All the Secret Places

by Anna Carlisle

  There was a crash, a yell, and the sharp report of gunshot. Instinctively, she threw her arms over her face and ducked, rolling to the floor in a ball.

  Screaming.

  And then a voice she recognized.

  Maybe she was already dead, or dying, her mind making one last desperate connection before blacking out forever. Because she could swear that he’d come for her.

  25

  Gin woke to a strange sensation of choking. She gasped and felt an unfamiliar pain in her throat. She tried to blink her eyes open, but they didn’t want to obey. She could hear voices, mechanical sounds, a chair being dragged across the floor.

  She knew these sounds. She was in a hospital.

  She forced herself to stop fighting, suddenly aware that the thing in her throat was a breathing tube. She struggled to lift her hand and got as far as wiggling her fingers. She heard the shift in the mechanical sounds as the machines responded to her body coming awake.

  “She’s coming out,” an unfamiliar voice said. “Get Rafferty.”

  The next few moments were a blur, both familiar and strange. During her residency, Gin had performed dozens of surgeries, but she’d never been the one lying in bed, helpless and vulnerable.

  The tube was eased out, and Gin struggled for her first few breaths on her own, gulping in air despite the soreness. Her eyes adjusted to the bright lights overhead, and she moved her toes, her fingers. A male doctor leaned over her, but all she could see between his cap and mask was warm brown eyes behind horn-rimmed glasses.

  “Mom . . .” she gasped, her voice a raw whisper. “Jake . . .”

  But the next face she saw was neither one of them.

  “I’m here.” Another cap, another mask, and a voice strained with worry and fear.

  Tuck Baxter took her hand between his. “Goddamnit, Gin, you scared the hell out of me.”

  She blinked, and the blurriness left her vision. “Was it you?” she croaked. “Did you come for me? At Danielle’s?”

  His expression betrayed a complex mixture of emotions. “Yes. But I didn’t get there in time. Crosby got there first.”

  “Oh, my God—is he okay?”

  “Yeah. I guess he tackled her, and once she saw that she wasn’t going to win, she let him take the gun from her without a fight—she just curled up on the floor, shaking and babbling about her mom. Jake called nine-one-one, and then he tried to stop the bleeding. The bullet went in a few millimeters from the scapula and between two ribs, which was lucky—none of your bones were shattered. He’d got it under control by the time the paramedics showed up. By then, Danielle got her shit together and hightailed it out of the house, but we picked her up a few blocks away.”

  Even in her groggy state, Gin felt a rush of sadness for the girl, whose need for psychiatric treatment would have to be met from within the justice system now; she might never fully recover from the trauma she’d been through. “How did Jake know where I was?”

  “I guess he called your mom, looking for you, and she told him you were going to see Danielle.” He shook his head in frustration. “Gin . . . you should have called me. You should never have tried to take her on alone. You don’t have any idea . . .”

  His voice trailed off, but he was standing close, close enough that she could see the stubble on his face, the dark circles under his eyes. His hands were warm and strong around hers. The electric attraction that coursed between them was here even now, even under the glare of fluorescent lights, with her hair matted with her own blood, with the weight of all of his responsibilities heavy on his shoulders. It would have been easy—so easy—to give in to the comfort he offered, the promise of strength.

  Instead, she gently pulled her hand away and dropped her gaze. “When can I see Jake and my parents?”

  * * *

  The emergency surgery, which had been performed to remove the bullet that had migrated after entering her body and threatened to block her axillary vein, had almost certainly saved Gin’s life. With the bullet gone, her prognosis was excellent. However, the doctors wanted to keep her for observation for at least another day, given the threat of infection.

  “I told them to keep you for the rest of the week,” Jake fretted. “Just to make sure.” He and her parents had taken turns sitting with her throughout the day, Richard and Madeleine taking the afternoon shift while Jake went to check on a few things for work. Now he was back, and they had gone home to get some dinner and some sleep, promising to return in the morning.

