You can check out the end notes for a little more info, if you'd like.
and i don't blame you, dear,
for running like you did all these years
i would do the same, you'd best believe
and the highway signs say we're close
but i don't read those things anymore
i never trusted my own eyes
The Lumineers, "Stubborn Love"
A doctor appeared in the waiting room and looked around. Finally he gave up and said, "Ortiz?"
"That's us," Gemma said.
By now their group had grown to include Bobby, Tig, Quinn, Jury from Indian Hills, and Les from San Bernardino. Along with Chibs and the ever-steady Shannon, that made seven large, leather-clad bikers, one no-nonsense biker queen, and a petite redhead with big eyes and a split lip.
The doctor was understandably taken aback.
He paused a moment and pretended to study the clipboard he held. "I'm Dr. Bryant. Ah, um. Who here is next of kin?"
Chibs gently pushed Olivia forward. "The lass is his fiancée."
She shot him a look over her shoulder, and in the process caught sight of Gemma's surprised I-just-ate-a-lemon face. It made her smile. She stood a little straighter and shook her hair back. "I'm Olivia Gable. I guess I'm the closest to next of kin he has, legally speaking."
His eyes narrowed as he studied her. He lingered over the bruise by her mouth, and she could read every thought on his face. He was young, her age or a bit younger, with dark skin and a lanky build. She imagined he'd seen his share of battered women during his medical career. He knew the signs, and he saw them written in that bruise. The group with her, and the ink he'd seen on Juice, didn't help the impression.
"Just don't," she said and lifted a hand. "I've heard it all before, and this time you really do have the wrong idea. How is Juice?"
"Right," he said, his tone conveying every ounce of skepticism he could muster.
She took a deep breath to calm her temper (and her nerves), and waited him out as he flipped through the chart.
"We took Mr. Ortiz into surgery to remove two bullets in his chest. One pierced the pericardium, but didn't actually touch the heart itself. He was very lucky that it didn't do more damage. A few millimeters more and we would've lost him."
She grabbed the doctor's arm. "Would have? So he's…?"
He mustered up a tired smile. "Alive," he said. His expression turned stern again. "I don't want to mislead you, Ms. Gable. Your fiancé's condition is serious. We've listed him as critical but stable."
"What does that mean, exactly?" Gemma said.
He cut his eyes at her, and then back to Olivia. She nodded. "It's okay. They're family."
"Mr. Ortiz hasn't regained consciousness, but his vitals are good. We have him in cardiac ICU, and at present he's on a ventilator to help him breathe. We're hoping to see improvement within the next twenty-four hours. That's the key window."
"It always is," Olivia muttered, thinking of Tara. "When can we see him?"
He hesitated. "ICU only allows next of kin visitors. That would mean you, Ms. Gable."
Technically, she knew, it didn't. She had no more legal rights than any of the others, but he was doing her a favor. Probably one motivated by a vast misunderstanding of the situation, but at that moment she didn't care. It meant she could see Juice and Gemma couldn't.
"Who did first aid before he arrived?"
"Ollie and me," Chibs said. "Olivia, mostly. I just did the heavy lifting."
The doctor's eyes were grave, older than his years. "You saved his life, Ms. Gable. We wouldn't have stood a chance if he'd lost much more blood."
She thought, but didn't say, that it sounded like the vest had saved his life as much as (if not more) than she had. They'd left out the detail about the vest; it was hard enough explaining gunshot wounds to the cops without adding, "Oh yeah, but luckily he was wearing kevlar, soooo…"
"If you'd like to come with me, I'll take you to him."
She managed a smile and fell in beside him. When they were out of earshot Chibs nudged Bobby with his elbow. "Told you it'd be handy to have an extra medic around."
The doctor kept cutting her sideways looks as they walked. Finally she stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.
"I know what you're thinking, but you're wrong."
He blinked mildly. "I'm not thinking anything, Ms. Gable."
She lifted a brow. "Are you the doctor we'll be talking to most of the time? I mean, while Juice is here?"
"I'm the intern assigned to his case, yes."
"Okay. Then I think maybe you should call me Olivia. I hate the Ms. Gable thing. Makes me feel old and stuffy."
