by Bijou Hunter
“I’m waiting for news at the hospital,” I tell the old-timer. “Walking keeps me sane.”
After that, the guy stops fiddling with the weapon I suspect he keeps hidden behind the counter. Another hour passes, and I finally get too fucking hot to keep marching back and forth in the heat. Sitting my ass on the curb, I only have Miranda’s selfies to keep me entertained while I wait for news. I especially enjoy the close-up shot of her right eye.
Around the time I would have picked up Miranda for the movies, Vaughn calls my name from the hospital’s double doors. I don’t feel a hint of shame at running to find out if she’s out of surgery.
“She’s in a room now,” he explains once I’m inside. “Cooper and Farah are with her. They want to see you.”
His tone sounds similar to how a father speaks to their kid when his ass is in for a beating. I’ll gladly accept any necessary thrashing to get a glimpse of Miranda.
On the second floor, a nurse points me into a room. I knock on the door, and Cooper opens it immediately. His expression shifts from relaxed pissed to actively pissed.
“She wanted to see you. That’s the only reason you’re here,” he growls so loudly that I assume he’ll punch me next.
Uninterested in his anger, I only mutter, “I didn’t think you were the reason,” as I walk past him to find Miranda tucked in bed looking like a little girl. A monitor beeps steadily with her vital signs, and an IV pumps what I assume are plenty of pain meds into her battered body.
With her dark hair spread around her head, Miranda rests with her eyes closed. I pull my gaze away from her angelic expression to her bandaged arm nearly hidden by the blankets.
“How bad was the shot?”
“Through and through. Missed the bone, but there is nerve damage, and she’ll need physical therapy. She was unconscious when we found her, but some of that was dehydration rather than from shock or blood loss. I’m always telling Rando to drink more water during the summer,” Cooper says and sighs. “The surgery was quick, and they expect to release her in a day or two if no other problems come up.”
“Has she said anything?”
“Only your name during the X-ray, but we weren’t with her at the time. She asked for Quaid Shasta,” Cooper says and gives me a frown. “Cleary, she doesn’t know your last name.”
“She looks so fragile,” Farah says, crying quietly in a chair next to the bed. “Like when Tucker dropped her.”
“I promise she’ll be fine,” Cooper says and caresses his wife’s head.
They share a quiet moment that would feel less awkward if I wasn’t standing there watching. I ought to leave the room and return once Miranda is awake. I don’t, though, and not because I nearly lost my fucking mind in the heat. I can’t leave Miranda after waiting for hours to see her. Making me leave this room would take an act of God.
After a half hour of standing very still, I finally relent and use the adjourning bathroom to wash up. The cold water helps, leaving me feeling mostly human again.
Miranda never moved while I was gone. Then three minutes after I return, her thick dark lashes flutter open, and she stares unblinkingly at her mother for what feels like an eternity.
“Don’t cry, Mom,” Miranda says, smiling dreamily. “You’re so beautiful.”
“That’s my sweet girl,” Farah says and kisses her daughter’s cheek.
Miranda doesn’t move her head but scans the room with her dark eyes. I catch her grin when she sees me. Cooper immediately moves closer, drawing her attention to him.
“How long was I asleep?” Miranda asks her father. “Did Audrey have her baby yet?”
“You were unconscious for only a few hours.”
“Bummer. I wanted to see how big her baby was.”
Cooper yanks a chair closer and sits down. “Do you remember what happened?”
“When?”
“Today when you were shot.”
“I remember getting shot.”
Cooper sighs. “Why were you on Route 72?”
“The shelter got a call about a box of kittens,” Miranda says and then flinches. “Where are they now?”
“Baby, those kittens were dead.”
“I know. That’s why I was crying. Someone trapped them in the box and left them to die.”
“Who called?” I ask, and everyone looks shocked to see I still exist.
“I don’t know,” Miranda mumbles.
“Did they leave a name?”