  Gin’s meal had been taken away nearly untouched, and Jake had pulled a chair up next to her bed and turned it around, straddling it so that he could reach around and hold both her hands without putting any pressure on the wound site. Outside, night was falling over the view of the river valley, stars twinkling against a background of pale, wispy clouds and a sliver of moon.

  Gin laughed sleepily; the pain medications had made her woozy. “For such a tough guy, you’re remarkably fearful of doctors,” she said.

  “It’s not the doctors; it’s the place,” Jake said, looking around the room with a shudder. “I hate hospitals. Doc Rafferty seems okay, though I’m going to tell him I’ll kick his ass if he doesn’t give you top-notch care.”

  As if on cue, a nurse came in with a tray bearing a cup of water and Gin’s medication. “You going to kick my ass too?” the nurse teased while Gin swallowed the pills and sipped water. “Tell you what, let’s wait to brawl until Gin’s had some rest. I recommend you go home and get a little rest yourself and check back in with us in the morning. I think there’s a good chance you’ll be able to take her home tomorrow.”

  Jake waited until the nurse was gone. Then he took Gin’s hand, holding it tightly as he leaned against the bed.

  “We need to talk,” he said.

  “Oh, yeah?” Gin said. “What about?”

  “About you and me. About the way it’s going to be from now on.”

  Something stirred inside Gin at his terse words. “That sounds like you’re about to give me orders.”

  “I am. And so help me, you’re going to follow them. Gin—I’ve waited too goddamn long to get you back. I’m not losing you again.”

  “I’m not going anywhere . . .”

  “Not physically, maybe. But I know you, Gin. I’d wager I know you better than anyone on this planet.”

  Gin opened her mouth to say something—to argue, perhaps—and then shut it. He was right. No one saw into her soul the way Jake did; no one else had walked through the same fires with her that he had.

  “So?” she said instead, with a pout that masked raw fear. Because what if this was the moment that Jake demanded that she put it all on the line? That she commit—forever, this time?

  “You’re living with me,” Jake said, not quite meeting her eyes. “I want you to start acting like it.”

  “I do!” Gin protested. “My clothes are in your closet, I have my mail forwarded—”

  “Get rid of that apartment in Chicago,” Jake said, biting off the words. “I don’t want to hear about how you ‘can always go back if things don’t work out.’”

  Gin flinched, recognizing the words she’d spoken only a few weeks ago after some minor disagreement had given her cold feet. But she hadn’t known he’d been listening that closely. Hadn’t known he’d cared so deeply.

  She swallowed. “Okay.”

  Jake nodded curtly. “I’ll drive the truck up if you need to bring anything back. But really, why bother? Get new stuff. We’ll get stuff together. Our stuff—not yours and mine.”

  “All right,” Gin said in a small voice. For some reason, the more Jake demanded, the more willing—eager, even—she was to comply. “Is there anything else?”

  “Damn right there is.” Jake squeezed her hands so hard it almost hurt, but she was pretty sure he wasn’t even aware he was doing it. He stared at a spot on the sheet, not meeting her eyes. “I don’t ever want you offering to bail me out again.”

  “You mean . . . financially?
”

  “Yes. Financially—or any other way, either. Look, I may not be able to buy you diamond rings and trips to Paris—not yet, anyway, not while I’m still trying to get my business off the ground. And maybe another guy wouldn’t ask you to wait. But I want you there for all of it. All of it, Gin—the hard times and the good ones too. None of it means anything without you.”

  Gin felt tears stinging her eyes. Jake had never been so unguarded, never voiced the things she knew he felt so powerfully but kept buried deep.

  “That’s all I’ve ever wanted,” she whispered.

  “Good,” Jake said, letting out a sigh of relief. “That’s settled, then. For the love of God, woman. Try not to scare me like this again. Let’s have a few months just to enjoy each other without any drama. Do you think we can make that work? Please?”

  “I think we can,” Gin said, a smile taking over her face.

  “Good. Because if you don’t behave, you’re going to have some explaining to do.”

  Gin didn’t miss the dangerous edge to Jake’s voice—an edge that promised that boundaries were going to be pushed and provocations rewarded.