He smothered a smile. "All right, Olivia."
"Good. Now that we've settled that part…look, Dr. Bryant, I get it. You see my man. My people. This mark on my face. You think you know the story. I promise you, you don't. So stop looking at me like that. Stop trying to think of a way to subtly pass me information on the local domestic crisis center."
"You seem like a woman who has her sh—uh, stuff—together, but sometimes a situation can get out of hand before you even realize it. Just one time can turn into—"
She interrupted him with a gesture. "I've been there, Dr. Bryant. I know exactly what just one time can turn into, and I promise you that's not what this is. So would you please just take my word for it and stop treating me like I'm the poor misguided, pitiful waif who's too naïve to understand her situation?"
He tilted his head in a brief, considering nod. "Fair enough," he said. "But you gotta understand—"
"I do understand. And right now I'm not offended. Keep it up and I will be. I do have the right to ask for another doctor, don't I?"
"I'd appreciate it if you didn't do that. I was in on your fiancé's surgery, and I'd like to see it through."
"I'd like that too, Dr. Bryant. So let's put this awkwardness behind us, and you can tell me all the nitty gritty details you left out in front of the others."
"Ah, well, it's not really—"
"A pretty story? I can imagine. Don't worry. I'm not really a pretty story kinda girl."
This time when he opened his eyes he saw her and immediately knew it was a dream. She was perched at the foot of his hospital bed dressed the same way she'd been the day she came to visit him in the hospital two years ago: paint-spattered Chuck Taylor low tops, denim cut offs, and that damn Yes t-shirt. Her hair was styled like the first night they'd met, three smaller braids woven into one long rope down her back.
"Hey, baby," she said.
"Hey. I'm dreaming again, right?"
"Mmhhmm," she said. She lifted a brow. "You know you look like shit, Ortiz."
"So you keep saying."
"Unfortunately it keeps being true. You really need to take better care of yourself."
He acknowledged that with a brief quirk of his mouth before his face creased. "My chest hurts."
"You were shot, babe."
"Huh." He didn't really remember that part. "Bad?"
"Pretty fuckin' bad."
"Oh." He shifted in the bed and motioned her closer. "Come get in with me."
She smiled and toed off her shoes just like she'd done that day. But this time she crawled under the covers and snuggled up against him. They were both lying on their backs, her head on his shoulder and his arm draped around her body. She entwined her fingers with his and toyed with them.
He turned his head to bury his nose in her hair.
"You hate the new haircut."
"I don't hate it," he said, quickly.
She cast him a dubious look.
"I don't hate it, I promise. You could shave your head and I wouldn't hate it. I just hate that—I hate that I did it. I wish it'd been your choice."
"Ah," she said. "Well. Better than the alternative."
He didn't say anything, and a silence fell between them. He loved the feel of her pressed next to him like this, the softness and warmth of her body and the sweet smell of her skin and hair.
"Liv," he said, "am I dead?"
Her mouth twisted. "Nope. Not yet."
"You keep sayin' that, too. Not yet. Like I could kick off at any time."
"It's an option."
He wasn't sure the idea thrilled him. "Do I have any other options?"
She laughed and turned over to face him. "Of course you do, silly. We always have options."
Her mouth was suddenly more distracting than he could bear, and he spent the next several minutes kissing her. He murmured something against her lips and slid a hand down to cup her ass, and she pulled away with a chuckle.
"Whoa there, tiger. Not sure you're in any position to be gettin' handsy." She nodded toward the heart rate monitor, which had escalated rapidly. "Gotta stay mellow."
"What's the point of a dream if I can't make out with you?"
"It's not really that kinda dream."
He made a noise of disappointment but settled back against the pillows anyway. "Okay, lay it on me. What are my options?"
"You've got three of them, really," she said. "One, you could say here with me."
"And not get handsy? Ever?"
She grinned and kissed his nose. "Maybe eventually, just not right now."
"I can work with eventually. What's behind door number two?"
"Funny you should put it that way," she said and tilted her head.
