Laying my head on his chest, I feel his shallow breathing as I cry, bawling for him. Lincoln is dying.
“Please, somebody help! Help!” I sob. My entire body cloaked in his still warm blood.
“I love you Gage, I love you Lincoln.” I mutter, one last moment, as my eyes flutter with heaviness and I fade in the oblivion passing out, clinging to my best friend’s chest.
Chapter Thirty-Three
6 weeks later
Lex
“You about ready to go visit Uncle Lincoln at Memorial Park, Emma?” I ask my pretty little girl, attempting to hold a smile and force myself to keep from breaking down. The past six weeks since Melissa came in and tried to take Emma away, has been unbelievably hard.
“Yes, can I bring him some posies?” she asks, her hand hovering over one of the forty different flower arrangements that have been delivered. We’ve had to strategically place them around the house to keep it from looking too cluttered. The townsfolk of Heartfair are such loving people.
“Yes, sure. You look very pretty today.” I admire her lovely yellow sundress, her dark hair is down her back today and she seems like she’s doing well. The counselor said she’s very resilient and handling the tragedy better than most adults.
She smiles in my direction, tugging a handful of daisies out of a red vase. Walking back over to me, she folds her tiny little hand into mine, we walk out the backdoor, lock up, and she slides into the back of VW Bug that’s parked in the driveway. Laying the daises on the seat, she fastens her own seatbelt like a big girl, as I get behind the wheel. I hate that she’s growing up so fast. Just three weeks ago, I was the one fastening her seatbelt.
“Do you want to listen to Patsy?” I ask, pulling of the driveway.
“Yes, please.” Her sweet innocent voice helps relieve a bit of the guilt and pain. I hate doing this. I hate making this drive. You think that after six weeks you’d start to feel like some sort of normal. Like you’d wake up one morning and the sorrow would lessen just enough to let you breathe. Praying a day would go by when you’re not crying yourself to sleep. But it hasn’t. It seems to worsen as time passes and more guilt poisons my soul.
Driving through the gates of Memorial Park, I hold my breath, inching the car forward until we pull into our spot. The spot Emma and I have parked in every day for the past five weeks. It’s the weekend now so we came earlier than usual. The sun is still high in the cloudless sky and it’s a balmy sixty-five degrees out.
I open my car door and she climbs out from the backseat, proudly carrying a handful of white daisies. Walking to the same place we visit every day, Emma sits down on the grass in front of him, resting the daisies in a pile on the ground beside her.
“I brought you some flowers today, Uncle Lincoln.” She sweetly explains in her tiny voice.
Swallowing hard, I slowly make the last bit of distance and sit on the bench. I wink at Emma, and feign a smile. It’s nearly impossible. I hate being here. I hate this raw sewage feeling boiling in the pit of my stomach. Why can’t I get past this?
“Stop looking so sad today, my girl.” Lincoln’s hand comes over and rests on my thigh and I sigh, letting go of all the raw tension building in me.
“She cried all night, again.” Emma states and I shamefully turn my head, unable to look at either of them.
“Lex, come here.” He coaxes and I can’t. “Lex, you have to come to me.” I don’t want to.
“Lex.” His warning, militant infused Dom tone takes charge and I listen, not looking but scooting so my hip meets his.
His warm, comforting arm rests over my shoulder, side hugging me.
“This wasn’t your fault, Lex, none of it was. Stop blaming yourself.”
He tells me this every day I come to see him, and every day I tell myself I will believe what he says. Then I get in the car, I go home, and the sadness consumes me once more.
Six weeks ago, Melissa came to take Emma from me. Six weeks ago, I refused to let her. Six weeks ago, I stood up to a woman with a loaded shotgun. Six weeks ago, both of the most important men in my life came to save me. Six weeks ago Lincoln, lost both of his legs above the knee down, when he jumped in front of a bullet that was meant for me. He’s been in Memorial Park hospital ever since. In recovery, healing, and trying to gain mobility. Doctor’s said that in another few months they will try to fit him for prosthetic legs. He doesn’t blame me for trying to save my life. But I do. I blame myself for every bit of it. If I had taken the gunfire, he would still have his legs. I might be dead, but I thought I would have died long ago. And to die, knowing that I have felt true love with the man I know is my soul mate. I would have died a happy woman.
