Exquisitely Broken (A Sin City Tale Book 1)

by M. Jay Granberry

  “Will return with time. She was intubated for the surgery,” he says as he steps from behind the desk.

  “So, the loss of her voice is temporary?”

  “As far as we know. But let’s go take a look. I’ll page the doctor.”

  I follow the nurse back into the room.

  Sin is staring at the ceiling, tears rolling back into her hair.

  “Ms. James, my name is Craig, and I’ll be your nurse for the next several hours.” Sin blinks hard at his voice, but her eyes pass over him and find mine. Those wet lashes are spiked. Her nose flares with every harsh breath. Her eyes are open, and her chest is moving and she’s alive.

  “Your boyfriend said that you having a hard time speaking. The soreness is probably inflammation of your vocal chords that will calm with time.” It takes him about ten minutes to check all the machines, provide a dose of morphine, page the doctor, add an additional blanket to the bed because she’s nods to confirm that yes, she is cold. By the time he walks out the door, the tears have stopped. Sin’s muscles are relaxed, and her eyes close. For the first time since I got that god-awful call, I breathe easy.

  I lace our fingers and drop a kiss on her knuckles. “Relax, baby, I gotchu,” I mumble against her skin and this time she holds my hand as tight as I hold hers.

  NOW

  Sinclair

  My head pounds, and when I try to take a deep breath, it feels like I swallowed a spike. The last thing I remember is laying on the stage with Adam scream over me for help. And blood. There was so much blood all over me.

  I force my heavy eyes open in the cold room at the sound of the door opening, I turn my head to see Jake walking through the door, holding a flimsy white paper coffee cup. He rounds the bed and sits on the side closer to my head. He has a day’s growth of whiskers on his face and he looks haggard and tired. He runs a hand down his face.

  “Hey, baby.” His voice is rough but, at the sound of something so familiar, I feel my eyes well with tears. He gently cups my cheek, using his thumb to wipe away the wetness under my eyes. I squeeze my eyes shut and lean into him, tears falling in earnest.

  I try to say his name, but my voice comes out as a squeak and a huff of air.

  All the memories come crashing down, the concert and the stalker. The man that I’ve seen countless times over the years. The one who shows up at every concert in the Sin City T-shirt from our first tour. The one I assured security would never do anything.

  Then I heard the gun shots, the people screaming, and the chaos. There was so much chaos. I remember the excruciating pain of bullets ripping through muscle and bone and hitting the stage with a thud. Wanting to move but not being able to pull in enough oxygen to make my muscles fire.

  Had anyone else been shot? I try to pull up something, anything from my memory banks but I got nothing. All I remember is looking into dead eyes and a gun pointing at me. Not at Dan or Miles or Adam. Not at any of the people that came to see us. But at me.

  I swallow rapidly, choking on panic and pain, as a tremor moves through my body. I need answers to questions, so many questions that I’m afraid to ask. Was anyone else shot? Did anyone die? Did they get the man that did this? How could something like this happen?

  “Sin,” he whispers, his voice full of anguish and compassion. That compassion is practically oozing out of his pours. It feels very real. It feels warm and comforting. It feels like love and it breaks me wide open.

  Tears fall hot and heavy down my face as I grip his shirt.

  Jake gathers me close as full body sobs rack my frame, and he curves his body around mine, not offering words of comfort, not saying I’ll be okay because I won’t, not for a long time.

  How could something like this happen?

  The stage is one of the only places I have always felt safe, my home away from home. Now my home is bullet riddled and shattered. Just the thought of the bullets whizzing by my head and ripping into my chest causes phantom pains to ricochet through my bones.

  I don’t know how long we stay like that, but my arms are numb, and my hands tingle from being fisted in his shirt.

  “I’m so sorry, Sin,” he says.

  I can’t answer him, so I burrow closer to his chest. The steady pulse of his heartbeat is a soothing melody under my ear.

  My eyes grow heavy, and I succumb to sleep.

  “That bed is only made for one person,” a nurse chides from somewhere in the small room.