He craned his neck the direction she indicated and squinted. The room seemed way bigger than it should be, and he could barely make out the hallway door. It was plain and square and white, just like any other hospital door, but around the edges glowed the most extraordinary light. He couldn't look directly at it, and after a moment he shrank back onto the bed.
"I don't think that goes to the hall."
"No, m'love, you're right about that."
"So…where does it go?"
She shrugged a shoulder. "I don't know. The undiscovered country. Whatever it is that comes next."
"You told me last time I wasn't goin' to Heaven."
"Oh, baby, come on. I don't even know if there is a Heaven—or a Hell. Maybe there's just nothing. Dark, quiet peace."
He let out a slow breath. "That actually sounds really nice."
"Yeah, it does. But don't make a decision until you know about option three."
"Tell me about option three," he said with an expansive gesture.
"Well, Juice, I'm glad you asked. Option three includes a long road to recovery, a great deal of pain, and the general stress and bother of every day living."
She paused. Her expression turned thoughtful and poignant. She brushed her fingers against his face.
"It also includes me," she said, quietly. "Real me, not dream me. Sea-scented shampoo and blow jobs in the backyard and a car named Caligula. Random red hairs on literally everything you own—though at least they'll be shorter now—and inappropriately timed giggle fits and the life we could build together. That's all part of option three.
"Option one is the easiest. Two is the quickest. Three is the scariest. The best and the worst. Your choice, baby."
He stared up at the lights above them and wondered. He could stay here. Have her with him every day—but not the real her. A version of her his mind had conjured. Idealized.
The door both scared and intrigued him. If the pain he felt in his chest now, the dream pain, was only an echo of what he'd feel if he woke up…well. But then he might never see her again. He had no idea what he believed about any sort of afterlife, or if his beliefs even mattered.
And then there was option three. To live. How long until he could ride again? Can't ride, can't vote. He'd promised her he'd patch out anyway, so did that even matter?
Yeah. It did.
But so did she. He wanted her. He wanted the life they could build together. So what held him back from just taking the third option and getting on with all of it?
"I love you, Olivia," he said as tears gathered in his eyes.
"I know you do, Juicy."
"I'm so scared."
"I know that, too," she said, her voice soft with compassion. Suddenly she smiled. The dimple appeared in her chin. "The good part is you don't have to decide right now. Think about it. Better to take your time than rush into anything, right?"
"Will you stay with me while I'm thinking?"
"Of course."
"Can I touch your ass?"
She considered a moment. "Since you asked so nice, yes."
He grinned and gave it a possessive pat. "Good. It's a very nice ass."
"It's your dream, sugar," she said and pressed a kiss to his jaw. "I wouldn't expect anything less."
They threw her out after an hour—much longer, probably, than they really should have let her linger, but it was a small hospital and the rules were a little laxer. She wandered back to the waiting room feeling numb and shell-shocked. She stood in front of the big automatic doors and waited for them to open for nearly a full minute before she remembered she had to push the button.
Somehow she managed to rearrange her face into something more optimistic before they saw her. Rat had joined the crowd, she noticed, and a couple of guys she recognized from the cabin but couldn't match with names.
In what seemed to be a pre-arranged agreement, Chibs was the one who approached her. "How'd you get roped into this job?" she muttered as he slipped an arm around her waist.
"Bobby and me figured you wouldn't want Gem," he replied, masking his words with a sympathetic smile.
She hugged him, her back to the others, and said, "Probably good thinking. Somehow I don't quite buy her worried mother routine."
He snorted. "Come along, lass. Everyone's anxious for an update."
As they approached the group turned toward them with expectant, worried faces. She quailed a moment, but Chibs squeezed her arm and she lifted her chin.
"It's bad," she said without preamble. "Like the doctor said they have him on a ventilator and all that. Um—" She took a moment to collect herself. "Dr. Bryant said they were guardedly optimistic, which I think is just doctor-speak for we don't know what the fuck's gonna happen but we really hope we didn't waste our time."
"How are you, Ollie?" Bobby said, the low rumble in his voice muted and gentle.
She swallowed. "I've—been better." Her brow creased and she raised trembling fingers to rub it. "I'm trying to be optimistic, guarded or otherwise, but at this point it's a waiting game. His vitals are all good, so barring some sort of complication it's just a question of whether he opens his eyes or not. That's all."
