Absolution (The Protectors 1)

When the door finally opened, I felt the bottom of my stomach drop out. Ronan stepped into the room, his face grim and I automatically reached for Jonas’s hand and drew him next to me.

“He’s alive,” Ronan said. The words should have brought relief, but it was the way Ronan said them that had me biting so hard into my lower lip that I felt blood coat my tongue.

“He’s in surgery now. The bullet hit his liver and he’s losing blood as quickly as they can get it into him. If he survives the surgery, it will be touch and go for a while. You need to prepare yourselves.”

I felt Jonas turn into me just before a sob engulfed him. I automatically wrapped my arms around him but any words of comfort I wanted to offer escaped me because I couldn’t get past Ronan’s last statement.

You need to prepare yourselves.

How the fuck were we supposed to do that? The only thing we were supposed to be preparing for was figuring out how to make a life for ourselves…a life we’d been given a glimpse of in our secluded little farmhouse in the middle of nowhere.

“I brought you guys some scrubs to wear,” Ronan said uncomfortably before he put them on one of the chairs. “I’ll be outside if you need me.”

Jonas was shaking violently against me and I knew I wasn’t faring much better. I pushed him gently back and lifted his chin so he had no choice but to look at me. “He’s strong, Jonas. He’ll pull through this.”

“I’m sorry, Mace. I thought I was doing the right thing. It…it should have been me.”

His words infuriated me and I shook him hard. “Don’t you say shit like that to me, do you hear me? This is not your fault!”

But I knew Jonas didn’t believe me. And I knew in that instance if we lost Cole, Jonas would never forgive himself.

Just like I had never forgiven myself.

And as I drew Jonas back against my chest, I knew what I needed to do.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Jonas

I’d lost all sense of time and my surroundings after the shooting. The only thing that registered for me was whenever Mace spoke to me, which wasn’t often, and whenever a doctor or nurse appeared to give us updates on Cole’s condition. We’d spent hours waiting in the Surgery waiting room before a doctor finally came out to tell us that Cole was still hanging on and that they’d had to remove part of his badly damaged liver. They’d finally gotten the bleeding stopped but not before Cole’s heart had arrested on two different occasions. While the news that they had started the process of closing Cole up was positive, the doctor hadn’t held back any punches when he said that Cole might not survive the night.

As we waited for Cole to be moved to the ICU where we would be able to see him, I felt Mace’s fingers wind through mine where my hand rested on my thigh. I struggled to accept his touch because I didn’t deserve it. I didn’t deserve any kind of comfort because it was my actions that had put us here. It was my body that should have been lying on the operating room table, my insides exposed, my tired heart struggling to keep me alive.

I was glad when Mace’s hand released me a moment later but when I heard a woman’s soft cry, I looked up and saw an older couple standing a dozen feet away, their hands clutching each other’s as they stared at Mace who’d risen from his chair. The woman had her free hand pressed against her mouth and tears were streaking down her face. I guessed the couple to be in their late sixties or early seventies. I knew instantly they were Mace’s parents because the man looked so much like Mace that it was eerie. Mace’s mother was tiny compared to the man she was standing next to. Her black hair was streaked with generous shades of silver and she was wearing a pair of white slacks with a floral print blouse.

If I hadn’t felt so numb inside, I would have taken pleasure in watching Mace walk slowly up to his parents before wrapping his arms around both of them. It was a moment I’d hoped for since Mace had admitted to me that he hadn’t spoken to his parents in years but I couldn’t find the strength to share it with him.

I dropped my eyes back to my hands and felt the need to wash them again even though I knew no trace of Cole’s blood lingered on my skin. I could still feel it though, hot and slick and relentless as it seeped past my fingers.

“Jonas, baby,” Mace whispered as his big hands settled over mine. He was kneeling in front of me but I couldn’t make myself look up. He did it for me by putting his fingers under my chin and lifting my head.