  I pry my eyes open and, for a minute, I’m confused. I’m still in a hospital but the room looks different. The thin curtain at the door is gone. As are the scuffed beige linoleum, thin blankets, windowless walls. The room is large for a hospital room. A love seat rests under the window and early morning light pours through the slightly open blinds, casting the room in shades of pink and orange, but it still doesn’t soften the harsh overhead lights or the cool medicinal air.

  The memories of last night flood through my mind, I was doing a show when people started yelling and loud explosions of sound overpowered the noise of the crowd.

  Gunshots.

  Someone had been shooting at us. I’d been shot.

  I move my head but a head next to mine on the pillow limits the movement. I take note of the cadence of his breaths, and the rich scent of cocoa butter that coats his skin. I know it’s Jake before I hear his voice rumble in my ear when he tells the nurse he’ll move.

  I blink my eyes open when he slips an arm from under my head. Even that small movement takes a tremendous amount of effort. The light in the room hurts my eyes, making them water and become unfocused. I cover my eyes with my forearm until the world comes back into focus and the light doesn’t feel like it’s burning my retinas.

  “Don’t go,” I say. My voice comes out hoarse, but it’s there! This time.

  “I’m not going anywhere, babe.” He drops a kiss on my forehead.

  The nurse, pacified by Jake moving, smiles at me as the doctor walks in the door.

  “Good morning, Sinclair,” The doctor says as he stops in front of the hand sanitizer mounted to the wall and rubs a generous amount into his skin. He removes the stethoscope from around his shoulders and approaches the bed. “I’m Dr. Bennett. I’m just going to look you over real quick before we send breakfast in okay?”

  I nod.

  “Mr. Johnson, maybe you want to step outside while Dr. Bennett completes an exam? I promise she will be in good hands. Grab a cup of coffee. Freshen up and we’ll see you in a few.” The nurse shoos him from the room.

  At his absence her smile grows more prominent, which illuminates her features. She busies herself with checking the machines before she pulls down the top of my gown for the doctor to check a bandage on my chest.

  “No blood, hun. That’s good,” the nurse says.

  “How good?” I ask, my voice breaking. Please say I’ll be back on my feet tomorrow, and it’ll be like nothing happened. Just say that I’ll be fine. That in less than a week I’ll be back on stage singing and playing again.

  “Faster than you think,” Dr. Bennett answers. “It’ll take a little time but holding long or hitting high notes won’t be immediate. However, we have every reason to believe that you will have a full recovery and be on stage again before you know it.”

  “What kind of time are we talking?” I ask.

  “I can’t give you exacts. But your lungs experienced a trauma and like any bruise or cut, it has to heal. How fast you heal depends on a lot of factors. Let’s take it one step at a time. Sit up for me, Ms. James.”

  I sit up with surprising ease. Yeah, my body still hurts but I thought maybe that every muscle in my body would be screaming. Dr. Bennett places the cold bell of the stethoscope directly on my skin.

  “Deep breath in and blow out hard.” And I do it. My breathing hitches before my lungs hit full capacity. “Again,” he says as he moves the stethoscope over, listening.

  “Rachel, Ms. James will need pulmonary consult and rehab. One a scale of one to ten where would
you put your pain level, Ms. James?”

  “A four?” I rasp. He stares at me, not blinking, for a long moment.

  “That’s good. Real good,” he says. “Rachel?”

  “Yes, doctor.”

  “Lower the pain meds and see how she does. We have to stay in front of the pain. If we get behind, it won’t be a good thing.”

  “Okay, Ms. James, as far as I can tell you are doing as well as can be expected. I want you up and walking as soon as possible. I’ll be around later this afternoon to check in with you.”

  And he left. The nurse helps me tie the gown back in place. She removes the catheter. Gives me a small toiletry kit with toothpaste, a toothbrush, mouthwash, and a small comb.

  “Okay, hon,” she says, pulling off the latex gloves. “Press this button.” She taps the red button with a picture of a nurse on it. “If you need anything. And this one”—she taps the button next to it—“is for the TV.”

