by Ava Claire
I exhaled when no one, including Angelique, even acknowledged his statement.
Eichmann just shrugged his tailored shoulders and took a slug of scotch, wincing as it went down. He peered at the label and whistled. "Very good taste, Mrs. Whitmore."
"Only the best for my honored guests," Alicia said, sarcasm dripping from her words like honey.
"Tomás told me that you had a mouth on you," Eichmann laughed, his eyes dark and cruel. "I told him that we could save you for last. There's just something about breaking a bitch. Like taming a wild stallion."
Eichmann blew a kiss at her and Jacob popped out of his seat, smoke billowing from his nose, ready to take on anyone that tried to hurt his mother.
Eichmann wasn't having it, using the gun to lower my husband back down. "Don't worry, you'll be dead long before we touch a hair on her head. I'm not a monster." Eichmann returned to the bottle, wrapping his fingers around it nice and slow. He was stalling...and everyone knew it. I was just hoping he wasn't about to call for Tomás. The man’s absence would quickly reveal that The Whitmore Estate was bare, except for the people in this room.
His brow furrowed, the classical music filling in the blank space, but not answering the questions that he was about to ask, ruining everything.
Where were the cops? This was a good neighborhood. I was surprised they didn't have a private unit exclusive to this zip code.
"Where is-"
"Is your silence your answer?"
My mouth was open, but the answer flew from my husband's lips. Deep and commanding, like his gaze, he slyly interrupted Eichmann’s attempts to instigate some sort of roll call...and get out of answering the question.
"You see, I'm going to be a father soon," Jacob continued, his eyes sweeping from me to my belly. "And my answer to that question would be immediate. Without hesitation. Do I love my child? Fuck yes."
I didn't think it was possible to love Jacob Whitmore anymore than I already did and every day, with every word, he showed me that my love for him was a limitless, powerful thing.
"I haven't even seen her face yet and I know that I would go to the ends of the world for her. That I'll squeeze into tiny chairs and drink invisible tea with her stuffed animals. That I'll be that obnoxious father that records every recital and game, and will berate the referee for every call against her team, even if he's right." Jacob's nostrils flared with emotion and while I knew he'd cut off several fingers before he'd cry, especially in front of Lars Eichmann, the love and devotion he felt for our baby beamed from every word that fell from his lips. "I'm going to run background checks on every boy she brings home and even if the twerp passes with flying colors, I'll still put the fear of God in him. I'm going to be the loudest and proudest father at her high school graduation. I'm going to walk her down the aisle and..." He stopped, clearing his throat and slicing a hand through his dark locks. Gathering himself. I was crying enough for the both of us, Even Alicia was sniffling.
Angelique was quiet as the grave.
"I'm going to love the hell out of her,” Jacob said with a finality that confirmed that I was the luckiest woman alive. “Because that's what a father does. Period."
I wanted to reach over the table and grip Jacob's hand. Hell, I wanted to climb on top of the table and eat his face, but I knew that we were standing on a precipice. Jacob had literally just given Eichmann the right answer. All he had to say was, 'Of course I love my daughter'. Then the rest of us were screwed.
My teeth scissored into my bottom lip as I peeked over at Angelique. With all her beauty and confidence and talent, she was stripped down. A beating heart. A daughter who just wanted to be loved by her father.
Eichmann raised the bottle of scotch to Jacob. "Quite the speech. You've certainly earned the tacky #1 dad mug that's in your future."
I screamed as the man hurled the bottle in his hand...directly at his daughter.
She didn't scream.
She dodged.
A little too deftly for someone that wasn't used to such things. Like she'd had years of practice, learning how to bob and weave when her father was in one of his moods.
The bottle collided with the far wall, shattering into a million pieces. Robbing the room of sound, the music even pausing like it knew we'd gone past the point of no return.
I looked at Jacob, then Alicia.
We were all stunned.
Eichmann?
He was just standing there. Not affected. Not even breathing hard.
