Without Forever: Babylon MC Book 5

by James, Victoria L.

  The ATF agents who had showed up behind them were standing around the information desk, looking concerned and bored at the same time.

  The Babylonians who showed up wanted news.

  Family, friends, and neighbors alike were all worried about Drew, but I couldn’t tell any of them apart because my eyes were still on those fucking swinging doors.

  Waiting.

  My eyes were still crowded with tears.

  Waiting.

  My heart still full of hopelessness.

  Waiting.

  All I could do was wait.

  I was waiting for anything.

  News.

  Information.

  Pain.

  Torture.

  The end of the world as I knew it.

  I wouldn’t let anyone touch me.

  I couldn’t.

  I couldn’t have comfort because I knew it would only allow me to fall apart, and I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to put myself back together if I let go of that tentative hold I had right now.

  The only beacon of hope I had was focusing on those doors, and any news about Drew that would eventually come through them. I’d almost lost myself to the pain when Tate and Rubin finally sat on either side of me, each picking up a hand and holding the same silent vigil I was holding.

  I breathed through the pulsing, painful emotions enough to find my breath encouraged by the strength they loaned me, but almost lost my shit all over again when Autumn took the seat behind me and stroked my hair in that loving maternal way of hers that promised comfort I didn’t deserve. There were so many people offering me love and support, and I only wanted the arms of one person.

  Drew.

  My Drew.

  The man who always got up.

  The man who had all the answers.

  The only man I had ever really loved in my life.

  The man that every single person in this room with me loved as fervently as I did. Did he even know how much love existed in this world for him?

  As if I knew what was about to happen, I looked up a second before the doctor stepped through the doors that Drew had disappeared through. The whole waiting room shifted in that direction, the clatter of chairs and a rolling murmur moved through every last one of the people occupying the space. It had to have been hours since we’d arrived, and not a soul outside of those of us waiting for news on Drew was in that room. The mood was too volatile.

  “Mrs. Tucker?” the doctor asked, stopping about four feet away, trying his best not to stare at the crowd that had gathered behind me.

  I rose to my feet and felt Tate’s hand steady me as I rocked on my heels and tried my best to find the strength in my legs. I nodded, not even attempting to correct him.

  “I’m Doctor Atwood,” he said, pausing again and glancing behind me. He motioned me forward, and I stepped to him. Lowering his voice, he continued quietly. “We had to take Drew into emergency surgery to stop the bleeding. He’s still in critical condition, and he may need more surgeries before the night is over, but his father, who was also admitted, suggested that your husband would do better with you in the recovery room with him.”

  Doctor Atwood swung a hand out to the doors in an invitation for me to walk with him, and selfishly, I didn’t so much as glance back at the men behind me as I started walking.

  My only need at that moment was to get to Drew.

  He was alive.

  I took my first real breath in hours and caught up with him.

  I listened to the doctor talk as we walked through the hospital with quick steps, his words not really sinking in as he threw around medical terms I couldn’t understand. I caught a few important things. Drew had swelling around his brain, which could be a concussion. The knife that had gone through his side would have punctured his lung had it not been for his rib, which now had a fracture from the blade. He had four broken ribs, an orbital fracture, in which they had immediately realigned at the sphenozygomatic suture line, and they were watching his blood work to make sure there was no internal bleeding. Aside from that mouthful of medical terms, I did pick up some extra key points that I’d needed to hear.

  Drew was in critical condition.

  He’d won a single battle for now but was still amidst the war of recovery.

  Lastly, I needed to be prepared for what I was about to be faced with.

  I was very glad about that last warning.

  Walking into the hospital room and seeing all of the wires and tubes connected to Drew’s body almost broke me. He looked frail, lost amidst a sea of gray and white plastic, while small lights flashed on monitors and machines beeped, not allowing for silence. I stumbled inside with my hand on my mouth—my tears filling my eyes again as I sank down into the chair next to his bed and just stared at him.