  Jake walks back in the room and her friendly smile freezes, turning brittle enough to break. “Ms. James, I’ll be on duty until four this evening. I’ll be back soon with food.” She walks out the room giving Jake a wide berth.

  Jake and I fall into a strained silence. He studies me for a while. His eyes sweeping up and down my prone frame.

  He sighs. “I think I lost fifty years off my life when I got the call that you’d been shot,” he says.

  “We don’t have to talk about it.” I try to make my voice light but between the harsh sound and the tears that fill my eyes. I fail miserably.

  “We do, babe. We really do.” I barely nod.

  “Somehow, in all the years I’ve known you, it never really hit me how vulnerable you really are when you’re on stage. The police came by to talk to Adam before he left, and he recognized the shooter. I guess the guy has been obsessed with you for years. How did I not know this? Adam said he used to follow the band around in the early years.” There is accusation and hurt behind his words. “That’s crazy, Sin, like seriously insane. I understood you had to deal with media but this… Fuck, when I thought I lost you.” He walks an agitated line across the room before turning to walk back toward me. “I’ve never felt so helpless in my life. It put a lot of shit into perspective.”

  “Oh yeah?” I ask as he walks over to the bed to loom above me. I can’t make out his expression since it’s backlit against the sunlight. But he leans in, and his hazel eyes come into focus.

  “Yeah,” he says after beat. His eyes skip away from mine but when they come back, they’re wet. One lone finger traces the contours of my faces and he lets out a shaky breath.

  “Life is too short not to go after what I want. Who I want,” he says meaningfully. “I know you don’t want to hear this, and I’m probably an ass for saying it right now, but I…” He kisses me with trembling dry lips. His eyes are open too. I know because my eyes are open as well. I don’t blink because I’d miss the way he’s looking at me.

  “I love you,” he says simply, and I blink to hold in the rush of tears.

  “Always have. Always will,” he says kissing me between words. Jake pulls back, his thumb brushing the tears that have gathered at the corners of my eyes. “I’m done accepting the little bit you’re willing to give me when I want it all, and you want it too.”

  I’m so tired of pretending I’m too angry to forgive and too strong to be vulnerable. With my body broken in the hospital, I can’t pretend that my heart is in the same place it was when I arrived. Especially when I already know the only person who can fix it is standing in front of me daring me to create my destiny and claim him as mine.

  “I love you, and if you can’t say it back now, I’m willing to wait until you are. When you get out of this hospital, you’re going to rock harder than you ever have before, and when you step off that stage, I’ll rock you just as hard. It’s our time. Ours, babe.”

  Deep in my soul, I feel the truth of his words.

  “You love me, Sin. I know it. You know it. Give in gracefully, baby. Let me love you.” He places a kiss on my forehead. “Let me take care of you.” He drops kisses on my eyes forcing them closed. “I’m not going anywhere, ever.” His lips press against mine. I pull back, searching his face.

  “Say it again,” I demand.

  “I love you,” he says immediately.

  “Me too,” I respond and this time I kiss him first. “I love you too,” I say against his lips.

  “I promise for as long as you live you won’t regret saying that. Never again,” he says, staring into my eyes. For the first time since I slapped him, what seems like forever ago, I believe every word coming out of his mouth.

  Every time I close my eyes to settle into sleep, a nurse walks in to check something or ask a question. Every single time I’ve opened my eyes, I feel a little panic bubble in my chest until I see Jake.

  Sometimes he’s on the phone pacing back and forth, a worried frown creasing his brows. Other times he’s sitting in a chair staring out the window, giving me an opportunity to study his profile. This time when I open my eyes, Jake is lying on the bed at my hip, head resting on folded arms finally asleep. I tried to get him to go home to at least to take a shower, but he refused, saying he’d leave when Adam came back. God, he’s stubborn.

  At my movement he wakes up, stretching his neck and blinking up at me with sleepy eyes.

  “Hey, baby, you good?” He runs a hand over his face.