I saved Angelique for last, expecting to see those big blue eyes of her swimming, drowning in emotion, but she mirrored her father's countenance.
Standing there.
Unaffected.
Not breathing at all.
She tucked her hair behind her ears, her movements slow and methodical. She smoothed the front of her dress and raised her chin.
And then she lost her damn mind. She flew towards him, screaming like a banshee, wide eyed and broken.
She had no weapon, nothing but her pain. The agony that there was no cure for painted her screeches black and red and blue. Discolored, like the bruises she'd likely hid and explained away growing up. Loving a father that seemed to know only violence, deception, and hate.
Jacob rounded the table, gripping me and Alicia, wheeling us towards the exit. I was like dead weight, anchored as Eichmann raised his gun.
Would be really shoot his daughter?
His own flesh and blood?
Blood roared in my ears and I saw his mouth moving, but I couldn't make out the words. Jacob was repeating one word over and over.
Run!
But I couldn't move.
A thunderclap exploded outside the room. It sounded like a stampede of something clawing in my ears. I started sobbing when I saw the blue. So filled with relief that I was overcome when I heard the police yelling for Eichmann to drop his weapon.
I was tired of guns being pointed at me, but there were several sets now, screaming for us all to get on our knees. The pop of gunfire made me drop instantly, my cheek flush with the hardwood floor.
I blinked, chairs and glassware flying and exploding around me. Through the wreckage, I saw Eichmann. Locked eyes with him and realized that his eyes were no longer empty because he was soulless.
They were empty because he was gone.
Angelique pummeled her father’s chest like the blows would bring him back. Screeched that they'd killed him.
Before I could scream no, she picked up his gun and a second hail of bullets erupted and she collapsed on top of her father's body.
So much blood.
So much pain.
Jacob's arms were around me, covering me as he screamed that we were the hostages. Not to shoot.
His hand was on my belly and he kept saying that he loved me. Over and over again, like he wanted to make sure that I knew it, beyond a shadow of a doubt. That we would be okay.
And I believed him.
He pulled the hand that was stroking my belly to my face and it was warm. Wet.
The smile on his face evaporated when he pulled his hand away and stared at his palm.
It was tinged with blood.
I looked down at my belly. "The baby...”
There was blood expanding in a circle on the front of my dress, and the world was too much. Too heavy. Too filled with gunpowder, sweat and copper.
"We need help over here!" Jacob bellowed, his face going hazy. "My wife needs a doctor!”
Chapter Twenty-Five
“She's way cuter in person."
"Lindsay!"
"What? I mean, you have to admit that when this chick first came on the scene she seemed pretty basic."
"Who wouldn't be basic beside Jacob Whitmore?"
"Rachel Laraby wa-"
"Rachel Laraby is freaking crazy. I, for one, think that Leila and Jacob are adorable together!"
"You thought Brangelina were adorable, and look how that turned out."
"I still think they'll work it out,
don't you?"
I frowned.
Or tried to frown. You know the kind of exhaustion where doing anything, even breathing, feels like a task beyond your reach? Where moving, even a single muscle, is like Crossfit level difficult? I wasn't even on that level. I was stuck in the darkness, trying to just get my eyelids to blink. To save me from this reality tv purgatory, where some commentator was definitely no fan of mine and the other was delusional.
"Ugh, your opinion doesn't count anyway. You've always discriminated against Brad. You prefer the Vin Diesels and Cade Wallaces of the world."
I tried to part my lips, to end this gossip fest before the other woman started listing off more women she thought were better suited for my husband.
My eyelids fluttered.
Why were there two women gossiping when I was sitting right here anyway.
I tried to string together the events that brought me here.
We were at The Whitmore Estate. Angelique had run at her father, right towards his gun when the cops showed up and the bullets started flying.
The baby!
Jacob!
Where was Jacob?
My jaw twitched and the darkness turned burnt orange. Like the sunset.
Like the fire that seemed to be incinerating my throat.