  “I’ll send in a nurse with some scrubs for you to change into, and something to eat. Your father-in-law also said you were pregnant.”

  I nodded. Not really paying that much attention to what he was saying now. Being this close to Drew, seeing his breath forcing his chest to rise and fall helped, I could finally see with my own two eyes he really was alive.

  “Doctor?” I asked suddenly, my voice hoarse and broken.

  “Yes, Mrs. Tucker?”

  “Can I…” I stopped and took a deep breath as my voice cracked. “Can I touch him?”

  Doctor Atwood paused at the door, a kind but sad smile passing over his lips. “You can eventually, but first I’ll send in a nurse with a change of clothes for you, and some toiletries. You’re still covered in his blood, and your husband is in a delicate state. He can’t afford an infection.”

  I looked down at my hands and studied the long-dried dark blood that coated my fingertips and forearms. I nodded in agreement. When I looked up again, the doctor was gone, and I was finally alone with Drew and a room full of machines that were keeping him alive.

  A shower was a good idea before I touched him, I decided.

  Leaning in closer, I whispered to him, hoping to God that he could hear me.

  “You better come back to me, Drew Tucker.”

  Chapter Forty

  AYDA

  After that first shower, I only left Drew’s side to use the restroom and wash my hands. Nurses came and went, and tests were performed. Some of the guys came to the door to check on us both, and eventually, Drew was wheeled from recovery to intensive care, but I stayed by his side every step of the way.

  My body and mind were mostly numb to the goings on around us both. When I slept, it was with my hand under his, my head on the edge of his bed waiting for him to move, to squeeze my fingers and wake me up.

  He didn’t so much as twitch a finger.

  All too soon, that first hellish day rolled into another, and then another. The windows slowly grew dark, casting us in shadows and then, as the machines continued to beep and tick it soon became light again, but still, Drew didn’t so much as stir.

  The nurses in the intensive care unit encouraged me to speak to Drew almost as much as they insisted on me eating... for the baby’s sake. His baby was growing inside of me, and the promises I’d made to Drew helped me keep it all together. A bean and a promise were duct tape on a gaping wound in my soul that wouldn’t ever heal until Drew flashed those blue-green eyes at me again.

  But a promise was still a promise, and I ate what they put in front of me. I drank the water they set on the surface next to his bed, too—the only space not taken up with machines, wires, and charts.

  I paced his small room when my muscles ceased, curled up in the uncomfortable chair like a contortionist while they changed his dressings and checked his stitches, and I also insisted on being the one to help clean him with warm towels.

  Drew’s face was swollen, black and blue from the fights, and no matter how much the urge to stroke the brow I longed to see frown at me, or run my finger along the lips I loved to see curl into that sexy smile that was mine, I somehow resisted, keeping the slow strokes of my fingers along his arms
, where the bruises weren’t so intense.

  It was a never-ending nightmare that I couldn’t escape from. A night terror that I was too scared to step away from in case something changed when I wasn’t there. When things were quiet, and I had all the time in the world to think, desperation and fear became my constant companion. That’s when the what ifs hounded me relentlessly.

  It was in one of those moments that I suddenly found myself not alone anymore for the first time in hours.

  “Ayda?”

  I looked up to see one of the nurses standing at the door, her smile still holding that sympathy I didn’t think I would ever get used to as she studied me.

  “Hey, Katie.”

  “Drew’s father is asking if he can come visit with y’all. Is that okay?”

  “He’s here?” I asked. The last I’d heard, Eric was in a room of his own being looked after under duress by the nursing staff.

  Katie gave me a knowing smile and stepped aside as Eric Tucker shuffled into the room wearing a flannel shirt and jeans, his face almost as bruised and battered as his son’s.

  “He discharged himself,” Katie said with a click of her tongue, her eyes meeting mine to make sure it really was okay before offering a quick nod and stepping out to leave us alone.

