by Juli Valenti
“One second here. I apologize, my computer thinks it’s Friday or something and is moving slower than molasses in July in Arkansas. Can I get you a coffee or something while we wait for an answer?”
Her smile was one that once upon a time he would’ve jumped on. There were dozens of unspoken words in it, including “I want you.” Most would think that was a cocky thing to think, a misogynistic thing, but for Fallen it was nothing more than years of experience to know the facts. Today though, it did nothing but make him feel emptier inside than he already did.
“No thank you. Just please tell me where Sarah O’Fallen is.”
The girl’s face fell. “Are you sure? It’s been freezing all day; it could take a minute. A cup of coffee will only take me a second.”
“I said no, thank you. I’ll wait all day for an answer if I have to. And if you can’t give it to me, on this computer, I’m sure there is someone else in this hospital that can give me the information I need without hitting on me at the same time.”
“I’m ... I’m sorry. I didn’t mean ... hang on. Here we go, it’s up,” the girl stammered, clicking around on the computer screen and hitting buttons on her keyboard. “Ah, she was taken up into surgery. That’s on the —“
“I know where it is, been there plenty of times. Thanks.” With that, he pivoted on his heel and went in search for the stairs.
“There’s an elevator right —“
He ignored the perky nurse’s attempts at help. He didn’t want the elevator. He wanted the stairs, he needed to keep moving.
Finding the stairwell, he started his ascent up. Once he reached the second floor landing he flinched - there was a sharp, shooting pain radiating from his ankle upward, and he lowered to check what it was. There, on his calf, was a bullet wound he hadn’t noticed, adrenaline and his thoughts distracting him from the pain. Luckily it had gone clean through the other side, and, looking at entrance and exit points, he could tell he’d need stitches, though they could wait. Sarah.
He reached the fourth floor and slammed the door open, surprised by what he found. Standing in the hallway, each and every one of them covered in blood, were Poet, Titan, Teagan, and Train. His heart soared for only a heartbeat to see his brothers there to support him and his woman, falling when he realized the blood they wore was that of those they cared for. Cyrus wasn’t there, and Fallen felt bad he hadn’t thought about his brother and the pain he was going through in a while.
“Cyrus?” he asked in greeting, grasping arms and leaning in to each of them.
“At the clubhouse. He’s not in good shape, I’m not going to lie ... but he wanted to be alone with the Katie.”
“Think it was a good idea leaving a man who just lost his wife with his infant daughter, alone?”
Poet raised an eyebrow, and for the first time he noticed her bridal makeup was smeared, black streaks across her face where she’d clearly wiped at her eyes. Blood was mixed in with the ash, but from a cursory glance he could tell it wasn’t hers. “No, I don’t. But I was outvoted. We left a couple sweeties there, and Norma from the restaurant is cooking and keeping an eye on him.”
Fallen nodded, opening his mouth to speak but Titan beat him to it. “Heard our little SL problem is no longer as big a problem, but it still is? Care to elaborate?”
Instinct made him bow his chest slightly, a man who wasn’t his president questioning him on his own club decisions. But, he reminded himself, my decisions affected Bishops Reign, too.
“I took care of the biggest problem. The rest of them had choices —“
“So we heard ... basically lay down and die or join us. Do you think we needed that many prospects? What the hell are we going to do with them all, Fallen?” Poet asked, though her words were demanding, her tone softened.
“Fuck if I know. They didn’t seem to deserve to die right at that moment ... at least not unless they chose to. Can we move on? Where’s Sarah? How is she?”
“Well...” Poet started, looking at Titan and then to Train.
“Oh shit, man,” Fallen said, panic filling his being. He knew what words were going to come from her, her pause, her hesitation not a good thing. His President was always direct, to the point, it was one of the things he respected about her.
Sarah was gone.
The world began to spun, toppling and turning around him.
Visions of memories filled him. Her in her dress staring up at him from their table. Her smile as she took in the decorations. Her lifeless body in his arms, covered in blood.