"Fine, whatever. I still can't believe that they went through all of that. I googled that Eichmann dude. Trafficking, gun running...it was like some movie but worse because it happened in real life. They deserve a happily ever after just for all they've been through, Shonda. I mean, yeah, the bruising is pretty intense but Jacob Whitmore is still hot as hell. And they could have lost the baby!”
I was still getting my bearings but something inside me sighed. ‘Could have lost the baby’. that meant...
"Nobody deserves anything," Shonda grumbled and I felt something shooting through me like lightning and the discomfort in my throat lessened. "Just make sure you don't do too much snooping. Did you hear about Margo?"
"Mmhm," Lindsay confirmed as I finally got my lips to work, lifting my tongue to the roof of my mouth, trying to wet my lips but I couldn’t make my body listen.
I was putting it together, thanks to the two women chatting it up, unaware that I'd woken up. Remembering.
"She peeked at Mrs. Whitmore's records to check on the baby.”
Was the baby okay?
I told my hands to shoot to my belly, but that was beyond my current abilities. Then, almost like she knew I needed some reassurance, as close to a gurgle or a smile as we could muster in our present state, I felt that tingle of energy. I hadn't even heard from the nurse or the doctor, and was barely listening to the conversation for further confirmation, and I just knew.
The baby was okay.
"I guess she got tired of waiting for that promotion,” Lindsay whistled.
"They don't mess around with HIPAA, though. Now she's unemployed."
“So not worth it. Even though one of the photographers offered me a thousand dollars. In cash."
The burnt orange dissipated and my eyelids fluttered. I wet my lips and actually felt my tongue slide across my bottom lip, then the top. I tried out my voice.
"I-I would have taken the money."
"Oh my God, she's awake!” The higher pitched one, Lindsay, shrieked. “Go get the doctor, Shonda!"
Shonda didn't waste any time, booking it out of the room in a flurry of blue scrubs and chestnut colored hair. The second nurse, Lindsay, blushed a color that rivaled her curly red hair. She busied herself with my vitals, suddenly speechless as she fought hard to avoid my gaze.
I wanted to tell her that I had no intention of lodging any complaints, but I decided to mess with her a bit, clamping my lips together and faux glaring at her until I was tempted to offer her some water and check her pulse.
"Mrs. Whitmore, I want to apologize for anything you may have o-overheard. It was highly unprofessional."
I just stared at her, giving nothing away. Barely blinking. Having trouble keeping up the ruse because she looked ready to promise her first born if I didn't ask to speak to the charge nurse.
"And Shonda didn't mean any of that,” she added. “About you being basic. She's just jealous. Who wouldn't be? You landed Jacob Whitmore."
"I think I'm the lucky one, because I landed Leila.”
Both of us turned our attention to the door, swooning in unison.
When I saw Jacob, giving my nurse a hard time was the last thing on my mind. I gave up the ghost, a smile streaking across my face. I was still getting used to this being awake thing and I forgot that sitting up wasn’t something I could do solo in a hospital bed, surrounded by IVs and beeping machinery.
"Mr. Whitmore!" I practically saw the hearts beating out of Lindsay's eyes, then she quickly caught herself, blushing even harder. She whipped back to me. I was still trying to unsuccessfully pull myself up, then I almost snapped my fingers. They usually had remotes or a little control panel on the rail.
"Let me help!”
Even though the remote was attached to the bed and Lindsay literally picked it up, tried to pass it to me, then dropped it again when Jacob rounded the bed to where she stood, it was clear she was blustering and trying her best. Jacob offered one hand for assistance and the other to officially introduce himself.
"I've got it," he said gently, easing the remote from her hand. "I'm Jacob. Thank you for taking such good care of my wife."
Lindsay nearly melted into a puddle beside the bed, giggling like a schoolgirl. “Oh, I’m just doing my job.” She covered her face, peeking out at me from in between her fingers. “Which doesn’t include commenting on my patient’s love life. Mrs. Whitmore-”
“Lindsay, it’s cool.” I leaned toward her, not having to make my voice discreet because my vocal chords still seemed to be adjusting. “And thanks for having my back.”
