleeping tablet. I clutch the blanket and whimper, trying to muffle the sound. I just want it to stop.

“Lucy girl.”

The voice startles me, and I roll so quickly I nearly throw myself from the bed. I grip the side to stop myself going over. I can’t see much; my room is so dark, only the light from the hall flows in from beneath the door. I didn’t even hear it open. I must be imagining things. But a figure moves closer to my bed, big, broad, and I know . . . I just know it’s him.

“H-h-h-hunter?” I sob.

Maybe the medication is messing with my mind. That has to be it. He couldn’t really be here.

He steps up close and looks down at me, the light catching his face just slightly. He’s got scruff on his chin, making his face look darker, but there is no mistaking it’s him. The way his dark hair falls over his forehead. The way he holds himself. He’s here. He came back.

“You’re here,” I croak, trying to sit up but the medication is kicking in, making my body weak.

“I had to see if you were okay,” he murmurs, leaning down and stroking a stray piece of hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear.

His touch brings me instant comfort—a comfort I haven’t felt in days. Not since he left. I want to reach out and throw myself into his arms, to surround myself in the warmth he’s bringing, the relief, the contentment.