I woke up in the hospital two days after the incident. Gage with a bandaged neck sat by my hospital bed, holding my hand. After the initial shot, Melissa had fired off two more rounds out of her semi-automatic shotgun. The first shot hit the window that was intended for me. The second and third was also intended for me, but hit Lincoln in the legs instead of the chest when Gage tackled her. A few buckshot BBs grazed Gage’s neck as it went rogue leaving the shotgun, producing enough blood loss for him to pass out, missing his carotid by mere millimeters. I had a concussion from Lincoln knocking me over and landing on top of me in a pile of glass. The glass shard in my back wedged its way about an inch into my body, producing heavy amounts of blood loss and my feet were torn up pretty bad. I’ve never seen so much blood in my life like I did that day, and it haunts me in my dreams. Not even when Brian nearly killed me all those times did I see that much blood.
When I woke up in the hospital that Wednesday, I was sure Lincoln was dead. I thought I had heard his heart slow down and his breathing nearly diminish when the cops and the paramedics arrived. I only faintly remember being lifted off him before I passed out again. The tough man he is, proves he’s a survivor, seems as though we all are. Time and time again, I overcame the odds. I’m not sure how any of us did it this time though. We got lucky, as I see it.
I didn’t sustain any lasting medical trauma. Gage will be fine. Already added a tattoo to the low-lying scar on his neck of a small old school heart, around one top lobe of the heart is a princess crown and off the opposite side of the heart is an angel wing. Inside of the heart, done in script, is the date Emma called me mommy for the first time, it’s beautifully done. All of Gage’s tattoos are. His entire body is like a giant artistic masterpiece. It’s hot. And the new tattoo, the only one on his neck, peeks half out when he wears his dress shirt and tie, leaving exposed tattoos only on his wrists and tops of his hands and now his neck. I’ve learned the tattoos on the tops of his hands are to conceal even more cigarette burns and a curling iron burn rendered by his mother of course.
But Lincoln, I don’t know how he remains the pillar of strength that he does. I crumble at the sight of him. He is the only one that got any lasting effects from this traumatic event, a bilateral amputation of both of his legs. The one buckshot shell unloaded directly on his left leg severing it immediately. Pieces of the buckshot hit is other leg and when the second shell unloaded, it somehow miss fired or something. I don’t know what happened exactly, but that was the shot that grazed Gage’s neck and ended up hitting Lincoln in the opposite leg in a few spots. Police think some of it might be ricochet. No one can explain it really. I can’t remember much. I just know the outcome.
Originally, the doctors just took off the bottom of the left leg, up past the knee. There wasn’t much left to have to surgically remove by the time they performed the operation. I’m going off what I was told. This isn’t my firsthand view. Then six hours later, they were unable to restore proper blood flow back to the right calf. So, they wanted to just amputate his calf down. Lincoln, in a medical haze, ordered them, apparently rather bluntly, that they were going to ‘Even them out’. Or that’s how his nurse Molly explained it to me. The technical term of what Lincoln has undergone is called a bilateral trans-femoral amputation. And it’s my fault!
“Lex, stop
thinking about that day.” Lincoln shakes me, yanking me from my thoughts.
“I can’t, I ruined your life.” I tear up, and his arms come around my side and tug me onto his lap. I frantically try to get away.
“Dammit, Lex. Stop.” He orders, holding me so tight I can’t move.
Emma stands up and grabs my face in her hands. “Mommy, it’s okay,”
I hate that she has to see me like this. We go through this some days and other days I can handle it. Emma, even though she doesn’t know this, has been the one to make me pull through. If it wasn’t for her, and having to take care of her and watch movies together and eating breakfast in the mornings as a family, I don’t think I could have survived. When people say having children makes your life seem whole. It’s true. Emma is the part of me that makes me feel complete; she’s the missing link to my life. Her and Gage are. My life was aimlessly skating along before they came into my life and now, I would do anything to keep them here. And keep them safe.
