“Stop,” Nixon barked as he lifted his head. Had he said something out loud? “Relax and turn her back toward me.”
Shit, he hadn’t realized he had been fighting Nixon’s efforts.
This wasn’t the first time they’d performed a water resuscitation while towing a person to shore. They had the rhythm down to a science. Nixon provided four respirations between each of Jameson’s strokes. It was a precarious dance and slowed them down considerably. As much as they needed to get her to land as quickly as possible to start CPR properly, she’d been deprived oxygen for too long. They had no choice.
Jameson finally felt his foot hit dirt and he stood. Scooping her lifeless body out of the water, he ran the last ten feet. Nixon already had his knife out of his pocket and open, and with a slice of the blade, the rope fell away. Jameson dropped to his knees, gently laid her down and started chest compressions.
“Come on, Kennedy. Breathe, baby.”
After a full count of thirty, he tilted her head back and gave her two fast respirations, watched her chest rise instead of her cheeks inflating—a good sign—and checked her pulse.
Nothing.
Fear nipped at his soul as he leaned over and restarted compressions.
“Breathe, goddammit. Breathe.”
Sirens wailed in the background and he prayed they weren’t too late.
“Brother,” Nix said with caution.
“Don’t. Don’t fucking say it.”
Dread crowded Jameson’s chest and threatened to choke him as pain seared through his soul.
“Kennedy!” he roared. “Fucking breathe.”
34
Kennedy
I couldn’t breathe through the retching. I vaguely felt my head being pushed to the side and agonizing pain burned my chest and throat.
Was I throwing up?
Dying?
“That’s it.” I heard Jameson coax.
Definitely dying. I was hallucinating. I’d finally conjured up his voice in my head. I spent much of my time in the hot car thinking about Jameson. Wishing I could hear him one more time before I died. I’d finally done it.
“Come on, Kennedy.”
My chest seized again and fire shot up my throat and scorched my nose and mouth.
What a painful way to die.
“Get her on her side.”
Nixon?
My body was not my own, I couldn’t stop the force of the movement, even though I wanted to. Something sharp was piercing my shoulder and it hurt like a son of a bitch.
“That’s it. Breathe, baby.”
Breathe?
“James—”
“Shh, baby. Don’t talk. Just breathe.”
Suddenly there was a flurry of commotion and more voices invaded my sleep. Commands were given, my body was moved, hands touched me, but I comprehended nothing.
I was so tired. Blackness pulled me under and I welcomed the peace.
“Turn off the alarm,” I mumbled, then winced. I felt like I’d swallowed rocks.
The annoying beeping continued and I reached over to shove Jameson. He insisted on sleeping on the side of the bed with the alarm clock, the least he could do was hit snooze.
“Jameson,” I grunted but my hand hit the mattress, not his chest.
Unusual, we never moved apart when we slept. He always held me close.
“Right here, baby.” His hand took mine and he squeezed.
“Why are you out of bed?”
“Kennedy, open your eyes, babe.”
“Sleep,” I grunted.
“Time to wake up.”
“I quit. No work today.”
I begrudgingly opened my eyes, but only so I could drink some water to soothe the desert in my throat. Then I was going back to bed. Screw work.
Jameson’s handsome face filled my blurry vision. But he wasn’t smiling.
“What’s wrong?”
Deep lines formed around his eyes and he stared at me with concern.
The beeping had faded into the background and awareness started to creep in. Something was wrong. My gaze flitted over his shoulder to the stark white walls and the smell of bleach filled my nostrils.
Where was I?
“Jameson?”
“Everything’s okay. You’re in the hospital.”
“Hospital?”
I tried to jerk to a sitting position but Jameson gently stopped my attempt.
Something foreign was in my nose. My hands went to my face and I tugged at plastic tubing.
“Oh, no. That stays in.”