“They usually don’t, but I don’t take the messages. I just pick up the animals unless they’re too big or mean.”
“Sounds like someone lured you out to an isolated road,” I say, glancing at Cooper who crosses his arms and exhales roughly. A little part of him hoped today was the act of a random asshole rather than a very specific asshole looking to make a very specific point.
“What did you see when you got out to the road?” Cooper asks.
“The box was on the side, and I found the kittens, They were trapped in that box,” Miranda says, tearing up. “I’m going to cry. Everyone get out!” she demands before adding in a little voice, “Except Mom.” After a moment, she says, “Quaid can also stay.” Breathing unsteadily, she finally says, “Pop needs to stay too.”
“There’s no one else in here,” Cooper says.
A frowning Miranda tilts her head to look at the open bathroom door. “Isn’t there a chick right there?”
We look at the empty bathroom and then back at her. “No,” Farah says first.
The foggy-brained beauty tries to shrug but fails. “Whatever.”
Cooper pats Miranda’s head to draw her attention to him and away from the bathroom door. “Do you remember anything about the man who hurt you?”
“He was standing at the back of his old truck, and I thought I saw a fishing pole. His clothes were raggedy like something we wear when we go fishing. But I also thought he was working on the engine.”
“Did you recognize him?”
“No. He had a cap down low when he was at the truck, and he wore a bandana over his face when he shot at me.”
“Could you tell if he was old or young?”
“When I shot at him, he ran in a way that made me think he was young.”
“Did any of your shots hit him?” I ask.
“I don’t know. It happened so fast.”
“We found blood on the road,” Cooper tells me. “Not a lot, but it wasn’t Miranda’s.”
“Rando,” his daughter grumbles. “Did the man who shot me kill those kittens?”
“Probably.”
“Pop, promise you’ll torture him extra for those little babies,” Miranda says and looks ready to cry again. “There were four of them, so four hours of extra torture. Or maybe a day for each of them.”
“A day might be stretching it,” Cooper says.
“How come?”
“I’m not explaining the intricacies of torture, but let’s say keeping him alive for a long torture session isn’t in my wheelhouse.”
“I don’t know what any of that means.”
“Pop is saying he’ll torture the man one hour for each kitten,” Farah says.
Miranda smiles at her mother’s soft words. “Can I go home tonight?”
“No, baby. You’ll need to stay for a day, maybe two.”
“No.”
“Don’t start,” Cooper mutters. “You’re staying, and you’ll take it easy, and you’ll get better. No rushing yourself and getting worse, okay?”
Miranda ignores Cooper’s irritation and smiles at me. “I’m sorry we can’t go to the movies.”
“We can watch one on my phone tonight.”
Her smile grows. “We can eat dinner together too.”
Cooper quickly accepts Miranda can’t recall other details or is too spaced out from pain medications to remain focused. She only stops smiling at me for long enough to smile at her mother. Clearly barely keeping his rage under control, Cooper gestures for me to follow him to the hallway. I
hate leaving Miranda, but I doubt she’ll notice my absence if I’m quick. She’s currently busy telling her mother how she would have named the kittens after the women from “Golden Girls.”
“Were they all female?” Farah asks as we walk out.
“Who cares?” Miranda mumbles. “Cats don’t care about their names anyway.”
Once the door shuts on their conversation, I cross my arms to mimic Cooper’s. He exhales deeply while glancing around to ensure no one’s eavesdropping.
“Where were you when this happened?” he asks, pretending to be suspicious.
“Vaughn’s place, doing chores. They don’t let me stay there for free, you know?”
Cooper’s glare never shifts, and I assume he already knew where I was and how it was nowhere near Route 72. Finally, he grumbles, “I’m not okay with you staying here with her.”
“I’d be lying if I said I cared.”
Cooper narrows his dark eyes, and I notice how much Miranda resembles him when she makes the same move.