Vomit rose in his throat and he fell to his knees once more, heaving onto the sterile hospital tile. A ringing filled his ears, and hands were on his shoulders, but he shook them off. It was too much.
Sarah, my sweet, beautiful, perfectly innocent Sarah.
“Fallen, God damn it, get up. She’s not dead.”
And, as quickly as he heard those words, his vision blacked and down he went.
Chapter Twenty-one
Fallen
“Damn it, brother, wake up,” Poet’s voice filtered through his mind and he opened his eyes, blinking rapidly at the bright light piercing his vision.
“What happened?” he asked, waving his brothers away to sit and then to stand.
“Well, I was about to update you on your girl, and you flipped the fuck out - spewing your guts up and then blacking out. Took everything in all of us to keep the nurses from carting your ass to your own room on a fucking stretcher. Which, by the way, did you know you were shot? You’re bleeding all over the damned place.”
He nodded. “Yeah, discovered that about halfway here,” he said quickly. “Now, please, save my life and tell me how Sarah is. I vaguely remember hearing someone say she wasn’t dead?”
“I told you that,” Teagan said, the usually vibrant, fiery redhead seeming dull in the muted light of the hospital. “She’s not dead, dude. I promise,” she added at his pointed look.
“Jesus! Someone please tell me what the fuck is going on with my girl!” he all but yelled, his voice echoing through the hallway they stood in.
“Okay, okay,” Poet appeased him, both her hands up, trying to placate him before dropping to her sides and fiddling with the fabric of the elaborate dress she still wore. “The damage was bad, I’m not going to lie. The bullet she got hit with in the back, went straight through the front, like we thought. It collapsed her long and caused something called pneumo-hemothorax to occur. Train moving as fast as he did to give the air an outlet helped save her life.
“That being said, she lost a lot of blood and now has a surgical tube inserted into her side, into her lung, to let the air and blood out. She’s going to be here for a while, until her lung heals enough to re-inflate. They can’t tell us if that will take a day, a week, or a month.”
“Okay...” he answered, processing the information they gave him. “So why are all of you out here and not in there with her? She’s probably scared to death and all alone.”
Poet sighed, obviously about to give him news he wasn’t going to like. “Well, first, she hasn’t woken up yet - they aren’t sure if her brain was deprived of oxygen from the collapse too long, or if the trauma and shock is keeping her asleep, but they’re, again, giving her time without being able to tell us how long that’ll be. Also, her in case of emergency contact, is Vinny. He’s the only one aside from family they’ll let in.”
“He’s dead.”
His words were a statement of fact; no emotion colored his words or betrayed anything further. He didn’t give a fuck the little shit was gone ... only that he hadn’t been the one to do it. Titan’s face changed, like he was going to press for details, but it was Train who tapped him on the arm and shook his head, silently advising him not to.
“Well, that’s why we’re out here,” added Teagan helpfully but quietly.
Fallen nodded and, his steps sure, moved toward the nearest nurses desk. When yet another perky girl peered up and him and opened her mouth, he held up a hand to stop her
.
“I want to see Sarah O’Fallen. I’m not on her list, I’m not her emergency contact, I’m not her family. But, if she were awake, I would be the one she wants in there with her. That girl is the love of my life, I’d do damn near anything to save her life, and if you don’t tell me where the hell she is I will beat down every goddamned door in this godforsaken hospital and I will find her my damn self.”
“Well that was tactful,” he heard Titan say softly behind him, followed by a chuckle and an “oomph,” more than likely from a well-placed elbow from his new wife. And he was probably right; Fallen doubted it was the most polite way to go about getting what he wanted, but his polite button was broken and he just wanted to find his fucking girl.
The young nurse shook her head, but Fallen mirrored her. “No. You aren’t going to tell me no. You see, I don’t give two flying shits if you like me or my friends out here. I don’t care if you think rules are rules and you’re going to abide by them, because, let me tell you something. Rules are for the weak. Rules are for those who don’t have the balls to challenge something else. Now, look at that little computer screen, tap the keyboard, and find my girlfriend before I hold true to what I’m saying.”