  I studied Eric for a moment as he limped toward the bed and stared down at his son. He was hunched, one arm plastered to his side, telling me that his ribs were also worse for wear. The pained look in his eye wasn’t for his own suffering. That look was for his son. He hated seeing Drew like this almost as much as I did.

  “How bad are you?” I asked quietly, moving across the room to grab him the only spare seat in the room. It was hard and plastic, but he seemed grateful for the gesture.

  “Fine,” he answered robotically, his eyes trained on Drew. It was obvious to me that he wasn’t fine, but you couldn’t argue with Tucker men. That was one thing I’d learned along the way. “And you?” Eric asked, looking at me reluctantly. “The baby?”

  “We’re…” I paused, not wanting to use the same word he’d used. “The baby is doing well.”

  I made my way to the other side of the bed and slipped into my chair, pulling my legs up against my chest as I met Eric’s familiar hazel eyes with a pang of sharp pain in my chest at seeing them so vibrant on a face that wasn’t Drew’s. It was a cruel thought, but I blinked it away as I reached out and slipped my hand under Drew’s again, needing that physical connection between us.

  “Have you talked to any of the guys?” I asked. As much as I loved the guys, I hadn’t put much thought into how they were handling things. It was selfish, but I would deal with the fallout of my guilt for that later.

  “Yeah,” Eric croaked, leaning forward to rest his arms on his knees as he clasped his hands together and studied Drew again. “They’re worried. We all are. I can’t seem to hear what they’re saying too much when they speak, though… just that they refuse to leave the hospital. Slater’s going crazy.”

  There was a small pang of regret in my chest as I thought about what the rest of them must be going through, especially Slater and Jedd. I knew the two of them held themselves impossibly responsible for this whole thing. When Slater had managed to get past security briefly, I’d pretended to be asleep, unable to face him because I had nothing new to tell him.

  “How did it all get so fucked up, Eric?” I asked suddenly, glancing up at him. I wasn’t holding him accountable for what had gone wrong by any means, but part of me needed to know how they’d gotten a hold of him to use as bait for Drew.

  “You want the long or short answer to that?”

  “I just want an answer.”

  “Short answer: I thought I could take care of things and spare Drew any more shit from men like Taylor, Cortez, Walsh, and specifically Travis Gatlin, so I went to deal with it myself. I tried and failed. Long answer: Travis Gatlin was ready for me, and when I went to drop that Nav’s bike back at their club, he decided to make his move. One minute I was outside their yard, staring at Travis and a few Navs I’d seen a thousand times before. The next, he was taunting me, asking me how my son was, how you were, how the whole damn club was. He couldn’t get a rise out of me no matter how hard he tried and that pissed him off. Before I knew what was happening, a van pulled up behind me, Navs popping out from behind every wall, gate, tree, and car. You name it, they sprung from it, and I was thrown into the back of the van.” Eric’s face creased, as though the memory caused him more pain while he stared at Drew. “They did some fucked up things,” he whispered. “They had fun with that shit.”

  I was glad he didn’t elaborate. I was pretty sure I’d seen the tame end of Travis’s sadistic games twice now, and I wasn’t looking for an in-depth insight into the inner workings of his mind. Especially not when it came to someone Drew loved.

  “He’d set it all up, already knowing how it would play out,” I said, blowing all the air from my lungs. “He knew the guy was following me. He knew Drew wouldn’t stand for him being in Babylon, and he somehow knew that one of you would make sure that Nav, or his bike, would make it back to him at one of your hands. Did he know they had a warrant for Walsh?”

  “I think Travis Gatlin knew more than any of us could ever have imagined,” he offered quietly, a soft sigh of defeat falling free. “I hope he burns in the darkest depths of Hell.”

  “He said he was the one pulling Cortez’s strings,” I said, looking down and rubbing my thumb over the back of Drew’s hand. “Even Walsh didn’t argue that he had some control over him too. How far back does this go?”

