“Oh,” she whispers.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“Me? Yeah, I ... uh, tried to help the police with a description but it’s all so damn hazy. I’m working on trying to recall more.”
“You’ve been busier than you let on,” I say, impressed.
“I don’t want this happening to someone else. Maybe next time they’ll kill them, or worse.” She shudders.
White hot rage fills me. I knew the plans they had in store for her.
“I can’t have that on my conscious,” she continues.
“Me either. I’ll help any way I can.”
She smiles. “Thank you. But for now, you should probably worry about getting well and leaving this place.”
“Ten more hours. I’m out of here the minute they say your papers have been processed, and you can leave.”
“Why, you don’t like questionable Jell-O and bland chicken?” she asks with a smirk.
I flip her off, and she laughs. The sound is deep, loud, and sassy, much like its owner.
“I’ll go and let you rest. I wanted to stop in and see you up and about with my own eyes.”
“You chase off my company, and then you leave me to be alone?”
Her eyes widen. “You said—”
I smirk.
“Yeah, I think you’re going to be fine.”
It feels good to talk to someone who didn’t know me and was there when my life was altered. No one else I’ve seen understands. My mom fusses, while my brothers chide me and congratulate me on my bravery at the same time. I mentally roll my eyes as I think of my older brothers: Harry, the doctor, and Patrick, the lawyer.
They were the responsible, intelligent, overachievers of the family. They took after my philandering father. Which left me to be the one who kept Mom’s spirits up when the rumors went from whispers to blatant open conversation they didn’t bother to quell. The only thing I knew how to do was to make her laugh, and thus began my career as the jester.
“The docs say I was lucky. Another half inch to the left and it would’ve been lights out.” The hairs on the back of my arms and neck stand on end. Saying it does nothing to dispel the absolute terror that consumes me when I think about how close I’d come to my death. How the hell does anyone get over this?
Walking over to the bed, she places a hand on my shoulder. “But it didn’t, and you’re here.”
“Yeah.” Her touch is solid, and her voice is steady and sure. I can’t help but be grounded.
“I know it’s easier said than done. I won’t disrespect you by acting otherwise. I’m still having nightmares and looking over my shoulder at every turn. Hell, I’ve signed up to get my conceal and carry.”
“Really?”
She nods. “I need to get back to feeling in control. When they pulled that gun, we were sitting ducks. My mace did help, but it was like bringing a knife to a gun fight ... no contest.”
I meet her stormy gaze and a flash of understanding passes between us. She sinks into the chair beside me, and I lay back against the pillows as I try to block out the elevating pain. The nurses will be coming by soon. I don’t feel the need to fill the space between us with small talk, and her presences isn’t intrusive. I take comfort in her until the door opens.
“Hey, Ollie, you ready for your meds?”
“I am, Tina. Thank you.”
“I’ll let you rest, okay?” Quinn asks as she stands.
“Yeah.”