Jameson's Salvation

by Riley Edwards

  “How long was I passed out?” I asked.

  “Six hours.”

  “Six hours?” I gasped then regretted it.

  “You scared the shit out of me, Kennedy. Worst six hours of my life.”

  Worst six hours of his life? Holy shit. The man had seen combat.

  I didn’t have time to process his statement. The door opened and an older woman in scrubs stepped into the room and smiled.

  After that, there was a flurry of commotion. While the nurse was checking my vitals and preparing my meds, the doctor came in and explained I’d had a CT scan, three staples to the back of my head, and I’d be staying for observation for at least two days. Longer if I continued to experience dizziness and headaches. Jameson had asked about an MRI and more testing. He was frantic about making sure I didn’t have a TBI or any long-term lasting effects. The doctor had spent more time explaining the CT results with Jameson than he had with me. Jameson was relentless, it wasn’t until I squeezed his hand and told him I was okay that he calmed.

  He agreed to table the MRI talk for a few days but threatened to revisit the topic if my headache wasn’t gone by morning. I figured it would take more than a few hours for the pounding in my head to subside but I didn’t tell him that.

  A warmth I’d never known spread over my chilled skin. No one had ever taken care of me, not like this. Not with so much vigor and protectiveness. I’d never had someone so fully care about my well-being. I knew my mom loved me and wanted what was best for me but she didn’t have the strength Jameson had. It had always been me looking after her.

  Shit. My mom!

  “Mom,” I croaked.

  “She’s fine. Nixon took care of her.”

  I wanted to ask more but sleepiness from the pain medicine the nurse had given me started to pull me under.

  If Jameson said she was fine, she was fine.

  I trusted him.

  17

  Jameson

  Jameson was coming out of his skin. Kennedy was pressing to be discharged and it had been less than twenty-four hours since she woken up. She was grouchy, uncomfortable, and wanted her own bed. All of which Jameson understood. But he wanted her under the constant supervision of medical professionals. The thought of her going home made his gut clench for a variety of reasons.

  There were too many what-ifs. Too many things that could go wrong. Her headache still hadn’t gone away. She couldn’t take more than a few sips of water before she felt nauseous. And every time she spoke, she winced. She wasn’t ready to leave the hospital and thankfully her doctor agreed.

  But Kennedy was, like always, determined.

  With Weston still gone, the team was already down a man. And since Jameson refused to leave her side even when Nixon, Holden, and McKenna had said they’d stay with her while he went home to shower and rest, he was out of the search for who’d hurt Kennedy as well.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his team, he knew they’d protect her. It was the visions that plagued his mind of her unconscious body. He’d never forget finding her shirtless, lying in the grass, unable to wake her up. He’d known he’d taken a risk moving her, but he wasn’t going to wait for an ambulance to get to her.

  He’d scooped up her lifeless body and held her while Nixon had driven them to the hospital. So many thoughts had been racing through his mind he couldn’t remember the drive. He’d been scared out of his mind, a feeling that Jameson wasn’t used to. He’d seen plenty of death and carnage over the years, had dealt it out when needed. But he’d never held the woman he loved in his arms while she was bleeding and comatose. Then he’d spent the next six hours in hell.

  Even now, listening to her complain about having to stay in the hospital, he couldn’t stop thinking about those hours. The minutes dragged on. The seconds had felt like an eternity. All Jameson could do was watch the steady rhythm of the monitors. The only sign that she was alive. She hadn’t even twitched in those hours. Hadn’t groaned or made a sound. The silence had been so deafening he’d turned up the volume on the machine. He’d needed the beeping to reassure him her heart was beating.

  “That’s enough, Kennedy.” His tone was harsher than he would’ve liked but he’d heard enough.

  “I don’t want to be here,” she complained. “I need to get home. And I have to check on my mom.”

  “There is nothing you need to do at home. And Nixon is taking care of your mom.”

  “But—”

  “Stop. Please stop.” Jameson’s hands scrubbed over his face before they went into his hair and tugged.