  “I see,” she murmured, blushing.

  Jake bent and kissed her gently on the forehead. “For now, you just take care of yourself. Do everything the doctors tell you. I’m going to go see when we can get you out of here. And Gin . . . I love you.”

  “I love you too,” Gin said, her eyes fluttering closed over the approach of fevered dreams.

  * * *

  Gin woke again when an orderly brought her lunch, which she made an effort to finish. She was eager to get home, and the nurse had announced that she’d be released as soon as the final paperwork was prepared. But as the sun streaming through her window gradually faded, it turned out there was one more surprise in store for her.

  “Knock knock,” came a tentative voice at the door. Then two blonde heads of hair peeped shyly around the corner: Olive and Cherie escorted by Brandon.

  Cherie came first, standing very solemnly at the edge of the bed, her hands clasped behind her back. Her eyes were wide and owlish, but even Olive looked apprehensive. Gin looked down at the various tubes connected to her and smiled. “It’s not as bad as it looks, I promise,” she said.

  “Dad says ‘don’t touch,’” Cherie blurted. “He says you’re a little bit broken, but they’re going to fix you.”

  Gin liked that—a little bit broken. She smiled, wondering if that was how Tuck saw her, then decided that it was a label that applied to just about everyone now and then.

  “Your dad helped make sure of that,” Gin said lightly.

  “Your father is a stone-cold badass, Cherie,” Brandon said teasingly, “but Mr. Crosby was the one who saved Gin from the bad guy.”

  “We made you something,” Olive piped up. “Do you want to give it to her, Cherie? Or do you want me to?”

  “The girls have been working on this all morning,” Brandon said. “Tuck let Cherie stay over last night, and well, they’ve been shut up in Olive’s room with the door locked. They made me promise not to peek—wouldn’t even come out for donuts.”

  Cherie accepted the folded paper that Olive was holding and carefully spread it out on the bed next to Gin. It was a handmade card, decorated with crayon and glitter and beads and stickers, and in the middle, it said, “I Love You, Gin.” The “I” had been crossed out and “We” had been written above in a careful hand.

  “We made it together,” Cherie said proudly. “And then we made grilled cheese sandwiches, and I got to use the heart shape cutter.”

  “Tell you what, girls,” Brandon said, winking at Gin, “I seem to remember there’s a soft-serve ice cream machine in the cafeteria. If I can get one of you to bring me back a scoop of chocolate in a cup, you guys can get whatever you want. And get some for Gin too. Sound like a deal?”

  “Deal!” the girls cheered in unison. Olive accepted a ten-dollar bill from her father, and with a backward glance and a smile for Gin, the girls raced out of the room.

  “Forgive my little ruse,” Brandon said, “but I kind of wanted a moment of privacy to ask how you are. You know . . . how you really are.”

  “Well, I’m going to have an interesting scar for bikini season next year,” Gin said wryly. “But I’m actually feeling pretty good. All things considered, I’d say I was pretty lucky.”

  Brandon raised an eyebrow. “You’re tough, Sullivan; we already knew that. I kind of meant . . . how about you and Jake? You guys can’t seem to catch a break.”

  Gin smiled. “I think we’re going to be okay,” she said. “I mean, I’ve given up predicting what life will bring next week, much less next year. But Jake’s going to take a couple weeks off while they wrap up the investigation, and then he hopes to rebuild by next summer. And earlier today, Dad was talking about renting a cabin for Christmas for the four of us—cross-country skiing and roasting chestnuts. I don’t know how he’ll talk my mom into taking the time off, but it sounds like fun.”

  “That’s great, Gin,” Brandon said sincerely.

  Another knock on the door was followed by Rosa entering bearing a paper sack and a huge bouquet of brightly dyed carnations. “Mom sent tamales,” Rosa said after Gin introduced her. “She doesn’t trust the hospital food.”

  “This is going to be a regular gourmet feast!” Gin laughed as Brandon and Rosa squeezed into the small room. “Tamales and ice cream . . . that hits all the major food groups, right?”

