Every Promise You Made

by J. E. Parker

  Wide-eyed, I clutched my left side and groaned. “Oh fuck me,” I mumbled, hoping the pain would dull in a minute. It hurt worse than when Lucca nailed me in the balls at Anthony and Shelby’s cookout.

  And let me tell you, that hurt like hell.

  But this? It was unbearable.

  I coughed again causing another bolt of pain to tear through my insides. Slamming my eyes shut, I gripped the hospital bed rail in one hand and squeezed. Hard.

  I was in the middle of breathing through the pain when a voice said, “It’s about time you woke up you overgrown gorilla!” I popped a single eye open and looked to my right where my one-eyed gaze met a very pissed off looking redhead.

  Clara.

  “Do you have any idea… any damn idea how long I’ve been sitting in that chair”—she pointed to a plastic chair next to the bed—“fussing at your comatose behind and demanding that you wake up.” She didn’t give me a chance to reply before continuing her tirade. “Thanks to you, I haven’t eaten, I haven’t slept, and I haven’t seen my little boys for more than ten minutes at a time in three days!”

  Blowing out a breath, she looked like she was half a second away from clocking me. “And I outta beat you with your own IV pole for putting Hope through hell.”

  “Where is Hope?” Jaw clenched tight, I looked around the small, yet empty room. “And where is my brother?”

  I coughed again.

  Motherucker!

  “He left to take Isabella to Shelby’s. The man has been running himself ragged for the last three days.” She paused, a thoughtful expression crossing her face.

  “Three days?” I asked, my voice groggy.

  “Yes, three days. You took one bullet to the lung and another to the side. You nearly died, Evan.”

  I didn’t give a shit where the bullet had struck or if I’d flat lined thirty times.

  I only cared about Hope. Point, blank, period. “Where’s my girl, Clara?” When she didn’t answer me right away, I snapped, “Fucking answer me!”

  More coughing; more pain.

  “She’s down the hall, you big idiot. They were supposed to move her out of ICU last night but there weren’t any beds on the floor beneath us. Doubt they would have moved her anyway, though, because Hope pitched an absolute fit over them trying to move her off this floor. She told her doctor that she’d dick punch him if he tried to kick her out of ICU.” Eyes wide, she continued. “She has lost her mind!”

  I’ve had enough.

  Pulling off the nasal cannula positioned under my nose, I tossed back the blanket that covered my legs and sat up. The wound in my side felt like it was ripping apart at the move but I did my best to ignore it. I needed to get to Hope, and I didn’t care how much it hurt or what I had to do to get there, I had to make sure she was okay. And if she was getting upset, I needed to fix it.

  I’m coming, baby.

  “Evan, sit back. You can’t get up. You’ll hurt yourself.” Clara’s voice was firm, but it didn’t faze me. Hurt or not, I would lock her in the nearest closet if she tried to get between Hope and me.

  When I tried to stand, she placed a hand on my shoulder, halting my progress. “There’s a chest drain in your side, a catheter in your penis, and an IV in your arm. Seriously, you can’t get up, Ev.”

  Watch me.

  Nodding toward the Call Nurse button at the top of the bed, I said, “Call them. Get them in here. Now.”

  Huffing out a breath, Clara pressed the button and called for the nurse.

  Less than a minute later, an older lady wearing blue scrubs followed by a doctor wearing a white lab coat walked in.

  “Good evening, Mr. Morgan. My name is Dr. Hudson,” the doc said, his tone bored. “Looks like you’re feeling better.”

  A humorless chuckle escaped my lips. “Yeah, man. I just spent the last three days sleeping. I bet I look fan-fucking-tastic.”

  I knew I was being a dick. Still, I didn’t care. The doctor didn’t seem to either. Letting my comments roll of his back, he ignored my pissy attitude.

  “Look, I need to get out of here. My girl is down the hall and—”

  “I assume you’re talking about Ms. Peterson?”

  I jerked my head down once. “Yeah.”

  Shaking his head, he thinned his lips into a flat line. “She’s been kicking up a fuss about coming in here to see you as well. Until now, we haven’t allowed it.”

