Guardian (The Guardian Trilogy)

by Sara Mack

  All I can see are stars.

  Three loud knocks at the back door make both Patrick and I jump. BAM! BAM! BAM!

  Patrick looks down at me and covers my mouth with his hand. “You say nothing,” he warns me.

  “Emma!”

  It’s Dane.

  “Emma! It’s me!” he shouts. “We need to talk!” He pounds on the door again.

  My eyes flash to James. “Scream Emma!” he yells at me panicked. “Scream!”

  I nod under Patrick’s grip and bite down hard on the flesh of his palm. He snatches his hand away and lets out a loud hiss.

  And I scream. I scream louder than I ever thought I was physically able.

  “EMMA!” I hear Dane yell my name as Patrick slams his hand down on my mouth again. I start to twist and kick again underneath him. I hear the door handle rattle and turn, but it doesn’t open. Patrick must have locked it.

  “EMMA!” I hear loud thumps against the door, the sounds of Dane trying to kick it in.

  Patrick looks around the room frantically weighing his options. I can see James still trying, still kicking and hitting Patrick to get him to release me.

  The door gives way with a loud crack. Dane runs inside, and I make eye contact with him immediately. I’m lying in between the kitchen and the living room held down by Patrick. His eyes turn wild with fury as he registers the scene. He races toward us and dives at Patrick, knocking him off my body as they tumble to the floor.

  I scramble backward as James rushes to my side. “Emma!” he yells as he reaches me. He grabs my face in his hands, and I look up to oblige him. “You have to run! You have to run now!”

  I turn and look at the back door as it hangs open. I hear a loud crash and my attention is drawn to the living room. Dane and Patrick are a tangle of arms and legs. They’ve hit the coffee table and shattered a crystal vase that my mother had placed there. I sit transfixed for a moment as I watch Dane punch Patrick in the side repeatedly, under his ribs, as they wrestle on the floor.

  “Emma!” James shifts my focus.

  I look at him and nod. I stumble to my feet. My head throbs relentlessly. I take two steps toward the door and stop. I look back at Dane and Patrick. The fight has shifted; both assailants are now standing and circling each other. Patrick favors his side and Dane’s nose bleeds. I can’t leave Dane. I have to help him.

  James sees my decision in my eyes. “No!” he hollers at me. “Get out of here! He can handle this!”

  I want to run away, but my conscience tells me no. Or my Guardian tells me no. I’m still fuzzy on how that works. “I can’t just abandon him!”

  “The hell you can’t!” James fires at me. “You’re hurt!”

  “Someone’s…my Guardian is telling me to stay!”

  James curses under his breath.

  Dane and Patrick are too focused on each other to pay attention to my one-sided conversation. Dane swings at Patrick and misses; Patrick takes a step and turns his back toward me. I look around hurriedly to see what I can grab to hit Patrick with. My eyes fall on a heavy bronze candle base on the side table. I race forward and grab it, knocking the candle off the top. I cross the short distance to Patrick and pray I have enough strength to do some damage as I raise the base over my head. My action distracts Dane and he catches my eye.

  Alerted to my presence behind him, Patrick swings suddenly and catches me square in the chest with his forearm. It’s enough to knock the wind out of me and send me flying. I trip and fall, landing on my side, my weapon flying from my hands.

  Someone lets out a guttural growl. I don’t know if it’s James, Dane, or Patrick. I do know that my lungs gasp for air, my head throbs mercilessly, and I’m having a hard time deciding on my next move. Blackness starts to creep into my line of vision again. I fight it. I cannot pass out.

  Dane charges into Patrick, knocking him back and against the floor in front of me with a loud thud. They roll and Patrick tries holding Dane down. Dane pushes him off easily and backs up to stand. I see Patrick search the floor, smile, and reach out to grab something. He stands again and starts to advance.

  “What are you going to do with that?” Dane taunts Patrick even though his breathing is labored and blood runs down his chin from his nose.

  Patrick glares at Dane, sidesteps, and tries to work him into the corner. I’ve managed to get to my knees, but I’m having a hard time moving past kneeling. James is by my side. “Stay down!” he yells at me.