  “Jameson?” Kennedy called. “What’s wrong?”

  “What’s wrong? You’re joking, right?”

  “I’m fine. Even the doctor said, it’s just a concussion.”

  Christ—just a concussion.

  “Yeah, a concussion brought on by a goddamn two-by-four to the back of the head. Do you have any idea how lucky you are? If he would’ve hit you just a little bit harder, he could’ve killed you. If you would’ve turned your head you could be in a wheelchair, drinking out of a straw for the rest of your life. There was a fucking rusty nail on the end of the board. If he would’ve hit you with that…” Jameson shook his head, trying to dislodge the image of Kennedy with a nail in her skull.

  She had been so damn lucky the person who hit her hadn’t meant to kill her, or she’d be dead. His woman would be gone and it would’ve been Jameson’s fault for leaving her unprotected. His ass had been sitting in his office fifteen miles away from her while some fucker had attacked her. There was no excuse for his oversight. He should’ve been there.

  “But none of those things happened.”

  “They could’ve,” Jameson growled.

  Hate and anger rose to the surface and threatened to consume him. When he found the man that hurt Kennedy, he was going to unleash his wrath. Hell was going to rain down on the motherfucker that hurt her. There was no doubt about it. The man would pay.

  “You can’t dwell on what could’ve happened. It didn’t. And you found me and got me help. Of course, it could’ve been worse. The field could’ve gone up and I was lying in it passed out. But it didn’t and you saved me. I’m fine, Jameson. That’s all that matters.”

  “Maybe I could stop dwelling on it if I could forget holding the woman I love while her blood seeped from her head and soaked my skin. Maybe I could stop dwelling on it, if I didn’t spend six goddamn hours praying for you to wake up. Maybe I could stop thinking about how fucking terrified I was when I saw what was happening, knowing I couldn’t get to you in time, if I could forget the sight of you shirtless lying in a field. So please, cut me a little slack, stop bitching about wanting to leave and let the doctor monitor you. Please, Kennedy, I’m fucking begging you. Just stop.”

  “Okay,” she whispered. “I’ll stop.”

  “Thank you.” Jameson blew out a relieved breath.

  “I’m sorry. I’m being selfish. I just want out of this hospital bed. I want to be able to lie next to you and feel your arms around me.”

  “Soon, Kennedy.” He sat in a chair next to her bed and gathered her hand in his. “You’ll be home soon.”

  He hated to bring up her mom, but it was a topic they needed to discuss.

  “Nixon’s not real happy he lied to your mom.” Kennedy’s hand convulsed in his. “When he went over there to fix her AC and tell her what happened, she had a lot of questions. He evaded most of them, but he’s unhappy. She’s worried about you and I think it’s time you told her.”

  “You’re right. I’ll call her.”

  “How ‘bout I call Janice and ask her to bring your mom to the hospital?”

  “No way. She’ll—”

  “She wants to see her daughter,” Jameson cut her off. “She’s stronger than you think. And we’re all here for her to catch her if she starts to backslide. But you keeping her away is gonna make it worse. McKenna can come down, too.”

  “I don’t want to meet McKenna like this.”

 
; “Too late. She’s been in and out just like Nixon and Holden. All three of them were worried about you and wouldn’t leave the hospital until you woke up. Weston pitched a conniption when Nix told him to stay in DC.”

  At first Jameson was pissed when his friend had called frantic for an update on Kennedy. And when Weston had threatened to come home to see her, jealousy had reared its head. But then he remembered Weston cared for Kennedy as a friend. But more than that, Weston was worried for Jameson.

  “I’m glad they were there for you even if I wished they didn’t see me passed out in a hospital bed. I hope I wasn’t drooling while I was asleep. And if I was, you better have wiped it away so they didn’t see.”

  Jameson smiled for the first time since he’d found Kennedy. He liked—no, loved—that she wasn’t the slightest bit embarrassed around him.

  “There was no drool, babe. You looked beautiful, like you were sleeping.”