  Wait a minute.

  Back up.

  “You’re telling me that Hope has tried to come see me but you wouldn’t let her?”

  The doctors eyes met mine. “It’s against protocol. With a lung wound like the one you experienced the risk of infection is high. We simply couldn’t risk—”

  “You wouldn’t let my girl in here but you let this crazy chick in?” I asked, pointing at Clara. “Do you have any idea how stupid that is?”

  The doctor blinked. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Mr. Morgan. We were just doing our best to look out for two of our patients.” Pulling a stethoscope out of his lab coat, he continued. “Ms. Peterson has had her own set of challenges. It simply was not a risk that we, as a highly qualified medical facility, were willing to take.”

  My blood boiled. “You won’t stop me from seeing her.”

  Understanding flashed across the doctors face. “I suspect not now that you’re awake.” Placing a hand on my shoulder, he looked over at the nurse who was standing near the head of my bed, her arms crossed over her chest, a small smile playing at her lips. “I’ll tell you what, let me look you over and if everything checks out then I’ll have Cindy”—he nodded at the nurse—“push you down there in the wheelchair.”

  Exhaling, I waved my hand on, urging the doctor to move his ass. “Let’s go, doc. I don’t have all damn day.” I coughed again and fought to hide my grimace. “I need my girl.”

  Clara growled in frustration as the doctor pressed the end of the stethoscope to my back. “Take a deep breath for me.”

  At his instruction, I took a breath.

  *Scene Break*

  I was sitting outside Hope’s hospital room door.

  My catheter had been removed and my IV had been temporarily disconnected. Clara and the nurse had helped my sorry ass pull on a pair of sweat pants and t-shirt that Maddie had brought by earlier so I didn’t look quite so rough. Clara, being the sweetheart that she was—insert sarcasm here—also helped me brush my teeth and rinse my mouth out with mouthwash.

  I didn’t have a razor on hand so my face was still covered in stubble but I didn’t care. I hadn’t even taken a shower in three days. Shaving wasn’t at the top of my priority list.

  “You ready?” Clara asked, leaning back against the wall next to the door. I hadn’t let her call anyone—not even Brantley—after I woke up because I wanted my girl all to myself.

  “I’m ready. Open it, Red.”

  Right as Clara went to open the door, it opened on its own.

  I held my breath as I waited to see who was on the other side.

  For fucks sake don’t let it be Shelby… or Grandmama.

  Thankfully, it was neither. “Evan,” Carissa whispered my name as tears filled her eyes. “You’re a a-awake.” She stuttered as a small tear fell from her right eye. “I came to see you but…” Her voice trailed off as she snapped her mouth shut and looked over her shoulder. “I, uh, I’m the only one here. Everybody else went down to the cafeteria to eat. Do you, uh, want me to stay? Or—”

  “Get out of here, C,” I said, nodding to the elevators beside us. “Go get you something to eat.”

  She nodded. “Okay.” Turning around, she grabbed her purse from the table and stepped out of the room, letting the door close partially behind her. “She’s been asleep for the past hour. The anti-nausea meds they’ve been giving her make her really sleepy.”

  My brows furrowed. “What the fuck are those for?” I looked at Clara. “Why is she nauseous?”

  She looked a heartbeat away from crying again. “She didn
’t handle the anesthesia very well. It’s made her sick. The first day she woke up she had a migraine so bad she couldn’t see. The second day she started vomiting, and it’s continued into today.”

  Jaw ticking, I shook my head. Looking up at the nurse, Cindy, who was silently standing behind me, her hands on the wheelchairs handles, I said, “Get Dr. Hudson in here. I want to talk to him.”

  Cindy nodded. “Will do, Mr. Morgan. Would you like me to push you inside now?”

  “Nah,” I said, placing my hands on the wheels. “I’ve got this.”

  Moving the wheelchair forward, I crossed the threshold of Hope’s room, and looked over my shoulder. “Clara, don’t let anybody come through this door for at least another hour.”

  Without saying another word, I shut the door.