  I look at Patrick and Dane again. Patrick holds a shard of the broken vase. He clutches it so tightly that I can see blood starting to creep around his fingers. He jabs at Dane with it. He misses.

  “Is that all you’ve got?” Dane taunts him again, running the back of his hand under his nose, smearing his blood across his forearm.

  Patrick goes at him again. He misses the mark, but he’s getting closer. I can’t stop myself and yell, “Dane!” I’m sure it’s anything but helpful.

  “Get out of here!” he shouts without looking at me.

  I can feel James’ cool grip around my arm as he tries to help me stand, as he tries to pull me away.

  The next time Patrick moves at Dane, Dane’s ready. He grabs a hold of his forearm, the hand that holds the glass, and tries to twist it so he’ll drop his crude weapon. Patrick breaks his hold and lunges forward again.

  “UGH!” Dane grunts and Patrick grins wickedly. I know Dane’s been hit.

  “NO!” I scream from my knees.

  Dane staggers trying to catch his breath, bent over and clutching at his side. Patrick shifts his gaze to me. “Already on your knees,” he leers. “Perfect.”

  Will he never give up?

  What he says enrages James. He leaps to his feet from my side, murder in his eyes. He barrels straight for Patrick.

  And what happens next astounds me.

  James hits Patrick hard, head on in the chest, ramming him with his shoulder. Patrick’s eyes grow wide as his breath is knocked from him by an invisible force, as his body is literally knocked up into the air. He flies backward and lands on the brick hearth with a sickening crunch, his head hitting the glass fireplace doors.

  James turns to me and blinks, shocked by what he’s done. Dane pulls out the shard of glass embedded in his side and looks up, confused. He turns to me briefly before a moan escapes the wounded, drawing his attention back to Patrick. Patrick raises his body to his elbows, bends his knees and tries to stand. Dane is in front of him in two strides. He reaches out, grabs Patrick’s head between his hands, and slams it against the fireplace doors. Patrick slumps to the side, unconscious.

  Dane instantly turns to me. His eyes look haunted as he looks me over. “Emma?”

  It’s only now that I realize I’m crying. I don’t know when I started, but I feel the tears running down my face. My muscles ache and my head pounds. I start to feel dizzy, so I close my eyes.

  “Emma!” Dane yells as I crumple to the floor. When he reaches me, I feel him touch my neck, looking for my pulse. He strokes my forehead, pushing my hair away from my face. “Hold on,” he whispers and then disappears.

  When I hear the familiar touch-tones of the phone, I know he’s in the kitchen. For some reason I can hear the operator on the other end of the line loud and clear. “911. What’s your emergency?”

  As Dane quickly asks the operator to send help, I feel James’ cool touch against my cheeks, my neck, and my arms. I feel his concentrated kiss on my lips and then again against my forehead. I feel his coldness slide under and around me somehow, and I manage to open my eyes to slits. I see his knee in my line of vision as he cradles my head against his leg.

  “I love you,” he says, his voice cracking, as he strokes my shoulder with one hand and my hair with the other. I close my eyes to try and block out the incessant pounding in my head, to make my mouth form words.

  “I love you,” I’m barely able to whisper. I’m not sure if he hears me.

  Chapter 30

  The light is too bright; it h
urts my eyes. I try again, opening them slowly this time. When I see the industrial fluorescent light fixture on the ceiling, I know I’m in the hospital. My mind registers the fact that my head doesn’t hurt as badly anymore; there’s just a dull thrumming that matches my heartbeat. I feel tightness around my left hand and the familiar rub of a thumb against mine. I roll my head against the pillow and allow my eyes to focus on Dane, seated by my bedside, holding my hand.

  “Hey Grace,” he smiles at me, relief flooding his features.

  “Hey,” I croak out.

  “How’s your head?” he asks, worried.

  “It’s…it doesn’t hurt too bad.”

  He lets out a nervous laugh. “You sure know how to give a guy a heart attack, you know that?”

  I smile. “I’m sorry.” My eyes shift to look around the room; they catch the monitors and other medical equipment on a stand tucked against the side of the bed. None of it is attached to me. I take in the white walls, white ceiling, and the generic landscape picture on the wall. The room looks empty except for us.