  And she had. Jameson hadn’t stopped staring at her the whole time she’d been passed out. He’d studied her every feature. He’d memorized the contours of her face. But the one part he’d wanted to see, her pretty green eyes with flecks of gold, eluded him.

  But now they were staring back at him and he needed to hold on to that.

  She was alive.

  Kennedy was wiped out. Her mother had been furious she’d been kept in the dark about what Reggie Coleman was doing.

  Jameson had been right; Lola Lane was stronger than he’d even thought. And he imagined if the woman had all of her faculties, she would’ve been up pacing the room before she stomped out to pay Reggie a visit. As it was, all she could do was ball her right hand into a fist and shake it as she declared she was going to kill the man.

  Lola had also added some much-needed insight. Peyton Marshall was rumored to be Reggie Coleman’s son. A child created from a well-known affair. Both Reggie Coleman and Deloris Marshall were married to other people but had carried on for years. It was also a well-known fact that Clifford Marshall senior was impotent. He couldn’t even get it up, something that had happened as a result of a pelvic fracture that damaged the nerves. An accident that occurred on a job site when Clifford had worked for Reggie Coleman.

  That explained why Peyton Marshall owned a third of Chester River Holdings when by all accounts he was an idiot. Whether Coleman had willingly included him out of parental obligation or Peyton had blackmailed him was still unknown.

  Kennedy’s mother also admitted that Reggie Coleman had approached her in the last month. She hadn’t mentioned it to Kennedy because she didn’t want to worry her. Reggie hadn’t come out and made any threats, just a comment in passing about how hard Kennedy worked and it was a shame a beautiful girl like her didn’t have time to give Lola grandchildren. His parting shot was to tell Lola that if Kennedy ever wanted to sell her land he’d be more than pleased to take it off her hands.

  The woman also had a keen mind and had easily drawn her own conclusions about Kennedy’s business suffering. She’d also directly asked if her air conditioning unit had been tampered with.

  Lola was no dummy, she was sharp, just like her daughter.

  Before Janice had come back into the room to take her home, Lola’s chin had jutted out and Jameson bit back a smile when the woman demanded for him to take care of her daughter. It wasn’t until Jameson had promised her Kennedy wouldn’t be alone again until Reggie was stopped did she finally leave.

  Now Kennedy was looking at him with so much sadness she didn’t try and stop the tear from rolling down her cheek.

  “I hate that my mom is so worried.”

  “I know. But it’s better that she knows. And she had a lot of information for us.”

  Kennedy nodded, not looking convinced.

  “And Janice has agreed to move in with her, so she won’t be alone. An added layer of protection.”

  “Miss Janice is older than my mom. What’s she gonna do? Beat an intruder with a cane?”

  Jameson smiled at the vision of the little old woman beating a man with Lola’s cane.

  “I have no doubt she would. But Holden’s staying there, too.” Which was huge, considering how much Holden valued his privacy and with good reason. “Tomorrow, him and Nix will install an alarm system and Weston will be home. He’ll take over sleeping on your mom’s couch.”

  “Maybe she should move in with me.”

  “Maybe you should close your eyes and get some rest.”

  “Will you lie next to me?”

  Jameson glanced at the small hospital bed and shook his head.

  “Babe, I’d barely fit in that bed alone.”

  “Please?”

  Her big green eyes bore into him and he couldn’t deny her request.

  Jameson carefully eased his big body onto the bed, while pulling her mostly on top of him.

  “Does anything hurt?” he asked before he settled in farther.

  “No,” she whispered.

  He adjusted them so Kennedy’s head was resting on his chest, their legs were tangled, and he was taking her weight.

  “Perfect,” she muttered.

  He agreed but stayed quiet, not wanting to jostle her anymore than he had.

  Jameson lay awake for a long time, his arms full of his sleeping woman. He stared at the ceiling, sleep evading him, when he heard it. The faintest of whispers.

  “I love you, too, Jameson.”