He watched as she swallowed hard - the womanizing Fallen gone, the one who used charms to get where he wanted to get. No, this version of himself scared her, made her think twice about giving him a hard time. The blood on his hands, his shirt, his pants, and the gun in his waistband probably didn’t help that scene any either. Good, he thought. Be scared, little girl, and tell me where Sarah is.
Taking a deep breath, the young nurse looked from the glowing computer screen to his face and back again. Other than her head, she didn’t move, weighing her options and what to do. After a few long heartbeats, she finally shook her head, threw her long blonde ponytail over the side of her shoulder, and began typing. Three more seconds and she finally spoke.
“She’s in ICU; it’s just down that hallway,” she pointed. “Make your first right and go through the double doors. She’s in bay forty-three,” she hesitated for a moment, swallowing once more, her hand moving to rub at her forehead. “I can’t promise that the nurses aren’t going to question you when you get there. Take this ID and put it on - if they say anything, please don’t yell at them or hurt them; none of us deserve that. Just send them to me. My name’s Aubrey, I’ll make sure you get clearance.”
Fallen snatched the piece of plastic from the counter and turned to start walking, but forced himself to turn back. “Thank you,” he said, trying to soften his tone and unsure if it was working. “Aubrey. Thank you, Aubrey.”
Giving her no time to think of a response, or to change her mind about who or what he was, he strode purposefully down the hallway. Aubrey’s directions were easy enough, the large sign with ICU printed in bold letters confirming he’d gone the right way. Even more luckily, the nurses station was empty, no one with pursed lips and a chip on their shoulder to try to stop him.
As he approached bay forty-three, his footsteps slowed. He could see a tiny body in a large bed, but it took a moment for him to recognize her. Her gorgeous brown hair was dull and messily strewn across her head. Her flawless skin was barely visible, though her face as ashen, showing no proof of any smiles or blush usually filling her cheeks. More than that, were all the wires. A weird bag hung off the side of the bed, a tube leading up and underneath the covers - the tube leading to her lungs. She wore one in her nose, pumping oxygen in her system, and one in her arm leading to fluids on an IV stand.
His knees tried to buckle but he refused to let them, forcing himself closer to her. She looked nothing like the Sarah he knew. She was always so vibrant and full of life, her belief in the goodness of man making her seem strong. But the girl in the bed in front of him? That girl was frail and broken, and he hated it.
Hate wasn’t the right term. He despised, detested, abhorred the idea that she was there. The idea that she wasn’t just going to open her eyes and smile her shy smile at him tore at his heart. He should’ve been there to protect her, he should’ve already been armed and had her come packing too. She shouldn’t have been an easy target for Vinny and his fucking Static Law puppies to take out so easily. If she survived the ordeal, it wasn’t a mistake he’d allow them to repeat.
Not “if” she survives. She will survive, he chided himself, stomping the voice in his head down with a shitkickered boot.
Glancing around, he snagged a chair from nearby and pulled it beside her bed. Fallen moved cautiously, careful to avoid getting caught up in any of the machines or wires. The last thing he wanted was to potentially hurt her more than she was already hurting.
Now that he thought it, he hadn’t asked if she was in pain, or if they had her on a cocktail of painkillers. More, he didn’t know if she’d be able to feel him, hear him, or know he was there. But he would be there. He’d stay for the rest of his forever if he had to.
Hesitantly, he reached for her hand, the one without any marring from needles. He silently said a prayer that moving it wouldn’t cause any pain in her ribs or chest, and interlaced his fingers with her. Fallen bent forward and placed a kiss on the top of her hand before resting his forehead against her skin.
“Christ, baby. I’m so worried about you. I’m so sorry this ever happened - you need to know that no way in hell with it ever again. Vinny’s gone for good. Don’t worry, I didn’t do it; someone beat me to the fucking punch. I had plans, but, it is what it is.
