Trusting Xavier

by Casey Hagen

  Chapter 2

  Bottomless voids of inky darkness surrounded her, dancing around one circle of pale light. Voices hummed around her, the words impossible to make out as the shadows pulsed at the edges of her consciousness, threatening to pull her back under.

  She’d swear she recognized the low rumble of her brother’s voice, but that couldn’t be right.

  Unless she had imagined it all. Unless the past eight years away from him had been one long nightmare. One pain after another. First with heartbreaks and hardships. Later with broken bones, black eyes, cuts, makeup to cover the truth of what she had accepted day in and day out.

  Only to finally break away, knowing that no matter how hard she tried, there was no escape. With some men, there was only one road to liberation.

  Death.

  A deep baritone fluttered in and out of her murky awareness. The voice that had been with her from the beginning, at times confident and at other times full of anguish and questions. And she lay too deep in a stifling abyss to answer any of them. Not that she had answers. Or even remembered the questions. But the lingering need to find a way out of the void and reach for that rich timbre stayed with her, giving life to her pain-filled heart.

  So, she hadn’t dreamed of that voice; it was real.

  “Keep talking to her; she’s coming out of it,” a female voice said from somewhere beyond the black shadows.

  Voices danced on the air, in a constant state of motion. Her stomach pitched, her eyeballs wobbling in their sockets as she tried to grasp onto just one sound. The beep and whoosh of the machines in the background, the nurses soft, reassuring voice, just like the mother you’d want holding your hand telling you it would all be okay when terror gripped you by the throat.

  “You’re okay, Laramie. I promise you. Stay calm and just let it happen. You’re safe here. I’m watching over you every second.”

  At one time she had nothing but deep-seated resentment for the way he watched over her. She wanted to laugh at that silly girl who had so callously rained venomous words over him. How casually she threw him away, thinking she had all the answers.

  Darkness faded to muddy gray and with it came the aching throb. She tried to shift away from the pain, her muscles quivering but refusing to move. Even the flutter of her eyelids drew out a pain-laced groan, an animal sound low and guttural.

  She tried to swallow, but her muscles couldn’t flex past something lodged in her throat. Her heart hammered in her chest. Thrashing, the bone-deep ache rattling her to the core, she fought to reach for whatever lay against her lip.

  “It’s okay, Laramie. Don’t fight it,” Lucas said next to her ear. “It’s a tube to help you breathe. If you stay calm, they’ll take it out as soon as you wake up. That’s all this is. You’re waking up. I’m right here with you, and I’m not going to let you go.”

  She clutched his hand, her the thundering beat of her heart only increasing the pain. A dull throb pulsed behind her eyes, making her jaw clench, setting ablaze a whole new ache that ran from her teeth to her ear.

  “Don’t clench, Laramie. You’re healing, try to keep your jaw relaxed for me.”

  Oh, that voice. God, that voice. It washed over her, warming her, battling back her fears. She forced herself to release the tension. The ache retreated, although still there, still reminding her of what could happen if she didn’t relax, it eased, fading into the background again.

  “Just concentrate on me, Laramie. I’ve got you. Your daughter is here, and she’s fine. She’s waiting to see you so I need you to stay with me…”

  Harmony.

  Oh, God, her baby. How long had she been out?

  She choked as her throat spasmed again, this time out of her control. She told herself not to swallow. She needed to see her daughter, but her body betrayed her, and her muscles squeezed against the tube anyway.

  “You have air, Laramie. Think about it. Concentrate. You’re not struggling for air,” Lucas said right next to her ear, his voice gruff, an edge of panic seeping in that she’d never heard from him before.

  She dug her nails into the sheet next to her, the darkness billowing away like a fierce wind carrying the smoke of a raging fire.

  Blinking, she flinched, the light piercing her vision, making her squint as she tried to acclimate to it. A sharp pain sliced through her head behind her eyes. Her back bowed as she struggled against the sting.

  “Are you in pain?” Lucas asked next to her.