  Then, feeling my heart climb into my throat, I turned to face Hope.

  Forty-Eight

  Hope

  I woke to the taste of Evan’s lips on mine.

  Heart pounding, I fought for control over my rising emotions.

  He’s awake… he’s here… he’s kissing me.

  “Evan,” I whispered as I opened my eyes and locked gazes with him. “You’re—”

  Before I could finish my sentence, he slammed his lips down onto mine again in a bruising kiss that made my toes curl beneath the scratchy hospital blanket.

  Lifting my shaking—and still weak—hands, I slipped my fingers into his hair and pulled him closer. A second later, his wicked tongue delved deep into my mouth where it began to tangle with my own in a fight for control.

  Push. Pull.

  Give. Take.

  I gasped into our combined kiss as Evan’s hand slid up my uninjured side before coming to a stop at the base of my throat. His calloused thumb rested directly above my pulse point and I knew it was intentional.

  He wants to feel my heart beat.

  Following his lead, I removed one of my hands from his hair and placed it on his throat, careful not to get close to his chest or side. Pressing my forefinger down over his pounding pulse, I let the steady rhythm of his heart bleed into me. At the move, the rollercoaster of emotions I’d been riding on for the last three days ceased.

  And it’s all because of him.

  Breaking the kiss, Evan closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against mine. His skin was hot and clammy; his breaths quick and shallow.

  He shouldn’t be out of bed.

  “Hope,” he whispered my name. “Say it baby. It’s been three days, I can’t wait any longer.”

  His words weren’t a request; they were a demand.

  Licking my lower lip, I threaded my fingers in his hair and said, “I love you, Evan Morgan.” He growled, low and deep. “More than all the stars in the sky.”

  Sliding his hand from my neck to cheek, he brushed his fingers beneath my tear-laden eyes. “I love you too, Hope.” Another kiss, this one soft and sweet. “I almost lost you but you hung on for me.” Leaning back some, he looked down into my eyes. “You kept your promise.”

  “What promise?”

  “The one where you promised me forever.”

  And I plan on keeping it.

  “Evan”—a sob broke free from my chest—“you kept yours too.”

  He smiled. “Not always, baby, but I told you I’d keep every new promise I made. And I fucking meant it.” His lips ghosted across mine again. Then, “Bullet, knife, semi, doesn’t matter… nothing can pull me away from you.”

  “What about Grandmama?” I asked, trying to bring some humor into the situation. “She’s one hell of a shot. It’s kind of scary. If I were you, I wouldn’t get on her bad side anymore.”

  Evan smiled so big every one of his teeth showed. “Far as I’m concerned, the Crazy Old Biddy is my new best friend. I plan on buying her a bottle of apple pie flavored moonshine every week from now until she dies.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Grandmama isn’t ever going to die. She’ll probably outlive us all.”

  “Good point.” He chuckled. “Now having said that”—he paused and took a shaky, wheezy breath—“If you ever pull some shit like you did the other night again, I swear to God, I will strangle you.”

  I don’t know why but hearing Evan threaten me with bodily harm made me laugh. “Yeah, right,” I said around a bout of laughter. “That threat is more empty than the ones Mama used to make towards Ry and me.”

  At the mention of Ryker, Evan froze.

  “Beautiful girl,” he said, pulling his gaze from mine. “I need to talk to you about some stuff.” He slowly lowered himself down and sat on the mattress beside me. Gaze locked on the blanket covering my legs, he took one of my hands in his before running his fingertips over my knuckles. “I’ve got some confessions to make. And some of them...” His voice trailed off as he looked up at me. “… some of them are bad, baby.

  My stomach flipped. And not in a good way either. “I know,” I replied, my voice quiet and meek. “Secrets about what happened in Iraq, right?”

  He nodded. “Among others.”

  Others?

  “I hated keeping this shit from you. But the thing is, I don’t want…” Again, his voice trailed off for a moment or two. “… After everything that’s happened, I don’t want there to be any more hidden truths between us. I want us to go into the future with a clean slate between us and in order to do that I need to tell you everything.”