  No, I’m not good. Every time I blink there’s another explosion of pain behind my eyes that travels down my throat and into my chest, making it hard to breathe. The pain is everywhere, but I don’t want to worry him.

  So instead of telling him how horrible I feel I say, “I’m okay.” I don’t think I’ve been admitted to a hospital since the day I was born. Being here now is scary. Not being able to breathe easy or force my vocal chords to make even the simplest noises terrifies me.

  Adam, Dan, and Miles all pile into my room around midmorning. Jake is sitting in a chair close to the bed. One leg crossed over his knee. Gold rim glasses that I’ve never seen before rest on his face. He’s reading through emails on his phone. I use one hand to cup his chin and gently shake his head. He turns his face into my palm, kissing the center before he turns his eyes to the three men that just entered the room.

  “The boys are here,” I say.

  His features lose their softness and he sits up, eyeing the boys with weary irritation. Jake pushes the chair away from the bed and stands in front of the group. I expected yelling and shouting about the lack of security at the venue or the over protective big brother act, but to my surprise, they pepper him with questions about what the doctors have said and how I’m feeling.

  The four of them talk about me like I’m not here in the bed a couple of feet away. When did this happen? But Jake gives them the run down.

  “The shooter was apprehended within minutes of the shooting. Seth”—at the mention of his name, I turn my eyes on Adam, who refuses to meet my gaze—“actually jumped off the stage and grabbed the guy until the police arrived.”

  “It turns out the shooter actually got a job working in the arena and was able to bring one piece of the gun in at a time and hide the parts in multiple restrooms inside the facility. So, the night of the concert. He collected all the parts and yeah. You know the rest.”

  “I know I heard some of this yesterday, but I can’t remember shit. So bottom line is the cops nabbed the douchebag and Sin?” Adam asks Jake.

  “The bullets nicked her lungs but she’s okay. The surgery was completely successful. They were able to repair the damage. A plastic surgeon was brought in to close the wounds, so there should be minimal scaring. She will need physical therapy and a voice coach, something about retraining her lungs to move air over her vocal chords.”

  Adam collapses in the chair Jake vacated and bends over with his head between his legs, taking deep breaths. Jesus, I must look like death warmed over. When he lifts his head, his eyes are mournful, and his lips are p
ressed into a thin line.

  “Sin, I’m sorry. I tried to get to you, but everything happened so fast. I just couldn’t get there fast enough. I—” He looks devastated and so guilty. But this guilt isn’t his cross to bear.

  “Last time I checked you aren’t psychic or on my security detail. You didn’t know this was going to happen, and it’s no one’s fault but the idiot who was shooting.” I somehow manage to get all of that out without wheezing but my chest feels like it’s on fire.

  I look at Dan and Miles to gauge their reaction to my speech and both nod in agreement. Adam has always been the “parent” figure. The one with the rational head planted clearly on his square shoulders. He’s been the one who gets things done, who takes care of us all, but this is too much even for his shoulders. I won’t let him tear himself to shreds for something he could do nothing about.

  “You should listen to Sin-a-sticks, Adam. It’s not that often that she makes sense.”

  “Nice Dan,” Miles says.

  “What? You didn’t think she’d get a pass because she’s lazing around the hospital, did you? If you ask me, one of us should’ve gotten shot a long time ago. We need the street cred.” A boyish grin breaks across Miles’s face, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. I know this little show is Dan’s attempt to get us back to normal.

  And it works. We all laugh at the insanity coming out of his mouth and it feels good. I’m going to be okay. My band is going to be fine. We will face this just like we’ve faced everything else, and we’ll overcome it because that’s who we are.

  Jake has disengaged from the group, watching us with wearing eyes. Conflicting emotions flit across his face going from jealousy to concern to fear so fast I’m not sure if I imagined it. I try to catch his eye, but his gaze shifts around the guys.

  I can tell by his weary gaze and his twitchy muscles he’s about to make his escape. But before he makes for the door Adam stands closing the space between them. He holds out his hand, palm up to Jake.