  She nodded as she blinked against the lights searing into her vision. She’d never experienced anything like it. Hot, blazing, and tearing through her.

  “Can you give her anything?” Lucas pleaded.

  “Once we get the tube out. We have to find out what’s hurting,” the deep, soothing voice she recognized said from beside her. “Laramie, I need you to hold on for a couple more minutes. Stay with us, okay?”

  She turned toward him, needing to see his face. Needing to see the man so full of confidence and torment. She caught a quick glimpse of his jaw before the nurse crossed in front of him.

  Head heavy with exhaustion, it lolled to the side, defying her attempt to keep it straight, her gaze landing on her brother’s face. Her heart pinched. Lines fanned out from his eyes, the time passed etched on his skin. He’d become a man in the years they hadn’t seen each other.

  She broke free from his grip and lifted her hand to touch the scruff on his jaw. The tube of her IV grazed over her wrist.

  His glassy eyes roamed over her face. God, those eyes of his, regret, sadness, and anger swirled in their steely depths.

  She tried to speak, her throat constricting around the tube. Her heavy eyelids blinked slowly, like the curtains at the end of a Broadway show.

  “Her vitals look perfect, Dr. Thorne. Her oxygen level is excellent.”

  “Then let’s start the extubation,” he said, moving in next to her. “Laramie?”

  His large hand lay on her shoulder, and she fought to turn to him. Dark-mocha eyes flecked with gold locked on her, and she nodded.

  “You’re groggy. That’s perfectly normal. You might not stay awake for long after we do this, and that’s okay. We’ll want to gauge your pain so we can make you more comfortable.”

  She nodded again.

  He explained what they were going to do, something about suction, coughing, a raspy throat—it all jumbled together. Before long they were detaching tubes, and Dr. Thorne stood back while two nurses moved in on either side of her. The older woman smiled, her blue eyes kind and reassuring.

  They raised the back of her bed until she sat at a forty-five-degree angle and started the suction.

  She fought the panic, keeping her eyes on Lucas standing at the foot of her bed, his hands locked behind his head as he watched with that protective stare of his that said if they didn’t get a move on, he’d bark choice words at them at any minute.

  Eight years. Eight years and that instinct to protect and take over still lived and breathed inside him. Only this time she welcomed it. She’d screwed up. She’d screwed up big. And instead of resenting his presence, she wanted to hold on and never let go.

  Did that make her weak?

  He’d told her that one of these days, she was going to dig herself a hole she couldn’t get out of. At twenty-two, she scoffed at his words. At thirty, she realized just how foolish she’d been not to heed his warnings.

  She clenched the railings on her bed, her nails scraping the rail, and with a quick burst, the tube loosened in her throat, and the nurses pulled it out.

  Gulping in air stung her dry throat, making her cough. She sat up higher, the nurses locking an arm around her shoulders, keeping her from falling forward as she hacked and sputtered, struggling to move air as fire seared her parched throat.

  “Here, take a sip of this, it’ll help,” Dr. Thorne said, the dark depths in his eyes roaming over her.

  “You’ve been with me,” she whispered.

  His eyes shuttered, and his throat worked as he

swallowed.

  Clutching the cup, she tipped it to her lips. The minute the cold water hit her mouth, she turned ravenous and gulped it back as though her tongue had turned to dust to rival the driest desert.

  “Easy,” he told her, laying his hand over hers and lowering the cup from her mouth. “Small sips at first. Your throat hasn’t worked on its own for a long time.”

  The air stuttered in her lungs. Her gaze darted between the men on either side of her. “Harmony? Oh God, how long have I been out?” The pain shot through her skull again, and the cup slipped from her fingers. Clutching her forehead, she gasped and fought down bile shooting into the back of her throat.

  Dr. Thorne grabbed the cup before it spilled in her lap. “Your little girl is just fine. Not a scratch on her so I don’t want you to worry. Where does it hurt?” he asked, leaning in and searching her eyes with a penlight that spiked pain through her once more.