There was a brief silence while everyone shuffled their feet, unsure what to say. She wondered where Gemma was. Had they sent her away? She couldn't imagine she'd go. Maybe she was getting coffee.
"Ollie girl," Chibs said after a moment, "what do you want to do now? Are they going to let you back in?"
"Not any time soon." She shook her head and crossed her arms over her stomach. "Do you think someone could take me home? I need a shower, and I desperately need to change clothes."
"I could do that, sweetheart," Gemma said. She had appeared behind them and Olivia hadn't even noticed. She had a cup of coffee in her hand, so that guess had been right.
Olivia's eyes darted to Chibs and back to Gemma. "Thank you, Gem, but I'd rather—I think you should be here. If he were to wake up…"
She trailed off and Bobby picked up the thread. "Better Gemma's face is the first one he sees. One of us and he might decide to fall asleep again."
"I sure as fuck would if I woke up to Bobby's ugly mug," Tig said.
Gemma lifted a brow. Olivia read the look as easily as if she'd spoken aloud: you crafty little bitch.
Olivia blinked at her, slowly. Learned from the best.
Gemma's mouth tightened in brief acknowledgment.
"Besides," Chibs said, oblivious to their wordless exchange, "I, for one, would rather not have you two on the road alone. We don't know how safe things are yet."
"But you have Teddy, right?" Olivia said, pitching her voice low so any nearby nosy busybodies couldn't hear.
"Aye," Chibs said, "but you seemed to imply this guy plans for everything. You think he might've planned for this, too?"
It was a possibility she'd considered, but she hadn't found the energy to care. "I don't know," she said. "Depends on if his arrogance outpaces his paranoia."
"Or if this is exactly what he wanted to happen," Tig muttered.
"Also possible," she conceded. "I honestly—I can't think about all that right now. I just have to get Juice's blood off of me."
"I'll take you," Tig said. "I mean, unless you don't want me too, considering what happened last time."
Her mouth quirked. "Hardly your fault, Tiggy." Besides Chibs or maybe Rat, he was the only one she'd feel comfortable with right now anyway, and she really wanted Chibs here in case Juice woke up.
"Come on," he said. "I got an extra helmet stowed."
Great. An hour plus on the back of a motorcycle. She resigned herself to the discomfort as she hugged everyone goodbye. Both Chibs and Bobby were given strict orders to call if anything changed, and they assured her they would. Dr. Bryant had told her she was listed as Juice's emergency contact—something she hadn't known, and she wondered when he'd changed it—so even if they somehow didn't, the hospital would.
As she strapped on the helmet Tig handed her she decided now was as good a time as any to broach a touchy subject. She took a deep breath and Tig glanced at her. She smiled and his expression turned suspicious.
"What?" he said.
"Nothing!"
"Something. Just spit it out."
She wrinkled her nose. "You know where they've got Teddy?"
"Ye—eess," he said, drawing the syllable out doubtfully.
"Can you take me there?"
He sliced his hands through the air. "No, Ollie. No way. Not happening."
"Tiggy, come on. I don't want to kill him."
"Bullshit."
She huffed out a breath. "Tig, please. I just need to talk to him. I couldn't kill him if I wanted to: the cops have my knife and I don't carry a gun."
His face twisted. He threw a leg over his bike and wouldn't look at her. "Goddammit, Ollie."
"I know I'm putting you in an awkward position, but I deserve a chance to look him in the face after what happened to Juice. I promise you I won't even touch him."
"Fuckin' A. Fine! But if something happens to him, remember that it's my ass on the line!"
"I know, Tiggy. Thank you." She paused and he cast a narrow-eyed look over his shoulder.
"What now?"
"Can we just make one quick stop first?"
"Your place? You wanna change?"
"No. Just like a gas station or a convenience store."
He tilted his head. "What the fuck for? You gonna play the lotto?"
"I need some candy."
"Ca—? You know what, never mind. Fine. You need candy, we'll get you candy. Get on the fuckin' bike and let's go."