Two weeks after the incident, Gage and Emma moved into what is now our home. Roni had hired cleaning crews and carpenters to fix the foyer, to rid it of the bloodied mess. It was perfect by the time we got back from the hospital exactly a week from when the incident occurred.
In the mornings, all three of us and Roni, along with Bob, all have breakfast in the kitchen’s nook. I’ve even started to learn to cook biscuits and gravy, per Roni’s request, being the pregnant woman and all. Then Gage and I both take Emma to school, we usually come home afterward. And most mornings when we do, we make love. On a few occasions, we can’t even make it to our bedroom before we are tearing each other’s clothes off, so we’ve been trying out new spots all over the house. Me, bending over the kitchen counter happens to be one of my new favorites. Although it does make for quite a messy clean up. Either way it’s worth it.
“Lex.” I break from mental trance and realize I’m cuddled into Lincoln’s lap. I’m now completely relaxed and melded into him. Glancing down into my eyes, he offers me a gentle smile.
“My girl is back, it’s nice to see her. I missed you.”
I muster up a faint grin. “I missed you too.”
Looking over to the grass, Emma is gone! Where’d she go?! I try to break away from Lincoln’s abrasive hold. Twisting and jerking. I need to find her! She can’t go running off! What if something happens to her?
“Stop! My Molly just came and took her to get some chocolate milk, to give us some alone time.”
Forcing myself, I relax again and snuggle into his giant man chest. Trying to forget why I’m at the hospital and just relishing in the fact that I am cuddling with my best friend.
“Hey you two.” I hear the sexiest voice call.
“Hey bro,” Lincoln says and Gage takes a seat next to us on the bench right outside the hospital. The bench that Lincoln is strapped to with a belt around the waist through the back slats so he doesn’t fall. If the nurse isn’t out here with him, she forces him to wear it, although he hates it. Relinquishing power isn’t his strong suit and Nurse Molly is his biggest pain in the ass. She cares for him more than Bridget or Rodger do combined.
“She freaked out again didn’t she?” Gage asks, Lincoln.
I feel him nod, “Yes, swimming in her head again, blaming herself. Emma said she cried again last night. Is she at least allowing you to take the pain away?”
This is the conversation Gage has with Lincoln every four days or so, when Gage is able to make it out here with us. He’s been busy with work. Mainly he’s busy putting Melissa, his ex-wife behind bars for good. She’s in police custody and her lawyer is trying to plead insanity in court. Gage is trying to prove otherwise so she isn’t stuck in a comfortable mental hospital. He wants her stuffed into a maximum-security prison. I don’t get involved much. I let him do what he thinks is right. I trust his judgment and his ability as a lawyer. Whatever happens to Melissa will never be enough, not through my eyes anyhow.
“Yes, I try to take the pain away a few times a day. It seems to regulate her sadness when I get her to come. I do think she’s getting better though. Her doctor said she’s going through stages of grief. The crying is much less and she smiles a lot more. Has even started to cook and she never sways from spending time with or taking care of Emma. As long as we keep her from my dad’s wife, I think we’ll be good.”
His dad’s wife, arg! Don’t get me started on that home wrecker. We go to Gage’s father’s house every Sunday for lunch or supper. His dad Henry loves me, as does his sister, brother in-law, and his nephews, who have crushes on me. It’s cute. Then you have Maxwell, who basically dotes on me and flirts from the time I walk in, until the time I leave, drives Gage nuts. Then you have Chelsea, the woman who spends more time trying to seduce Gage than she does breathing. Low cut shirts, short shorts, sexy comments, and that’s just the tip of the sleazy slutbag iceberg.
Two weekends ago when we went to his dads. We walked inside and Tasha was cooking. I go to help with what I can, knowing it can’t be much, but I really enjoy her company. However, I shouldn’t have left Gage’s side. Ten minutes after arriving I’m walking to the bathroom, and inside I hear Chelsea saying, “Come on Gage, just a little, I just want a little taste.”