  “Where is everybody?” I rasp.

  “Your mom and dad just left.”

  Images and sounds start to flood my brain. I remember heavy footsteps and unfamiliar voices asking me questions. I remember hearing my dad’s frantic voice; I’ve never heard him so panicked in all my life. I remember lying on a stretcher, my mother’s concerned face hovering above me as she walked next to me. I remember mumbling an apology, telling her I would clean the blood off the floor.

  My memory flashes a picture of Dane walking toward me, holding his side and bleeding. I look at him alarmed. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

  He gives me a reassuring smile and continues to rub my hand. “Please. I’m fine.”

  “No, you weren’t fine,” I shake my head, “I mean, aren’t fine…”

  Dane lets go of my hand and pulls up the right side of his shirt, exposing a bandage. It wraps slightly around his side and extends an inch or two across his chest. “13 stitches,” he states matter-of-factly. He taps the dressing and then releases his shirt. “I’ll live.”

  “Lucky 13, huh?” I ask and try to clear my throat. It’s so dry.

  Dane reaches forward and presses a button connected to the hospital bed. “I might even end up with a scar worth bragging about,” he smiles, collecting my hand again. “Of course you’ll be the first person I show it to.” He lifts my hand and kisses my knuckles.

  At first I smile at his comment, but then my smile slowly fades. He can see me processing what he just said; he can see me remembering. I’m sure I can see my reaction to his kiss playing back in his hazel eyes. His face falls a little and he releases my hand, setting it back on the bed.

  The door to my room opens and a nurse comes bustling in. “Is our patient awake?” she asks politely.

  I look at her and nod. In one hand she carries a Styrofoam cup with a straw and in the other she carries a small paper dish. “Water,” she says as she hands the cup to me.

  I take it from her and take a long pull from the straw. The water soothes my dry throat almost immediately. The nurse – I catch her name badge, Anne – dumps the contents of the little dish into my hand. “Take these,” she says. “They’re Ibuprofen. The doctor on call will give you a script for something stronger when you’re discharged.”

  I toss the pills in my mouth and swallow them down with a gulp of water.

  “Are you hungry?” she asks.

  “A little,” I tell her as she places a thermometer in my mouth. “When do I get to go home?” I mumble.

  “Should be this afternoon.” She removes the thermometer when it beeps. She walks to my chart and scribbles something. “You were only admitted overnight for observation. Standard procedure for a mild concussion.”

  I nod in understanding.

  “The doctor will be in shortly.” She looks at Dane. “Will you be taking her home?”

  “Uh, no,” he shakes his head. “Her parents said they would be back in about an hour or two. I’ll call them to let them know she’s awake.”

  “Good,” she smiles at us as she heads out the door. “I’ll send in a snack. Feel better soon.”

  Dane turns to me as he stands. “I’ll go, so you can rest. I’ll give your parents a call; they left me the number.” He starts toward the door.

  He can’t go. There’s too much we have to talk about. “Wait.”

  He stops and looks at me.

  I clutch my cup of water. “We have to talk.”

  He shakes his head and gives me half a smile. “Not now.”

  “Yes now,” I demand and tuck my water cup by my side. I hold my hand out to him.

  He appears to think about it, then retreats a few steps and grasps my hand. He sits down next to my bed again and moves his chair closer.

  “I have to thank you,” I say sincerely. “Without you, who knows what –”

  “Don’t even think about it,” he cuts me off. “I’m happy to have put that creep out of his misery.”

  Out of his misery? “He’s not…he’s not dead, is he?”

  Dane lets out a sarcastic snort. “No. But he should be.”

  “Where is he?”

  “He’s here somewhere,” he frowns. “But as soon as he recovers he’ll be arrested.” His face immediately shifts with concern. “Don’t worry,” he says looking into my eyes. “He will never touch you again.”

  I squeeze his hand. “I held my own pretty good there for a minute.”

  Dane’s frown deepens. “Not from what I saw. You really should have gotten out of there like I told you to.”

  “I’m sorry I have such creepy friends.”

  His eyebrows shoot up. “Are there more?”

  “No, not as far as I know.”

  “Good,” he sighs with fake relief. “I was thinking you might have to hire me as your full time bodyguard.”