“You’re useless to me, though,” Cooper says when I don’t react to his glare. “You don’t know the route where the shooting happened. I can’t send you to protect anyone or shakedown suspects. So you might as well remain here to watch over Rando.”
“I’m sure you realize the guy today was gunning specifically for Miranda. He knew her job and an isolated place to lure her. My question is why pick her rather than your other kids?”
“How would I know?”
“From an outsider’s point of view, Miranda is the odd one of the family. The least-loved child even. So why target her rather than your firstborn or heir apparent?”
“Rando isn’t—”
“I know,” I interrupt. “Don’t waste time proving shit to me, boss. I get how your family works. I also know that girl has you and her mom wrapped around her little finger. This isn’t about reality. This is about what an outsider wanting to hurt you would think. My point is Miranda isn’t the obvious target, but someone went to the trouble of going specifically after her.”
“As far as I can tell, no one’s made a move on Lily or Colton. That doesn’t mean no one will.”
“This feels personal,” I whisper, moving closer. “Toward Miranda. I can’t explain it, but I feel like the asshole wanted to kill her for the sole reason of killing her. I don’t feel like this was a message to you or the club.”
Cooper refuses to accept the obvious. In his stubborn mind, threats should be about him and his Reapers. Why else would anyone target his harmless daughter?
Cooper returns to the hospital room where he kisses Miranda and Farah goodbye. He promises his wife he’ll call soon. He also mentions Vaughn and Raven will drive her home when she’s ready. Then he storms out of the room and downstairs to meet up with his club brothers to prepare for a war someone started today.
THE ODDBALL
Idon’t want Pop to leave the hospital. Not because his growling grumpiness suits me, but Mom seems sad and scared. She needs her man. They’ve loved each other for so long that I don’t think they can properly function when the other isn’t nearby.
I already feel as if I can’t think straight without Quaid around. When he talks with Pop in the hallway, I immediately get restless waiting for his return.
“Quaid doesn’t like calling me Rando,” I say because asking to turn on the TV seems rude. “I tried a bunch of nicknames, but he didn’t like them, or I didn’t like them.”
“What kind of nicknames?” Mom asks, still teary-eyed despite my being clearly super okay.
I rattle off all the ones I can remember—Kitty, Mimi, Marv.
“What about MJ?” Mom suggests while holding my hand.
“I’m not a junior.”
“No, but you’re a Miranda Jodi Johansson.”
“Oh,” I mumble and think about MJ. “I like how it makes me think of Gram and especially Pop-Pop who was the first Johansson who mattered.”
My clearly rattled Mom forces a smile. “He thought you were so funny.”
“I am funny.”
“I know, baby.”
“I think I might want to love Quaid.”
“I think he might want to love you too.”
Grinning at her, I try to squeeze her hand, but everything in my body feels made of pudding.
“Is Lily okay?” I ask.
“She’s home with Gram. Colton is at Whiskey Kirk’s with a lot of the guys.”
“Do you think Pop will go there too?”
Just then, my father enters to say he needs to deal with business. I’m too buzzed on yummy painkillers to panic over him going or the idea that he might make Quaid go too.
As soon as he leaves the room, Mom dissolves into her “my baby was dropped on her head” look. This particular expression appears whenever I’m sick, and she remembers her biggest parenting failure. I’m tempted to tell her my head is perfectly fine except I’ve been working the “duh” angle for too long. Besides, it’s very possible I am dumb and don’t realize it because dumb people rarely do.
“I think I might want to sleep,” I say, releasing her from an obligation to remain in this room with her sick, brain-dinged daughter. Back at the house, she’ll busy cleaning and cooking. At the hospital, all she can do is worry. “Will you make me fried chicken when I get home?”
Mom’s smile makes my heart beat faster. She realizes what I’m doing and is proud of me. Despite living my life normally oblivious to praise from others, I’m a sucker for her “proud mama” smile.
Mom kisses my forehead about thirty times while promising to return if I need her for anything. She starts to leave three times before finally getting the nerve to force herself out of the door.