So many scenarios assaulted my brain. Was I in a car accident? Nothing hurt but my chest and throat. So many questions, but I couldn’t begin to formulate a coherent thought. What was going on?
“Good, she’s awake.” That sounded eerily familiar.
It was like I was having a bad case of déjà vu.
Jameson moved to my side, revealing a tall, smiling nurse.
“Hi, Kennedy. I’m Shar. Let me turn the volume down on some of these machines.” The nurse walked around the bed and the beeping finally stopped. “Jameson here, insisted on the volume being up.”
I glanced back at Jameson and he shrugged his shoulders. Now that some of the fog had lifted and I could see him clearly, he looked terrible. Black circles marred his face. Worry lines etched deep. I tugged on his hand and he gave me a small, sad smile.
“I already called the doctor. She’ll be in soon.” Shar’s upbeat, chipper voice was the absolute opposite of Jameson’s somber mood.
“Why am I here?”
Shar’s body rocked back and her eyes went to Jameson before they gentled on me. She took a few steps closer to my bed and seemed to be contemplating something.
How bad was it?
“You almost drowned,” she told me.
“Drowned? I know how to swim. Why can’t I remember?”
Panic hammered in my chest. Drowned? That wasn’t possible.
“Memory loss is normal when the brain is deprived of oxygen.”
Deprived of oxygen?
No. I shook my head in denial. That wasn’t possible. The last thing I remembered was delivering honey to Jonas. I’d been nowhere near the water. Did I cross the Chester River Bridge and crash?
“Kennedy, baby, slow down. Everything’s okay now,” Jameson cooed.
“Okay? Nothing’s okay. I can’t remember. How? Where am I?”
My chest started to burn and my stomach was rebelling. Why couldn’t I remember?
“I can’t breathe,” I wheezed.
A blood pressure cuff started to inflate and I wanted it off. I wanted everything off.
“You’ll feel better when you wake up,” Shar said with a sad grin, and warmth spread through my arm and finally through my body.
Peace.
“It’s all your fault!” Deloris Marshall yelled.
“No!” My body jerked upright and strong arms wrapped around me. “No. Get off me.”
“Kennedy, wake up. You’re safe. I’ve got you. Open your eyes, baby.”
Jameson.
My eyes cracked open and Jameson was there.
He saved me.
“I’m sorry,” I muttered. “I had another one.”
Jameson gently lowered me back to bed, just like he’d done the previous three times I woken up in a fit.
You know, I’d heard the saying, be careful what you wished for, but I’d never understood the true meaning until then. When the nurse had sedated me, I’d wished I could remember what had happened. Then I’d fallen into a restless sleep and the day’s events unfolded in my dreams.
As the holes in my memory filled, I’d woken up terrified to a haggard Jameson who’d coax me back to sleep only for the merry-go-round to continue.
I’d remembered everything up to falling asleep in the car. I’d gone from blazing hot to freezing cold and shivering.
“Close your eyes, I’m here.”
Oh, no. I was done trying to sleep.
“How’d y
ou find me?”
“Let’s—”
“Please, Jameson. I don’t want to sleep. All I hear is Deloris and I re-live the drive. I want to know the rest.”
He was quiet for a long time, and in the silence, I watched a thousand emotions cross his face. Some were angry, some were sad, but all of them looked tortured.
Then he spoke, his voice rough and raw as he explained what had happened. But what he didn’t tell me was how he’d felt. His accounting was akin to a military brief. All facts, no emotion. He took me through step-by-step of how the team had gathered information from Jonas, Ray, and RJ, how McKenna had finally gotten into my phone when I had service, all the way to the end. He’d provided details about Nixon starting water resuscitation and about him giving me CPR.
Nowhere had he told me about himself. It was on-point and all about me.
It was also shocking. All of it.
“What happened to Deloris?”
“She’s dead.”
Matter of fact and emotionless.
“How?”
“She handcuffed herself to the steering wheel, rolled down all the windows and drove into the lake. She drowned. Not that it was a thought, but Nixon would never have been able to pull her from the car.”