“Don’t worry about any of it, though, Sarah. The only thing you need to do, the only thing I beg of you, is to wake up. To let your body be strong, to fight the damage that asshole did to you, and come back to me. Please come back to me. I know your mind is better than him, better than all of us, and no way will you go down without fighting. It’s in your instincts. You proved that when you protected Teagan at that restaurant. So that’s what you’ve got to do now - fight. Fight like you did that day. Fight for me.”
No response met his words, though he wished they would, prayed they would. A small part of him had hoped for a scene from a movie: he’d reach his ladylove, pour his heart out, and, like magic, she’d open her eyes and be perfectly okay. The other part of him, the much larger, jaded side, expected nothing more than what he got. Only the steady beeping of the machines around him, the hissing from monitors, filling the space around him.
Regardless his hopes, he knew he couldn’t create miracles. He wasn’t God or Jesus, nor was he a prophet of some sort or even less than, an illusionist who performed card tricks. He was just a man, in love with a woman. Worse, he’d never told her. He should have told her. He’d planned on it, after the wedding, when they’d gotten home. Because damn, every time he’d looked at her in her dress, with her hair and makeup done, and the slight twinkle in her eyes at all things wedding, she was more than he ever imagined.
Sarah was always gorgeous to him, perfect in every way. But done up the way she was, she was a fucking song. One Elvis or Eric Clapton sang about, being wonderful tonight. Fallen had wanted it to be special, his declaration of love, one that was real and not cliche or in bed. It had been a struggle lately not to merely blurt the words out, to say them as he left the room or dropped her off at work. Even when she was dressed in her scrubs, eyes red and her mind shot from a long day at St. Agnes, the will to proclaim his love was strong.
Yet, the day, life, fate if one believed in such a thing, had other ideas. He was not only robbed of his revenge, of defending her honor, he was also denied the opportunity to tell her how he felt. Did she know? Surely she did. He was different with her than he’d ever been with anyone else - and, from what he heard of the others talking, they’d told her as such. Did she believe them? She had to ... He came home to her every night unless he was out of town for a gig or the club. He’d moved her into the clubhouse and his apartment, ensuring she had space for herself in case she ever needed it, or wanted to get away from him. The latter was something he anticipated; sometimes he wish
ed he could get away from him, too.
Fallen remained where he was, unmoving, for he didn’t know how long. His legs had long since gone to sleep, sending shooting needle feelings up through his knees. The blood on his hands and arms and clothes had hardened, stiffening to the point of discomfort. All he could smell was the metallic aroma of blood mixed with hospital antiseptic. But he didn’t move.
At some point someone brought in a tray on wheels, a covered plate of food along with a bottle of water, a can of soda, and a cup of coffee atop it. He was sure it was given with good intentions, to keep him comfortable, except he didn’t want it. It remained untouched.
The entire time, his hand stayed threaded with Sarah’s. He murmured to her, hummed under his breath, ran his thumb over a small patch of her skin. He thought of stories to tell her, of things they’d never spoken of - from his childhood, to how he got involved in the club, and even how he learned to play guitar.
He told her how when he was twelve he heard a band play and fell in love with the music. That had been the first day of the rest of his life, the first time he knew truly what filled his soul. The notes and lyrics had soothed a part of his spirit and he wished he could go back to feel the same way again. He told her how he’d locked himself in the closet with a beat-up, second-hand electric guitar and an amplifier. With his tape player and headphones, he listened to that band, listened to each note, over and over, figuring out where each was on the guitar.
Fallen explained how it was long before the days of smartphones, Google, and YouTube. He didn’t have the option of watching videos, and his family had been too poor to afford legit lessons. So, hour after hour, day after day, he taught himself. And, when he was only sixteen, he’d gotten invited to go on tour and open for a major label band.
In hindsight it was where his manwhore tendencies had started. Being on a tour bus, visiting city after city, even different countries, it was a lonely life. He wanted the warmth of a woman’s body, the comfort after a long grueling day rocking his heart out. And none of it had mattered - he gave them what they wanted, a moment with him, and he’d gotten what he thought he wanted.