by Joey W. Hill
The car teetered forward and she scrambled even beyond the wheel, onto the gas tank, not an advisable idea she was sure, but she wasn't concerned about that. "No, no, no," she gritted. Come back this way, come back this way. Her flight instinct told her to get off the car, get clear, but she denied it. No. I won't leave them. I won't leave them. And you're not taking them with you. Come on.
If her heart rate had been harnessed to the back bumper, she could have pulled them all the way to the highway above. As it was, the car sluggishly stabilized again.
"Gen." Noah's voice was muffled. "Okay?"
"Okay."
"Are you ready?"
"Give me just a sec." Taking a deep breath, she looked up, hoping to see a team of emergency responders with helicopters and sturdy chains, a crane. The road had been busy enough, plenty of people had seen the accident. But it was likely only minutes had passed. "Noah?"
"Yeah?"
She held onto his voice as the most wonderful sound in the world. "You better get your ass out of there with her, or I will never forgive you. Neither will she. It will be worse than when you put Guns and Roses on her player. Far worse."
She thought she heard a chuckle. "I love you, Gen." Quieter, that time. Her heart twisted. No. Don't you do that. You're not saying goodbye, not to either one of us.
"Ready."
She'd thought that moment inside the car with him had been the longest and shortest moment of her life. She'd been wrong. The car's sudden pitch, Lyda's limp body thrust through the window, Gen grabbing her under the armpits and hauling her up and back with every ounce of strength she had, that was it. The car started to slide.
"No!"
Noah had pushed Lyda's weight into Gen's arms hard enough that it unbalanced her, sent them both toppling off the car. The rear bottom wheel rolled against her thigh. As she spun away from it, trying to protect Lyda, she and Lyda were sliding, following in the car's wake against a slick bed of leaves. Gen's shin slammed against rock and she wedged her foot in a crevice, ignoring the bolt of pain through her ankle as it took the shock. The move brought them to a halt. The car didn't stop moving. It was groaning, metal shrieking.
"Noah!" she screamed. Lyda's blood was soaking Gen's neck and shirt, her body a dead weight pinning Gen down, adding to the feeling of suffocation. "No, no, no..."
She lost time then, as if an angel of mercy was sparing her the agony of the truth. She was looking up into a man's face, an emergency responder, his serious face taking up her vision. "Noah! No, no, no..."
She smelled smoke again, the kind of smoke that came with fire. She couldn't stop crying, hurting, dying inside. She gripped Lyda so hard, the EMTs had to pry her fingers away, give her a shot, and then everything was lost, whirling away.
*
Something is wrong inside his head...I don't think it will ever be fixed...
Love. That's when you figure out what's important and what's not.
She's an island. You take a boat out to her...
The car going over, smoke and fire...
Gen came out of the nightmare, a cry strangling her. Something yanked against her arm, a stabbing pain, and then someone was holding her arm, someone else holding the rest of her. Marguerite. Marguerite's scent, her strength, wrapped around her.
"It's all right, Gen. Sssh...calm down. You're safe. You're in the hospital."
Chloe was holding her arm, where the IV needle and tape had pulled. She circled Gen with her free arm, eyes welling with tears. "It's okay, Gen. We're here."
Gen steadied, trying to breathe, trying to calm down. Just breathe. Don't go beyond that. Don't go there. Beyond breathing was thinking, and a pain waited there she didn't want to feel. It would be beyond what she could endure.
"Lyda and Noah are both alive."
Gen's head snapped up so quickly Marguerite might have gotten her chin rapped if she hadn't anticipated her. Leave it to Marguerite to avoid any cliffhanging drama, just a quiet statement of fact, bringing the spinning world back to rights. "Oh God." Gen pressed her forehead into M's collarbone. "Thank you. Thank you."
"Though I'm sure God was there, you and Noah had a lot to do with it as well, according to the EMTs and eyewitnesses."
"Mostly Noah." It was coming back in harrowing pieces, including that horrifying image of Lyda's twisted body, the bloody face and hair. "When you say they're both alive...what does that mean? Are they okay?"