“Always,” Lindsay beamed. Still buzzing and surely armed with one hell of a story to share, she slowly backed out of the room, casting a final, peevish grin at Jacob. “It was very nice to meet you.” She cleared her throat and did an awkward wave/salute combo, straight out of my book. “Nice to meet you both. I’ll give you some privacy.”
“Thanks, Lindsay,” Jacob replied, gripping my hand with both of his and giving me a long, soulful look that made me want to melt into a puddle. “Truly.”
Lindsay lingered for a few more moments, taking a mental picture of us, complete with a sigh.
Once the door clicked shut, I stuck my tongue out at him. “Charming the nurses while your pregnant wife is indisposed, I see.”
“You caught me,” he winked, leaning in and brushing his lips over my earlobe. There’s just something about facial swelling and internal bleeding that drives the women wild.” The first part of his sentence was evident, but he knew that he’d been a little too flippant about something serious immediately as it came out. He tried to cover it with a smile and a peck on my forehead. “I’m fine, babe.”
I took both sides of his face in my hand, then let go and started pulling at his clothes, for non sexual reasons, like I could visually see his pain. “Internal bleeding? Jesus, Jacob. That doesn’t sound like you’re fine. Shouldn’t you be in a hospital bed somewhere?”
He turned his head and planted a kiss in my palm. “I’m a Whitmore, remember?” His blue eyes narrowed on me and he saw that I was definitely not amused, he tried again. “I’m alright, babe. A clean bill of health.”
“Other than the internal bleeding?” I harrumphed.
“Minor internal bleeding,” he reassured me. “And it’s being monitored, so you don’t need to worry about me. You don’t need to worry about anything right now, it’s not good for you and the baby.”
“Oh, how convenient,” I pouted. “Changing the subject.”
“Damn right,” he smirked. “Because that’s enough about me-”
“Says the man sporting one gorgeous, baby blue eye.” I joked, grazing his jaw with my fingertips. Only letting it go because unlike
before, my touch didn’t make him wince in pain. Either he really was okay or he was on some heavy duty painkillers. Either one suited me just fine, I just didn’t want him hurting. Not that he’d admit it. “Maybe you can bring eye patches back.”
“Leila.”
It was clear he wanted to change the subject and I couldn’t think of a better subject change than backtracking. Figuring out why I was in this hospital bed in the first place.
"What happened?" I pressed, bringing a hand to my throat, trying to push the image of the bodies from my mind. I didn't want to spend one more moment on them or what could have been. "I remember you covering me." Like I was back in the dining room, chairs toppling over, glass shattering, goosebumps erupting all over me, I shuddered. "Then I was lightheaded, and the rest is...unclear.”
Jacob massaged the back of his neck and I knew he was reliving it too. His eyes were colored with renewed worry as he recounted the missing pieces. "After they shot Angelique, I kind of threw myself on top of you. Shielded you because I knew all it took was a ricochet to..." He didn't finish, locking his jaw.
"I'm okay," I whispered, my nostrils flaring as tears bolted to my eyes. "We're okay."
"When I touched your face after I held you and realized you were bleeding, I put all else besides finding you help out of my mind. You blacked out and then faded in and out of consciousness on the ambulance ride. You'd wake up screaming, 'Don't!'."
I tore my eyes from him, looking down at my lap. "Jesus."
"The doctor said it was PTSD and dehydration and exhaustion. They gave you a sedative and they've been keeping you hydrated and under observation."
All of that was well and good, but... "And the baby?"
"The baby is fine, Lay," Jacob answered, gritting his teeth like he wished he'd led with that. "You're both gonna be fine.” He flashed me a glimmer of a smile. “My mother is fine too.”
Fine.
There were two people who were definitely not fine.
Both of them...
They were...
I swallowed, my throat still raw. My words tiny and barely above a whisper. “They’re dead, aren’t they?”