“I wish your mom loved you that much,” I tell Quaid once we’re alone. “You deserve to know how it feels.”
“I’m okay, Miranda,” he says, sounding a hundred years old.
“No.”
“No what?” he asks, sitting in the chair Mom once used.
“You know I don’t like that name.” I try to lift my hand so I can touch his hair, but my arm won’t cooperate at all. “I want you to call me MJ instead.”
“Why MJ?”
“Mom suggested it. So, no Rando and no Miranda. We both win.”
“Okay,” he mumbles as his fingers run over the white sheet covering my legs.
“It’ll be all right,” I whisper. “I know you were scared I would die, and you’d never get to see me she-bop.”
“Yes,” he says without showing any emotion.
“I was scared about that too. You really need to see it.”
Smiling slightly, he scoots the chair closer. “I’m sorry I stink. I waited for hours in the heat for news, and there’s no washing off that kind of smell in the bathroom sink.”
“I don’t care if you stink, Quaid. I don’t care if you wear a hat or a cap or if you’re bald. I’m just happy you want to stay here with me. I missed you even before I got shot.”
“I’m not going anywhere. Your father made me your bodyguard.”
I study his forlorn face. “I never want you to go back to Shasta.”
“I’m not planning to.”
“What about the club?”
“Your father will set me up locally.”
“How do you know?”
“He said as much when he came by Vaughn’s place last night.”
Suspicious of this information, I frown. “Pop never backs down so quickly.”
“He loves you,” Quaid says, and then grins. “He also warned he’d never stop giving me grief about our relationship.”
“But aren’t I worth his bullshit?”
“Very much so.”
“I feel like maybe I do know who the man was today,” I blurt out because my filter is thoroughly drugged.
Quaid’s pale blue eyes harden into an expression I’ve never seen before. The closest was when he beat on Rudy Roche two days ago.
“What makes you think that?” he asks in
an icy voice.
“I feel like a part of me recognized something. Like maybe the way he moved. I don’t know what, and I didn’t tell Pop in case I’m wrong.”
“I’m glad you told me.”
“I don’t want anyone going half-cocked if I’m wrong. It’s why I was careful with what I said to Pop,” I say despite never even thinking to tell Pop. Maybe I’m more out of it than I thought.
Reaching out to caress my cheek, he murmurs, “You told your mom you were tired.”
“I wanted her to leave. She doesn’t do well in hospitals.”
“Do you need anything?”
“I want to watch TV. Hospitals are boring, and I assumed we’d go out tonight. Now I’m stuck here. Fortunately, you’re trapped here with me.”
Quaid chuckles at my words. “I can’t think of anywhere I’d rather be.”
“I do feel a little tired,” I say and realize my eyes are already closed. Forcing them open, I ask, “If I fall asleep, do you promise not to leave?”
“I won’t go anywhere besides the john. If you wake up and I’m not in this room, I’m in there.”
“I’m not accustomed to fear. Horror movies never bother me. I devise plans for fighting the monsters like I did with the inbred hillbillies. Turns out though having a gun didn’t go as well as I hoped.”
“You saved your life with it.”
“I always figured I’d be a better shot,” I say, struggling to remember both firing my weapon and getting shot. My brain fog allows only hints from my past, but I’m very aware of the man in the room with me now.
Quaid still caresses my face. “Firing a gun is always easier when no one is firing back. Under pressure, your adrenaline pumps wildly, and the shock of the situation plays games with your head. Even for someone who’s been shot at plenty, I don’t react calmly or hit my target each time.”
“If I killed him, no one would have to worry.”
“The important part, for your family and me, is that you stopped him from killing you.”
Studying Quaid’s face, I notice a slight scar near his ear and how his wavy hair tucks behind his ears. My eyes close for what only feels like a few seconds. When they open, the TV is turned on. Every time I blink, I feel as if an hour’s disappeared. By the time the nurse returns, it’s dark outside.