Marguerite eased a hip onto the bed so Gen could keep holding her. Chloe was cross-legged behind Gen, both as close as possible. Gen needed them that close. The room was whites and blues, medicine and disinfectant. She didn't want that reality.
"Noah broke a couple ribs, dislocated his shoulder. He kicked out the back window and caught hold of the rocks as the car went into the ravine. Tore up his hands pretty good on the rocks and the things inside the car, but the EMT who pulled him back over said it was one of the most impressive things he'd ever seen. Beyond all three of you getting out of the car alive, that is."
"I think he hates he missed catching it on his phone for YouTube," Chloe interjected.
They were trying to ground her, but now she only remembered that final second in the car, when Noah had met her gaze. He'd known the car wouldn't maintain stability when Lyda was cut free. He'd pushed Gen to follow his direction, and she'd let him. Guilt and shame swamped her, even knowing she'd been too disoriented to think straight. He'd been the only one in the position to do that, and he'd been prepared to sacrifice his life to save theirs. But he'd fought to live. Whether for them or himself, it didn't matter. He was alive.
"Lyda?" Dread filled her as Marguerite's face became more somber than usual.
"She has a skull fracture and other broken bones. Do you know what happened?"
Gen shook her head. While Noah's look was permanently engraved in her brain, the key moment was fuzzy. "I was looking at Noah, sleeping in the back. All I saw when I turned was Lyda's face. A flash of another car."
"You were on a sharp curve and the other driver was texting and crossed the line. Lyda took the brunt of the impact on the driver's side when she pulled the wheel to the right, but her deceleration when most people would have accelerated to avoid impact may have been what saved all of you. You went off the road, but the car tipped after it took out the guard rail, rather than shooting out into open space."
Only one thing was important. "How is she? Is she awake, talking?"
Marguerite shook her head. "But the swelling in her brain is already going down," Chloe added quickly. "The nurses say that's good."
She thought of Lyda, so strong and beautiful, running up the hill, making teasing circles around them. "No."
"They can't guarantee anything with head trauma, but once she wakes up, they'll be able to tell more. I think she's just resting up." M touched her face, gave her a steadying look. "You know Lyda's very particular about how she presents herself."
"I know. I know." Gen's voice was thickening. "If I'd lost them..."
"You didn't." Marguerite's arms were around her again. "You didn't, Gen."
"First it was you and Chloe, and now this..." She lifted her head, looked at Chloe. "Did you tell Noah how I felt...about nearly losing you?"
"Yes," the girl said simply. "In a way. He was as curious about you as you were about him. I told him you were the wonderful type of person who felt bad because you weren't there, even though it wasn't something you could control."
"I can't stand the thought of losing you. Either of you. It was so terrible. You're my family. All of you." Chloe and Marguerite, Lyda and Noah, all of them rolled together.
Chloe's eyes filled with tears again, and the three of them held one another. "You didn't lose us, and you didn't lose them," Marguerite murmured against Gen's hair. "Most importantly to us, we didn't lose you. You're our family too, dear heart."
Gen cried then. Not just because Chloe was crying, or because Gen was the type of person who cried in such situations, but because Marguerite was cry
ing too, silent tears dampening Gen's temple where the woman pressed her jaw against her.
They stayed that way for a while, then a nurse came in and discovered Gen was awake. Which meant she had to be prodded and poked. It turned out her injuries had been miraculously minor, the concussion the main cause of concern, but apparently they'd already done the diagnostics needed to verify no obvious serious brain trauma. Being awake and responsive to questions helped upgrade her status even further. Even so, the doctor made it clear she was going to be kept for at least one night's observation and gave Gen a list of symptoms she was to report to the nurse immediately if they occurred.
It was clear Marguerite and Chloe were taking careful note of that list. She'd wanted them to stay close, so through it all, Marguerite remained at the door, Chloe in the guest chair. Tyler arrived and stood behind Marguerite. His amber-colored eyes brightened, seeing Gen awake. She managed a smile, her eyes filling again when he pressed his lips to his fingers and turned them in her direction.