  Eric turned to me, his eyes searching mine carefully. “Far enough,” he eventually answered. “And most of it probably began because of me. Because of what happened with Rubin’s mom. Because of the mistakes I made. Nothing breeds corruption like a need for revenge. Everything bad begins because one man’s ego became bruised.”

  I understood that to some extent. Walsh had been a proud man for as long as I’d known him. He looked down his nose at almost everyone in Babylon, but the only times it had ever really bothered me was when he’d taken it out on Rubin. That kid had done everything in his power to be what his father had wanted him to be. He’d made himself sick trying to make the man proud and all the time and effort had been pointless. Walsh was never going to be proud of a boy that wasn’t his, but his ego wouldn’t let him admit that his wife had cheated on him because appearances were worth more than anything else to him.

  “What happened with you and Carolyn Walsh?” I dared myself to ask.

  Eric sighed softly, the regret obvious. “We crossed a line we shouldn’t have crossed. My Shelby had died. Carolyn was lonely, stuck in a marriage she hated. She’s always been a beautiful woman and… things happened that weren’t meant to happen.”

  I could tell he wasn’t willing to expand on that, so I had to respect it… at least to some level.

  “How long have you known Rubin was your son?” I asked, my thumb gentle over Drew’s swollen knuckles.

  “From the moment he was born.”

  I felt a stirring of anger in my belly for the first time in days but swallowed it.

  “Did you know Walsh treated him like shit?”

  He looked away from me. His movements slow as he stared at Drew and mulled over his response. Eric’s shredded hands twisted together, his pose thoughtful and calm, forever in control, even when it seemed that his emotions were sitting closer to the surface than ever before. “I knew he treated Carolyn like shit, and that should have been enough,” he answered quietly. “But a moral code isn’t something we always get to stick to in this life, Ayda. Everything I did, right or wrong, I did with the intention of it serving the greater good. For the most part, I can admit I got that wrong.”

  “I understand.” I did, I honestly did. I saw some of the decisions Drew had struggled through since I’d known him. “Are you going to tell Rubin you’re his father?”

  “I can’t think about that yet. I can’t think of anything th
at could happen beyond me being in this room with my broken son.”

  I let a humorless laugh fall from my lips as my eyes clouded with my emotion again. “I know that feeling.” I leaned forward, brushing my lips over the dry skin on Drew’s knuckles, and I breathed him in. “For the record, I don’t think he’ll be upset about you being his father. Just maybe that you waited so long to tell him.”

  “Upset, I can handle. I’ve had a lot of practice handling that with Drew.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me,” I said, my lips curling into a small smile. “You know they say your kids are worse than you just to punish you. What do I have to look forward to? How bad was Drew?”

  “Oh,” he said through a laugh, straightening his shoulders as a twinkle returned to his eyes. “Drew was an asshole from the moment he could talk. A real pain in my Shelby’s side. He was born to be trouble. Anything else, and he’d have been disappointed with himself.”

  I let off a watery chuckle and gently squeezed Drew’s hand. “Do you hear this, Drew? Are you going to let your old man talk about you like this?”

  “Did you know Drew’s first word was fuck? Came out as ‘uck while Shelby was collecting bread from the bakery. She’d forgotten her purse, and she thought she’d cussed to herself under her breath, but Drew was listening like a hawk, always paying attention. He shouted that word so loud, Shelby didn’t dare show her face in town for three weeks. Back in those days, your boy could get a reputation for that kind of language at six months old.”

  This time I fully laughed, my free hand covering my mouth as the sound cracked from me. Laughing wasn’t something I’d done in what must have been days. It sounded foreign to my ears, but hearing about Drew as a child, imagining him at six months old… it made me think more about our baby, about who he or she would look like. How much of Drew would they have in them? How much of my favorite parts of him would translate into his mini-me? It was the first time since we’d arrived in this hospital that I’d thought of anything outside of his health and these four walls, and even now, with him broken in the bed in front of me, I could still see Drew in that future.