Fleeting Moments(11)

“I-I-I . . . they told me you weren’t there and—”

“Hush,” he says, sitting on the bed beside me. “Tell me you’re okay?”

“I’m not,” I sob. “I’m not okay. I can’t get the thoughts out of my head. I can’t stop seeing those people dying, hearing them scream . . .” My sobbing gets so intense my words are cut off.

He moves slowly, gently lifting me from the bed and pulling me into his lap. He’s so big, so strong, and I curl into him like a child, letting his strength engulf me, letting it wrap around me until I feel the pressure easing from my chest, until the sobs subside, until the tears begin to dry up.

He makes me feel okay again. Like the strongest drug, like the most beautiful lie.

“Let me tell you something that works for me—that helps me live with the images.”

“I don’t w-w-w-want to live with them. I want them to go away.”

“You can’t make them go away, honey,” he says, his voice low. “They’re yours now, and you have to work out how to accept them into your life. The more you fight them, the more they’ll haunt you.”

“You want me to accept the horror?”

He falls silent for a minute. “Can you take it back?”

I have no answer to that, because no, it doesn’t matter what I do, I can’t unsee it or take it back. I wish with everything inside myself that I could, but I can’t.

“Next time those images come into your mind, I want you to redirect them. They’re yours now, which means you can control them. You can choose where they go. I want you to say to them, ‘You do not get to live here anymore, and I will not let you in.’ Say that over and over, even if it means doing it a hundred times a minute. Every single time they’re there, instruct them. Eventually, they’ll stop coming.”

“Does that really work?”

He gently hugs me. “Yeah, it does. You have to accept what happened. You have to understand you cannot change it, that there was nothing you could have done to prevent it. Accept it, mourn the loss of those lives, be grateful you still have yours, and then let it go. Don’t let it control your life, Lucy. Promise me that?”

“I’ll t-t-t-try.”

My body is getting lighter and lighter, and I can feel myself growing heavy in his arms, at ease for the first time in days. His muscles flex around me, such a powerful man. So big and strong, yet so careful, handling me like fine china.

“W-w-w-will you keep coming to see me, Hunter?” I whisper as my eyelids grow heavy.

“I can’t do that, Lucy.”

My chest clenches and I clutch him tighter, my fingers tangling in his shirt. “Please don’t go away again. Please. You’re the only person who understands.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Hunter,” I groan as my eyelids flutter shut. “Please stay.”

He holds me tightly as my body slips further and further into the darkness, where it’s warm and safe. I don’t want to slip; I want to stay right here, awake in his arms, I want to talk to him. I want him to tell me it’ll be okay. I just want him to stay with me for a little bit longer.

“My name isn’t Hunter,” I hear whispered, or maybe I imagine it. “It’s Heath.”

I think I’m dreaming, because something grazes across my lips, so soft and so warm. I imagine that’s how his kiss would feel, soft, warm, and gentle. I try to reach for it when it’s gone, to seek it, but I can’t move. My body feels as if it’s floating.

“Rest easy, Lucy girl.”

I don’t think I’m awake anymore.

And I want to be. I really, really want to be.

Hunter.

Don’t leave.





CHAPTER 5


“Lucy, wake up.”

I shift and groan, letting my eyelids flutter open. Gerard leans over me, his hand against my cheek. I jerk awake and look beneath me, then around the room. We’re the only two people in here.

But he was here. He came to see me. I swear I can still feel the warmth of him against my skin, hear the beating of his heart as I rested against his chest. He came here, and now he’s gone.

Again.

“Can you get my nurse?” I ask.

Gerard’s face twists with worry. “Are you hurt?”

“No, I just need to ask her something.”

“Okay. She’s just about to leave, but I’ll catch her.”

He rushes out and returns a minute later with the nurse who was on shift last night. “What’s the matter, love?” she asks, coming over and studying me.

“Did you see anyone come in here last night?”

Her face contorts in what looks like confusion. “No, I’m sorry. I was at the desk most of the night; nobody came in.”

“Not even just after you gave me the pain medication?”

“No,” she says, glancing at Gerard with a sympathetic expression. “I was at the desk for a few hours right after that. Nobody was around.”

“They did,” I say, studying her. “He came in here.”

“Who?” Gerard demands.

“Hunter.”

The name Heath flashes in my mind and I try to focus on the memory, but it’s distant. Did he tell me that was his real name? Is that his name?