The more awake she became, though, the more impatient she grew. She needed out of this bed. She needed to go to Noah, to Lyda. Tyler would know where they were. That was probably where he'd been, getting a status report. As soon as the last nurse cleared the room, Gen was putting her feet over the side of the bed and looking for a robe.
Marguerite and Chloe didn't chide her, didn't try to stop her, but Marguerite did insist on a wheelchair. When Tyler disappeared and reappeared with one, she wanted to hold onto them all over again and never let them go. But as much as she wanted that, her arms needed to be around two other people even more.
Marguerite glanced at her husband. "You found that pretty fast. Please tell me you didn't dump a patient out of it."
"He said he was fully capable of walking, and that a true gentleman never denied a lady a chair." Tyler gave Gen a wink.
Their banter should have made her feel better, but the undercurrent of seriousness told her it wasn't because things were rosy.
"Lyda is in the ICU, so she has restricted visiting hours," Tyler said as they rolled down the hall. "Only two people at a time. We won't be able to get you in to see her for about another hour. You can see Noah now." He paused, and Gen sensed a look passing between him and Marguerite behind her. "He needs to see you. He's been having some trouble."
"Trouble?" Gen looked up at Marguerite.
"He refused to stay in the bed, refused to be away from either one of you. They had to sedate and restrain him." Her boss spoke carefully. "They moved him to a psychiatric unit when his agitation disrupted other patients. Tyler arranged for Brendan to stay in the room with him, but you can help calm him down some. If you're up for that."
"Yes. Definitely." It made her all the more anxious to see him. When they arrived at the psychiatric wing, seeing the buzzer on the locked door, the nurses' desk like a guard station, made her nauseous again. "He can't be in here, Tyler. He's not crazy."
Tyler put a hand on her shoulder, his strong fingers a soothing caress over sore muscles. "I know that, Gen. It's to protect him. He has injuries that need care, bed rest, and this is the best place for those they can't keep in bed in the normal ways." He squatted next to the chair, laced his fingers with hers. "Brendan or I have been with him at all times in there. You know I wouldn't let anything happen to him."
"I know." The reassurance was nice, but she knew the words were more than that. He was preparing her for what she was going to see.
Only one person was allowed to go with her, and she chose Marguerite, because she sensed she needed the person with her who was most like Lyda. As they were buzzed in and Marguerite rolled her down the hall, Gen could barely keep herself in her chair. She could empathize with Noah. But she also knew enough about him to know why it was different as well. Tyler had expected her to understand the situation without excess explanation and she did. She accepted that as a privilege, not an obligation.
His door was open. While there was a protective mesh on the window, it did allow sunlight into the room, making it more cheerful. A TV was on, low volume. She paid no attention to it. She had only one focus.
Why did everyone look so pale in the hospital? He was a sailor, a man who worked for a nursery out in the Florida sun, and he looked pallid. And hospital gowns always made everyone look so horribly fragile. His hands were bandaged, and his face had a multitude of cuts. Someone had brushed his hair and clipped it out of his face, but right now the usually appealing look just made him look thin and strained.
Brendan rose from the guest chair as Marguerite rolled her in. "Hey there," he said with effusive warmth. "Noah, you have a visitor."
Noah's eyes blinked open. From his disorientation, she could tell he'd been drugged. Suddenly she was so angry she could barely speak. Why didn't they understand? They could have set him up in Gen's room, if Lyda was too injured. That was all he needed. Of course, as Tyler said, Noah had to have a bed for his injuries, and the rooms were private singles. There was probably some kind of hospital policy that couldn't be circumvented, even by two formidable forces like Marguerite and Tyler. They'd made sure he wasn't alone, though, that he'd had Brendan.
Her freaking out wasn't going to help Noah in the slightest. Marguerite had wheeled her up to his bedside. When she closed her hand over his, his grip turned, bandaged fingers clamped around hers. They'd been torn up by glass and rocks, isn't that what they'd said? Holding onto her so tightly must hurt, but he didn't ease up in the least. A metal clank drew her gaze down to his wrist.