  “Stop,” she gasped, pushing his hand away. “The light, please.”

  “Is this normal?” Lucas asked from beside her.

  “Sensitivity to light, yes. She’s going to have pain for a while. She has bones that are still healing. Each awake period should get easier, but in the meantime, we’ll give her something to take the edge off.”

  She focused on her breathing until the nausea passed. Turning to her brother, she took his hand and hugged it to her. “Lucas, my daughter, she’s been alone for too long.”

  “I’ll be here for her, Laramie. I promise.”

  Fog moved in and muddled her brain. The room spun and grew hazy. The nurse stood next to her, pulling the syringe from her IV port and giving her a smile.

  “What di-id you gi-ve…me?” she said, her words slurring.

  “Shhh, just a little pain medicine. It’s going to be fine.”

  “But my little girl…lang, lang-u, language.”

  “What does that mean?” Lucas asked, searching her eyes.

  Her lids grew heavy, and she turned away to find Dr. Thorne at her side again, his assessing gaze locked on her.

  “What about her language, Laramie?” the doctor asked, his gaze intense on hers.

  “H-aaaave to spea-k her lang—” But the darkness closed in. It swallowed the light and her chance to see her little girl.

  Chapter 3

  Speak her language?

  They were missing something, Xavier was sure of it. The nurses dismissed Laramie’s words as nothing more than mutterings, something they’d heard hundreds of times, maybe even thousands during their nursing careers.

  But the words stuck with him, and the way she fought to get them out even as the medicine pulled her under.

  Lucas had frowned, but the SEAL in him took over, judging by the determined intensity in his eyes, and after pressing a kiss to Laramie’s forehead, he strode to the conference room, a man on a mission.

  Xavier stood there in the quiet, alone with his patient, watching the way this time, her face didn’t completely soften like it had under sedation. As though she lay in there, trapped under the weight of crippling exhaustion, the message on the tip of her tongue still burning inside her.

  Her expression in sleep told a whole different story. Sedation allowed for her muscles to remain completely relaxed, keeping the strain off of her deep bruises and broken bones. But sleep—sleep allowed our deepest needs and desires to play with our features, never really hiding what bubbled just beneath the surface.

  No longer relaxed, the set of her jaw spoke of her determination, and despite so many questions he had—how she ended up in the abusive relationship to begin with and why she didn’t leave—what he was most curious to see was just how she would pick herself up and move on.

  With one last look at her golden hair smoothed over her pillow, he slipped out without a sound.

  Just outside of Laramie’s room, he shot a glance at the nurses’ station, suspended between this new life and the one he thought he’d buried. The minute Laramie had been admitted, his former life stirred and whispered to him. Ever since, the white jacket he’d worn as a barrier between the past and present bunched and shifted, mocking him with its ill fit.

  “Go to your office, Thorne,” he muttered.

  His body, his training, his never-ending need to uncover clues and assemble the puzzle took over. His pulse kicked up, his heart galloping in his chest in a way it hadn’t for years, since before he’d left the SEALs, and instead of turning left and heading for his office, he turned right.

  “You can still go left,” he whispered to himself, the words like a prayer of self-preservation on his lips even as his stride lengthened and a section of the wall he’d erected between past and present chipped, the pieces crumbling away. With every step, his past taunted him, the whispers louder, his failures brought to life.

  He paused outside of conference room B. His job was clear. Oversee New Hope Hospital. Opening the door would be crossing the line. He’d be diving headfirst into a situation he had no business getting himself involved in.

  He closed his eyes and sucked in a breath, his focus on the cool door under his fingertips. This was his last shot to stay impartial.

  Glancing down, he frowned. His hand had already begun turning the handle despite all the warnings going off in his head.

  Shit.

  Pushing the door open, nine sets of eyes locked on him.

  Lucas pushed away from the wall on the opposite side of the room where they had all gathered around Evan while he set up his laptop, but he kept his hand in Chloe’s. “Laramie?”