  “Barriga llena, corazón contento!” Rosa said.

  “Sorry, Rosa, I don’t remember my high school Spanish,” Brandon said.

  “It means ‘Full stomach, happy heart!’ It’s one of my mom’s favorite sayings.”

  “I’ll toast to that,” Gin said, lifting her plastic cup of water high.

  Amid the laughter of her friends and the delicious aromas of the food, Gin closed her eyes for a brief second and let gratitude wash over her—for her health, her family, and Jake. For the children in her life and those that might come, someday. And for the twisted path that had brought her, finally, back home.

  Epilogue

  On a crisp winter morning a few weeks later, Gin drove out to the construction site with a thermos of coffee and a basket of muffins that her mother had baked. She parked behind Jake’s truck and adjusted her shoulder sling before getting out of the truck. The wound was healing well, according to her doctors, but now and then, a twinge of pain reminded her of how close she had come to dying at the hands of a girl who’d known nothing but sorrow.

  Jake walked toward her across the foundation of the burned house, the only thing to survive the fire. He expected the new permits to rebuild to be issued by the middle of January, and in the meantime, his crew had their hands full with the other two homes. The Ashers had bought a custom home in Fox Chapel, trading Monongahela River views for the Allegheny, but they’d recommended Jake to a handful of friends, and a couple was coming to take a look the Sunday after Thanksgiving.

  “Hey, beautiful,” Jake said, lifting a corner of the napkin on the basket. “All those for me?”

  Gin playfully lifted the basket out of reach. “No fair,” she said. “I can’t fight back.”

  “You’ll be healed in no time.” Jake put an arm around her waist, and together they walked up onto what would be the back deck, eventually. “And when you are, watch out—I’ve got plans for you.”

  “I’ll take that as a promise.”

  Jake offered her a paint bucket to use as a seat, but Gin preferred to sit on the edge of the platform so she could swing her legs while she looked out over the valley. Sunlight glinted off the water, and wispy, lazy clouds floated high above in the dazzling blue sky. There was little traffic on the road in the distance because today was a holiday.

  “Mom said to tell you that if you’re late, she’s locking the door and feeding your plate to Jett.”

  Jake laughed. “Your mom is a formidable woman. Who’s coming, again?”

  “
Well, besides Mom and Dad and us, there’s Rosa and her mom and Antonio, Doyle and his kids, Brandon and Diane and Olive and Austen, and half the city council. It’ll be the first time she’s managed to fill that enormous dining room table in ages.”

  “Yikes. I think I’ll just sit at the kids’ table.”

  Gin punched him playfully with her good arm. “No chance, mister, you’re carving the turkey. Dad says he’s passing the torch—or the carving knife, as the case may be.”

  “Wow.” Jake seemed genuinely taken aback. “That’s a lot of responsibility.”

  Gin rolled her eyes. “Well, if that’s too much of a commitment, I guess we could go back to you dropping me off at my folks’ house and making out in the driveway after dates.”

  “Hmmm. Let me think about that.” When Gin slugged him again, he pulled her into his lap, wrapping his arms around her waist.

  It was thrilling and a little bit scary to look down over the edge of the deck, past the steep, rocky cliff, to the road far below. A fall would be perilous—but Jake would not let her fall.

  Today, the first Thanksgiving she’d spent at home in nearly two decades, Gin decided to try to simply savor every moment. The scent of burning leaves mixed with the fresh breeze off the river, and she could hear a dog barking in the distance and birds calling to each other in the branches. She felt the stubble of Jake’s beard along her neck and the beating of his heart against her back.

  Of all her senses, though, it was the sense of gratitude that she felt most of all. For this day, this man, the family and friends at the table. The good food and good conversation and good wine to wash it all down, and—much later—the good, honest, simple home that she would return to with Jake.

  Nothing in life was certain, and nothing was promised. She and Jake had found their way back to each other, only to discover that each of them had changed. The ease and simplicity of their young love was gone, perhaps forever. But in its place, they had been given another chance.