Though the three-inch-wide cuff appeared to be a comfortable fleece-lined leather, hooked to a manacle on the bed rails, it still twisted something hard in her gut to see him restrained by them. "So I see you figured out a way to get a nurse to slap cuffs on you," she said in an unsteady voice. "Lyda is going to be pretty pissed about that."
Struggling through that drugged fog, he reached out with the other hand, only to find it brought up short by the cuff that held it to the opposite rail. When he yanked against it, confused frustration filling his face, she was pushing herself out of the chair. Fuck the hospital. She unbuckled the cuffs. His thrashing had dislodged the blankets and shown her his ankles were cuffed as well, but right now she ignored those and leaned over him. As Brendan steadied her swaying body, she focused on making sure Noah didn't try to rise toward her. The gown was pulled to the side enough she could see the bandaged ribs.
She pressed against him, holding him. "You asshole," she muttered against his temple. "You knew the damn car was going to fall."
His arms slid around her, clumsy, uncoordinated but tight as a vise. When he spoke against her ear, a mere whisper, she choked on a sob.
"I know you'd do anything for us. I know that." She pressed her palm against his face, her forehead now against his as she gazed into his brown eyes. "You're going to have to do something for us now, okay? I hate this. I hate seeing you like this. You're going to let the nurse move you to a normal room."
Her voice strengthened. She channeled that inner Domme Lyda had helped her discover. It felt quite natural, fueled by the strength of her emotions. And even better, she saw it penetrate that haze on Noah's senses like nothing else would, except a command from Lyda herself.
"We're going to try to get you as close to my room as we can. But you have to stay in your bed, listen to all the nurses the way you listen to Lyda. Because that's how we need you to take care of us right now. I've only got a concussion and some scrapes, so I'll come be with you as much as possible, and we'll get phones and text one another so you'll feel like I'm right there with you. Okay? We have to pull it together so we can take care of Lyda. She's going to need us to take care of her, and you know how much she's going to hate that. She's going to be a pain in the ass. We're going to wish we pushed her off that mountain. Tell me you understand."
In response, he pressed his forehead harder against hers. "Sorry." His tongue was thick, but she shook her head, tears dropping onto his face.
"There is utterly noth
ing to be sorry about it. You saved our lives, Noah. But if you'd gone down with that car"--her eyes locked with his--"you would have killed us. We love you, you moron. You're special to us. One of a kind. Irreplaceable."
Did he understand what that meant? How much it meant?
His lips curved, but there was pain in his gaze, such tiredness. She nuzzled his face, pressed her lips to his, tasting him, savoring him, trying not to press too hard because his bottom lip had a cut on it. He didn't care, shifting his hand to the back of her head, holding her fast, making the kiss fierce, needy. She refused to think it would have meant the same to him, whether he'd saved them or Elias or any faceless Domme who claimed him. She didn't want to think about the fact he didn't know how to choose anyone, which might mean he didn't know how to love anyone.
No. That was wrong. He knew how to love. Even if it wasn't the way that normal people loved, that didn't matter.
In such a situation, things like that became a lot less important. Just like Dot had said.
*
Marguerite and Tyler hadn't known Dorothy's contact info in Gatlinburg. Once Gen provided that, Chloe called her, glad to tell her Noah was okay in the same sentence she had to tell her he'd been in a car accident. As soon as he took care of getting Noah moved, Tyler went to retrieve her so she could come see her grandson.
Gen wouldn't be surprised if he'd contacted the trustees personally, or donated a new wing. Regardless of how he did it, the staff was convinced Noah could now be trusted not to escape his bed. When Dot arrived, he was no longer in the psych wing.
Marguerite accompanied her into the ICU the first time she saw Lyda. The sight made Gen cry all over again. They'd shaved her beautiful flame-colored hair and she had a terrifying line of staples for one head wound. She had bruising on her arms and more cuts, some of which had been stitched. Her left leg had a compound fracture and her right arm had also been broken. But the nurse was reassuring.
"She's a hell of a fighter. The brain swelling is going down way faster than we expected."
Gen swallowed. "Is that..." She nodded to a tube that ran into Lyda's head, with a metal attachment piece that made Gen's skin crawl just looking at it.