“It wasn’t a thought?”
“Fuck no.” Resolute. “The bitch tried to kill you. I hope she’s rotting in hell right alongside her piece-of-shit son. I do not feel sorry either of them are dead.”
I searched my feelings and found I couldn’t summon up any remorse either. I’d thought Deloris had left me in the car to die while she was sitting in her nice comfortable house watching TV. But, apparently she’d been in there trying to find the gumption to commit suicide. I could’ve felt sorry for her, she was a woman who’d lost her child. Even if Peyton was an asshole and he’d hurt me, he was still her son. But the fact her suicide plan had included murdering me as well negated any sympathy.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “It had to be hard on you.”
“Don’t apologize. You did nothing wrong. You were—”
“I was the one who had to sit in a car and wait to be rescued. Sure, I was terrified and I’d made several mistakes. But you were the one who was racing to get me. You’re the one who had to listen to me rambling. That had to have been hard.”
I couldn’t remember half of what I’d said. I just needed to talk. It made me feel like I had some connection while I was petrified I was going to die.
“Hard? It was fucking torture.” Jameson blew out a breath and locked eyes with mine. “I was listening to you as you were dying and I couldn’t get to you. I couldn’t help you. I couldn’t protect you. All I had was your voice. And as much as your commentary pushed me forward, it also paralyzed me. I knew I wouldn’t survive if I lost you. I knew it down to my soul, my life would be over. Even if I was left breathing on this earth, I’d be dead.” Jameson’s jaw clenched and his eyes dulled. “And when I couldn’t resuscitate you and I thought you were gone, I wanted to die right alongside of you.”
“But you saved me.” Jameson shook his head but I spoke over him. “I knew you would. Maybe that’s why I wasn’t as scared as I could’ve been. I was able to stay calm.”
He picked up my hand and kissed the inside of my scarred wrist. “I was so fucking scared. I thought the day I found you lying in the grass with blood caked in your hair was the worst day of my life. But that was nothing compared to holding your lifeless body. I will never forget what it felt like to touch your neck and not feel your heart beating. I will never take for granted a beat of your heart or a breath filling your lungs. Not a single day will pass when I’m not acutely aware of how close I was to losing you.”
“And, Jameson, not a day will pass where I forget that it is because of you I’m alive.”
The chair he was sitting in scraped on the linoleum floor as he folded his big body forward and planted his head on the bed next to my hip.
“So fucking close.” My hand went to his head and my fingers tangled with his hair.
I said nothing as his body shook. There was nothing to say. I’d almost died but he saved me.
I was wrong—there was something to say.
“I love you, Jameson, until my dying breath.” His body went solid but I forged ahead. “And I can say that with one hundred percent certainty. When I thought I was drawing my last breath, all I could think about was you. All of the things we hadn’t done. All of the time that was being stolen from us. But you were my last thought and you always will be.”
“I will never let you go,” he groaned. “Never.”
“I know.”
Silence fell, my lids were getting heavy, and my heart was full.
I was alive and Jameson was there.
35
Jameson
“Last day.” Kennedy held up an empty pill bottle before she tossed it in the trash.
Jameson stared at her over the rim of his coffee mug and smiled.
He had a lot to smile about. After Kennedy had spent five days in the hospital treating aspiration pneumonia, a complication she’d developed, and two weeks more of oral antibiotics, she was finally on the mend. Yesterday’s chest x-ray showed her lungs were clear and no further treatment was necessary.
They’d gotten lucky. And Jameson knew it.
He’d refused to waste a second of their precious time on anger. Finally, he was taking a page out of Kennedy’s playbook and was concentrating on the here and now. The past had no place in his life. He wouldn’t dwell on the fear and terror he’d felt that day.
Kennedy was breathing, her heart was beating, and she was smiling.