  “She’s fine,” he said, feeling like an ass for not taking into consideration that crashing the meeting would put Lucas on edge. “She’s still sleeping.”

  “The sensitivity to light, is it normal?” Lucas asked.

  Xavier spotted Dylan, the founder of Fierce and the man who had the final say on hiring him, out of the corner of his eye, watching him from where he stood along the tall windows, his hands in his pockets as though he hadn’t a care in the world. But his eyes, they told a whole different story, and the way his gaze bore into Xavier had him grasping on to the rather easy medical question that didn’t require more than a cursory answer.

  “It is. She hasn’t opened her eyes in over a month, and she had a brain injury. The scans look good, but she’ll have some work to do to get back to one hundred percent.”

  From the corner of his eye, Xavier caught a glimpse of Dylan as he pushed away from the wall and casually strolled in Xavier’s direction.

  At least that’s how he made it look. Xavier had offered too much patient information and tipped his hand.

  “Work to do?” Lucas asked.

  “Her body is still healing so she’ll tire easily. The light sensitivity should fade the more time she spends awake. She’s going to need physical therapy to build up her muscles again. She can’t just get up out of that bed without help. Her muscles have atrophied lying there. She won’t be wheelchair-bound, but it’s not going to come easy for her.”

  Lucas nodded. “How long do you think she’ll be in here?”

  Dylan averted his gaze, but he continued to close in.

  “In the hospital? Probably only a few days and then we’ll move her to rehab. A lot depends on her.” The night an army of drug dealers and thugs threatened New Hope crept into Xavier’s memory. Lucas had run every play through his head in a matter of minutes, racking his brain for a solution to the attack that kept everyone alive. He’d been unrelenting to the point where Xavier had to put his foot down. Which made him wonder…

  “Is your sister as stubborn as you?” Xavier asked.

  Lucas’ lips twitched. “Not at all,” he said that twitch of his mouth spreading into a full grin, “She’s more.”

  “Good,” Xavier said with nod, ignoring Dylan’s burning stare. He slid his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels, the picture of nonchalance. “That’s good.”

  Dylan sidled in next to Xavier. “I’m surprised you wanted to join the meeting,” Dylan said quietly, his eyes on his crew as if he wasn’t about to probe ancient wounds with a rusty scalpel.

  Xavier shrugged. “I like to know what’s going on with my patients.”

  Dylan slid his hands in his pockets as well and relaxed his shoulders. The stealth way he stored details and his uncanny knack for unpacking a person’s skeletons had, at one time, made Xavier glad they were on the same team.

  Now that he was under the microscope himself, not so much.

  “I’m sure you do, but I have to wonder—”

  “Don’t.” Same team or not, some things were off limits. An old life, one time festering and raw without a glimpse of hope for healing needed to stay buried right where it was.

  Dylan nodded. “You know what I’m going to say?”

  Xavier shot Dylan a hard glance. “Yes, and it has nothing to do with this.”

  “You understand that it’s just a little too coincidental for me to buy that, right?”

  Xavier forced a shrug when what he really needed was an hour with a heavy bag. Unfortunately, being a surgeon meant giving up his favored outlet for pent up aggression in order to protect his hands. “What goes through your overactive imagination has nothing to do with me.”

  “So you’re saying I don’t have to worry about you going rogue on us? Because I have to tell you, the white jacket and the medical degree both reassure me, but your legendary skills in the field and the look in your eye tells me you might need a babysitter.”

  Xavier swallowed down a mountain of unwelcome memories. “Are you the only one who knows?” Xavier asked.

  “Slyder and Jake know,” Dylan said, his glance veering in Slyder’s direction.

  “Then keep it that way,” Xavier said past the emotion trying to claw its way up his throat. “I don’t need anyone digging up ancient history. What’s done is done.”

  “Interesting, that’s what I was going to tell you,” Dylan said.

  Xavier’s jaw locked on the retort that rose to the tip of his tongue.

  “I’ve got Tex,” Evan said, glancing up from his laptop screen.

  -->