  Just a feather-soft admission that floated through the room, but had slammed into his chest like a sledgehammer.

  He closed eyes and drifted to sleep.

  18

  Kennedy

  I’d spent three full days in the hospital. After Jameson’s plea for me to stop bitching about having to stay, I’d kept my mouth shut. I had forgotten how hard it was to see someone you cared about in a hospital bed. How difficult it was to watch someone you loved in pain and not know if they were going to make it.

  It hadn’t been that long ago I’d been in Jameson’s shoes. I’d stood next to my mother’s bedside and prayed she wouldn’t die. I’d felt helpless and heartbroken. Even if it wasn’t the same thing, it was close enough and I could empathize with Jameson.

  Beyond that, I’d been behaving like a total brat. Who cared if I had to stay in the hospital? I was alive, relatively unharmed, and I would heal.

  But now I was sitting in Jameson’s truck on my way home and he was acting weird. I wasn’t sure if he was being weird because I’d been released. He’d obviously wanted me in the hospital where I’d been under constant medical supervision or if it was something else. But he was definitely off—fidgety, lost in his thoughts, and distracted.

  It was scaring me. Maybe he’d changed his mind about us. Since the day I’d met him, my life had been full of drama. It was a lot to take in and even more to ask someone to participate in when it had nothing to do with them. Perhaps I shouldn’t have gone to Nixon and gotten them all involved. I had no idea Reggie would get violent and I’d be putting everyone in danger. If he found out I’d enlisted Nix for help, they could be in the line of fire. And there were teenagers involved, too. Everyone knew how much Nix loved McKenna and her siblings. They’d been through enough and it wouldn’t be hard to hurt Nix through them.

  We were almost to my house when I couldn’t take the silence anymore. That, coupled with Jameson twitching his thumb on the steering wheel, was driving me insane.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Jameson’s jaw clenched and deep lines formed on his forehead.

  Yeah, something was very, very wrong.

  “Fuck. I don’t know how to tell you this.”

  My heart sank and my eyes automatically shut. This was going to kill me.

  “Listen,” I whispered. “If you’ve changed—”

  “Stop,” he bit out and gripped the wheel tighter. “Nothing has changed.”

  That should’ve made me feel better but it didn’t.

  He pulled into my driveway and I scanned my front yard. Everything looked the same. I don’t
know what I was expecting. It wasn’t like I’d been gone long, but it was hard to rationalize that just a few days ago I’d been attacked on my own property, a place I was supposed to be safe. Not only that but before that, someone had entered my home uninvited. Suddenly being home didn’t hold the same appeal it had while I was lying in a hospital bed.

  I was getting ready to ask Jameson if we could go to his place and stay there for awhile when he spoke through gritted teeth.

  “I knew this was going to happen. I can see the fear in your eyes. I didn’t want to add to it but, fuck, you have to know before you see it.”

  Oh, no. What else?

  “See what?”

  “The best Nixon and the police can gather is, someone sprayed your garden with Roundup.”

  “What?” I wheezed, unable to catch my breath.

  “There’s nothing on the surveillance video, which means they had to have come in from the back. And the cameras don’t reach the fields, only the house perimeter.”

  “How bad?”

  “Everything’s gone. Nixon had Mr. Adams, the man who rents his land, come over as soon as Nix noticed some of the plants wilting. They tried to neutralize the glyphosate but it was too late.”

  In three days, my livelihood had been stolen from me. Years I’d worked to build what I had and it had taken days for it to crumble. I was finished. The rest of my summer income was dead and my bees were gone. I had four cases of jarred honey, six boxes of candles, and not enough money in the bank to get me through until next summer. Land taxes would be coming up in ninety days and only three quarters of the money was set aside to pay them. Not enough.

  “He wins,” I whispered.

  “The fuck he does.”

  “I’m done for, Jameson. I can’t pay my taxes and still have money left to pay my bills and eat. He wins and the worst part is, it was easy for him to ruin me and he knew it would be.”