  I laugh.

  “Not that I’d mind,” he adds softly.

  I have to admit that my heart does a little flip when he says this. But I love James. I will always love James. I’ve made a promise to him that I cannot break. This is going to be so hard, but things are only going to get worse if I say nothing, especially after this last incident.

  Dane can sense my apprehension. “Emma, listen…”

  I take a deep breath. “I can’t be anything more than your friend,” I say quietly. “I wish I could be more, but…I just can’t.”

  Dane stares down at our hands. “I know.” He meets my eyes again. “It’s too soon. It was dumb of me to try what I did and for that I’m so sorry. It’s just…I needed a question answered and I decided that was the time to ask it.”

  My voice is soft. “Did you get your answer?”

  He nods solemnly. “Yes, unfortunately I did.”

  Tears jump behind my eyes. “I’m sorry about how I reacted. It’s just that things are complicated…” I can’t tell him my dead boyfriend saw us kiss.

  Dane rubs my hand gently. “That’s not what I meant. I had a question to ask myself.”

  I stare at him confused.

  He shakes it off. “Don’t worry about it. Especially now. You need to take it easy. You need to heal. And not just your head,” he gives me a crooked smile. “But your heart and mind, too. It’s not going to be easy to forget what that psycho tried to do to you.”

  I blink to prevent any tears from appearing. “You really are too good to me.”

  He tilts his head to the side and smirks. “That’s what I do.”

  “Friends?” I hopefully ask, realizing I don’t think I could bear it if he says no.

  He pauses for a moment, studying me. “Always.” He gives me a small smile and squeezes my hand, then reaches into his pocket. He hands me his cell. “Call your parents. They’ll be thrilled to hear from you.”

  I take the phone. “Thank you.”

  He shrugs.

  “No, thank you for agreeing to still be friends.”

  “Call your pare
nts,” he says sternly, obviously done with this conversation.

  I dial the number and wait for my mom to pick up. When she does, she tells me that she and my dad are turning around and headed my way. As I talk to her I can’t help but catch Dane’s eye. He’s looking at me, but it seems as if he’s looking through me. I mouth “What’s wrong?” while still listening to my mother. His eyes snap to mine and he shakes his head, replacing his sad smile with a more genuine one.

  I hang up and hand him his phone. “They’re on their way.”

  “Good. I think you should rest.” He stands. “I’ll see you later.”

  “You don’t have to go,” I protest. “Wait with me until they get here.”

  He gives me a small smile. “I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  He steps forward and leans down to me. He reaches around my neck, holding me gently, and presses a soft kiss to the top of my head. “Feel better Grace.”

  He walks out the door before I can stop him.

  When I arrive home with my parents, Mike, Kate, Matt and Shel are all waiting for me. Shel wraps me in a hug that rivals a boa constrictor.

  “Jesus girl,” she holds me tightly.

  Matt envelops both of us in a huge bear hug. When they release me, my brother walks up awkwardly. I can tell he has a lot to say, but doesn’t know how to start. I make the first move and embrace him instead, followed by Kate.

  “We’re so glad that you’re all right,” she says in my ear.

  Mike, Kate, Shel and Matt did an amazing job of cleaning up the house after Patrick’s “visit.” There’s almost no sign that anything happened, with the exception of the broken door and missing vase. We all end up in the living room where Shel sits protectively by my side and where the discussion, inevitably, revolves around the events of last night. Even though the room is full of familiar loving faces, I can’t help but see Patrick, Dane, and James just about everywhere I look. I try to keep the details brief when I’m asked questions; I’m going to have to relive everything tomorrow morning, when the police send over an officer to collect my official statement. I spend a lot of time staring at the floor.

  After about an hour or so, people start to grumble about hunger and pizza is delivered. I pick at my plate and look at the faces that surround me. My friends and family eat, smile, and laugh while the gross topic of my attack is abandoned, for now. An overwhelming feeling of love and gratitude washes over me. My heart wants to burst with the feelings I have for these people, for how much they love me, and I love them. For how much they know what I need. Then, suddenly, my heart pinches with sadness. Two very important people that I love dearly are missing around my table – James and Dane.