  I want that too, I silently replied.

  “I just”—His eyes slid closed—“I just hope you don’t leave me when you find out what kind of monster I am.”

  My heart cracked right down the middle. Evan was the furthest thing from a monster. He’d helped so many people, done so many selfless things. How could he not see how amazing he was?

  “It doesn’t matter what happened over there, I won’t ever think you’re a monster, big guy,” I replied, my heart in my throat.

  “Yeah?” Shame washed over his features. “Not even if I told you I was a murderer?”

  I froze. “What?” I didn’t understand. “Don’t tell me you think that because you were forced to kill people in Iraq. Evan it was a war. It’s not like—”

  He clenched his jaw tight before blowing out a breath. “I didn’t kill those men in the name of my country, Hope.” He paused and took another wheezy breath. “I killed them because they murdered Ryker and Amira.” His eyes darkened and I couldn’t help but suck in a breath at the sight. “Because of what they did to my best friend and a little girl who eerily resembled you, I slaughtered them all, one by one.”

  Oh God.

  “Bullets to their heads, a knife to their chest…” He squeezed my hand that he held tight in his own. “And I don’t regret it because every single one of them deserved to die after what they’d done.”

  Taking a shaky breath, I whispered, “Tell me, Evan.” He looked up and his eyes met mine. “Tell me what happened. I can handle it.” I held up my pinky in the air. “Pinky promise.”

  Evan wrapped his finger around mine. “It all happened so fast…”

  Forty-Nine

  Hope

  Ten Minutes Later

  A mixture of tears and snot slid down my face.

  I couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t talk.

  Haunting images, ones that I couldn’t believe Evan had managed to live with for the past three years, filled my head. Like in a movie, I watched as multiple scenes, each worse than the last, played out before my very eyes.

  Heart breaking, I watched as Evan tried to stop the flow of blood pouring from Ryker’s mangled neck. I saw as he tried in vain to save my big brother and I felt first-hand his pain as he watched Ryker take his last breath.

  Belly churning, I stared as Evan stood, leaving my brother’s body on the hard ground and turned to face the half dozen bodies of men that died during the short, but devastating firefight that had ensued. Only one American—Ryker—had died, but that was enough. I watched in terror as Evan turned to face the only Iraqi male who hadn’t ei
ther died or fled. He was the one who’d beaten Amira. Still holding her arm in his unrelenting grip, I saw the moment he reached beneath the robe he wore and pulled out a small gun. And to my horror, I watched as he placed the gun against Amira’s back and pulled the trigger.

  One shot. One bullet.

  That’s all it took.

  One of Evan’s men—Corporal Garcia—fired a single shot in return, ending the man’s life.

  I watched as a panicked and screaming Evan ran to where Amira lied on the ground, face paling as she gasped for breath, and scooped her up into his arms. One tear after another fell from my eyes as I saw a corpsman run over and check the small but lethal wound that marred Amira’s flesh. I witnessed the corpsman shake his head as he mouthed the words, there is nothing I can do, to Evan.

  “What happened to her?” I asked, sobbing. “What happened to Amira?”

  I already knew she’d died. That much was evident from what Evan had already told me but I needed to know every single morbid detail. Why? Because no matter how badly it hurt me, no matter how much it blackened my soul to hear the truth, I couldn’t—wouldn’t—allow Evan to harbor those memories alone anymore.

  We already shared a heart and soul.

  To me, it was only fair that we share our pain too.

  Staring at the wall, Evan clenched his free hand into a tight fist. “I walked with her,” he replied, choking up. “Holding her in my arms, I walked up and down that alley. I knew she was dying, but I didn’t want her to be scared so I talked to her.” Pausing, he dropped his head as tears spilled down both of his cheeks. “I held her in my arms and I talked to her. I told her about you and I told her about the moon and the stars.” Shoulders shaking, my big guy looked close to breaking. “Then, when I knew she was slipping away, I sang to her.”

  And that’s when I broke.

  Hands shaking, I gripped the flimsy hospital bed blanket in my fists and started to cry. Hard. “Evan, I—”