Reggie was sitting his ass in a jail cell awaiting trial. Jonny had tracked down the woman in the pictures, who thankfully was not a minor, though she’d refused to press charges. Jonny had explained there were hundreds of pictures of her in compromising positions but she’d shrugged it off and said she didn’t care. The woman would never admit she’d been paid for her services, Reggie wasn’t talking, and the woman had no interest in involving herself in the case so Jonny’s hands were tied.
Not that the State’s Attorney needed more evidence or testimony against Reggie but due diligence necessitated Jonny tracking her down. That done the case was closed as far as Gemini Group was concerned.
Life was good.
“You ready to go pick up Killer?” Jameson asked and rinsed out his cup before putting it in the dishwasher.
“You mean Petal?”
“No. I mean Hercules.”
Kennedy pursed her lips, trying to hide her smile. She was enjoying their banter just as much as Jameson was.
“Just take me to get my puppy, would ya?”
Jameson waited for her to get close before he hooked her around the middle and pulled her into him.
“After you kiss me.”
With an exaggerated roll of her eyes she went to her toes and kissed him. Jameson, never being one to miss a golden opportunity, deepened the kiss and didn’t let up until she moaned into his mouth and his cock was throbbing.
Sweet torture.
“That’s a good boy,” Kennedy cooed at the puppy as he pissed in the grass across from the Gemini Group office. Jameson suspiciously eyed the green metal stand with a trash can attached that clearly ordered dog owners to pick up their animal’s shit.
Then he looked back at Kennedy and the twelve-week-old German Shepherd and hoped urinating was the extent of the puppy’s needs. Then he resigned himself to the fact he wouldn’t allow his woman to pick up dog shit, ever.
How had his life come to this?
“Ready?” Kennedy scooped up Tank and smiled at him with so much love and happiness, he’d remembered how.
And he’d never been more grateful.
The three of them made their way across the street and up the stairs. Kennedy hadn’t even gotten fully into the office before McKenna was rushing down the hallway.
“Let me see that cute little furball.” McKenna held
out her hands for the puppy but she was staring at Kennedy.
McKenna did that a lot. They all did. Jameson hadn’t been the only one who’d gone through hell the day Kennedy almost died.
McKenna had been the one Kennedy had directed her conversation to. The two women had been friendly before, but now they were damn near inseparable. Kennedy had been folded firmly into the family of brothers. She’d forged her own relationship with each of Jameson’s friends and to say they were over-protective would be an understatement.
Much like after McKenna had nearly been beaten to death, Nixon, Weston, Chasin, and Holden had circled around Kennedy, vowing to never let anyone hurt her again.
“What’d you name him?” McKenna asked.
“Cutie Pie,” Kennedy lied.
“For the love of all things holy.” Nix came into the room. “Please tell me she’s full of shit.”
“Tank,” Jameson corrected.
“Killer would’ve been better,” Nix announced, and Jameson raised an I told you so brow to Kennedy.
“I’m not namin’ my dog Killer,” she protested..
“Does he have a brother?” McKenna cuddled Tank. “I want one.”
Nixon’s face lit with excitement.
“He does. You should get him,” Kennedy answered.
McKenna looked at Nix and he shrugged. “Call the breeder, we’ll go today.”
Before McKenna could say anything, the buzzer chimed, announcing someone was downstairs trying to gain access to the office.
Nix pulled his phone out of his pocket, opened the security camera app, and frowned, though he said, “Come on up.”
“Who is it?” Jameson asked.
“No clue,” Nix answered as he walked to the door and opened it.
A pissed-off looking woman stood with her hand up ready to bang on the door.
“Is Weston Beil here?” the woman asked. Fire shooting from her hazel eyes.
“And you are?” Nix inquired.
“Silver? What are you doing here?” Weston asked, coming into the room.
“Are you always such an asshole or do you have something personal against me?”
Jameson's Salvation (Gemini Group Book 2) Page 26