Gage sternly replied with a clear grumble in this tone, “Let me out of this bathroom, Chelsea. I’m with Lex and you’re my father’s wife. If that’s not enough to convince you that what you are doing is trashy, then let me be more forward. You’re not my type. I’m not attracted to you. If we were both single, I still wouldn’t touch you.” He was fairly calm and collected, I wasn’t. I stood outside the bathroom, frantic, and so angry I wanted to gut the slut. — Pardon my French.
She argued with him a few moments about showing him a good time and about five minutes later the door swung open. They both came out and she started to fix her hair and skirt, winks at him and licks her lips. Acting like something had just happened. The scared shitless expression on his face told me he thought I might believe her slutty little show. And when he opened his mouth to try to explain, I turned to her. That’s when something came over me. I grabbed her skimpy light blue tank top, shoved her against the hallway wall, and glared, making threatening eye contact.
“Don’t you ever and I mean ever, touch or try to touch what is mine again. Gage is not interested in you. Take the hint. When a man says you’re trashy, it’s not a good thing.” That’s when I glanced over to Gage, conveying with my eyes how much I love him, and he finally loosened his edgy stance.
I released stupid Chelsea and she scampered off. Then Gage and I ended up back into the bathroom, making out like hot and horny teenagers. Lifting me onto the bathroom vanity, he entered me, and we heatedly got lost in a passionate moment of sheer unadulterated ecstasy. I came so hard I had to bite his shoulder to keep from screaming. Needless to say, the rest of that day she stayed away from Gage and never uttered a single word to me. Tasha noticed something off and I told her what happened. Not sure, what Tasha did after that, but I knew she was livid, and it wouldn’t have surprise me if she didn’t put Chelsea in her place, as well. Chelsea though, much to our amazement, hasn’t peeped a word about me being who I am to anybody. No rumors, no stares, nothing but the normalcy you expect from a small town that feels like a close-knit family most of the time.
“Angel, did you want to tell Lincoln the good news?” Gage interrupts my musings. I’ve spent more time in my head the past month, than I have since Brian held me captive. I really need to snap out of it.
“Sure.” I peer up to the delightful expression marking my best friends face. You couldn’t tell he was hurting even if he was. Even though he swears, his life is fine. No, it’s not. It’s my fault and Lincoln has paid the ultimate price. A feeling I am quite certain I will never get past.
“Go on.” Lincoln’s head comes down and kisses the top of my head.
“Lucy is doing well in her training. I spoke with Mike at the facility and he said that she would probably be able to co
mplete the program and be a certified service dog in another six months. But he wants to start in a few weeks to bring Lucy to see you so you can start one-on-one training. He thinks since she was already your dog before we entered her into the service program and since you’ve had her in training previously; it would be better this way.”
Lucy, three weeks ago, after pulling a huge amount of strings, was admitted into a program for service dogs. They don’t typically accept Pit Bulls or dogs that weren’t bred specifically for this cause. However, Lincoln was adamant and refused to use any dog other than her. Lincoln being a cop and military veteran, they bent the rules and took her in. I got a call last night from them stating that she is doing unbelievably well and adjusting better than they’d hoped.
“That’s great. I miss that pup.”
“Daddy!” I hear my princess yell and I turn to see Emma walking beside Molly on their way out of the hospital. Both of them skipping, holding hands. Molly really is a great nurse. I like her way better than the rest of Lincoln’s nurses, maybe it’s because she keeps him on his…. Okay…not a good idea to be talking about toes.
Running and jumping into Gage’s lap, all four of us are now seated on the bench. Molly stands next to us. Observing Lincoln and then looking to me and back again, three or four times. A smile spreads across her youthful face. Molly a few years younger than I am. Curvy in all the right places and exceptionally short. She has the prettiest light caramel long hair that she always wears in a ponytail and her eyes are the most unique shade of green that I’ve ever seen. It’s like a mix between the color of fresh grass and a burst of olive green around the pupil. I once asked her if they were contacts. They’re not.
“Looks like somebody needed to cuddle with Lex today. Better than what you were doing last night. That had nurse Abby refusing to be your nurse ever again.” The dark comical edge to Molly’s tone is a mix between serious and joking, although it wouldn’t surprise me if Lincoln turned off some of the nurses. He’s been a handful.
Lex (Unconventional Hearts) Page 39