She mounted up behind him and kissed his cheek. "Thank you, Tig. I owe you one."
"You're goddamn right you do," he muttered as he gunned it out the parking lot.
The lockdown had ended when the club got Teddy, and now (appropriately enough) they were holding him at the gun warehouse. The place was heavily guarded by guys she didn't recognize wearing Indian Hills and SanDino patches. They greeted Tig and gave her sidelong, suspicious looks. She ignored it as best she could, but she was relieved to see Happy and West when they got inside.
"What the hell, Tig?" Happy said. "What's she doin' here?"
"She wanted to talk to him," Tig said with a sigh.
"Put a bullet in his head, you mean."
She rolled her eyes. "With what gun, Hap?" She lifted her arms and turned in a circle. Stripped Chibs' hoodie off and handed it to Tig. Underneath she was wearing a blood-soaked tank top and close-fitting jeans.
"Wanna check my bra?" she asked with a lifted brow.
"Maybe just to be safe," Tig said.
She knew he was mostly joking, but she didn't want there to be any questions. She pulled the hem of her shirt up and turned another circle. There was no room for a weapon anywhere they could see, just a lot of white skin and a sprawling tattoo.
"Satisfied?"
"Nice ink," said Happy.
"Thanks," she replied with a lifted brow.
He was the sergeant-at-arms, so it was mostly his call. He studied her through narrowed eyes and she met his gaze coolly. She didn't look pissed. She didn't look much of anything, besides small and bloody, but he knew it wasn't smart to underestimate her.
"Cops still got your knife?" he said.
"Yup."
He lifted his shoulder in a laconic shrug. "Go ahead."
She held out her hand and Tig passed her the hoodie. She put it on and fished something out of the pocket. It was a box. Twizzlers. Strawberry Twizzlers.
She pulled one out and put it in her mouth, holding it in the corner like one might with a cigarette. She offered the box around but they all declined. The door shut behind her and Happy cast Tig a curious look.
"I thought she hated strawberry."
"Fuck if I know, man. I lost my Olivia Gable magic decoder ring a long time ago. If I ever fuckin' had one."
Teddy raised his head, and he couldn't hide the spasm of surprise that passed over his features at the sight of her. She smiled sweetly. Shrugged out of the hoodie and hung it from one of the nearby shelves. She leaned next to it and chomped on her candy. They were both quiet, each assessing the other.
"Looks like they've been treatin' you okay," she said at last.
His eye was swollen shut, but otherwise he was largely unmarked. She admired Happy's restraint.
"It's wonderful to see you, my dear," he said in his cultured Southern tones. "I thought I wouldn't have the pleasure before my time was up."
"I wanted to stop in. Say hi."
He bared his teeth. "You're in a state. You could have showered first. Put on fresh clothing."
"What's the matter, Teddy? It's just a little blood. Well"—she chuckled—"quite a lot of blood, actually. But that's what happens when you try to kill someone."
"You tried to kill someone?"
"I tried to save someone."
"Ah. And did you?"
"I did, actually," she said. "That must sting. Not only are you here, at the mercy of these men, but your guys failed to do the one thing you asked of them."
He sighed and sat back in his chair. "It's an old saw, but nevertheless true: good help is terribly hard to find."
"Indeed." She sat down across from him and crossed one leg over the other. Slid the colorful cardboard box over the table and lifted a brow. "Twizzler?"
"Strawberry. My favorite." His lips twisted. "I thought you had developed an aversion to them."
"I'm over it," she said.
"Are you here to kill me, Audra?"
"Nope," she said with a grin.
"To gloat, then?"
"Not this time."
He let out a short breath. "What, then? Get to it."
"Right. Because you're so fuckin' busy."
"You should show me some respect, Audra. Do you know I never lost track of you? Eight long years I let you run. You thought you were clever, didn't you? The way you moved. Changed your name. And seeking shelter with motorcycle clubs! Brilliant, and a real stroke of luck."
"Why didn't you come for me sooner?" she said.
"You were so deliciously afraid, my little strawberry. Always looking over your shoulder, jumping at your own shadow." He leaned closer and his smile turned vicious. "It's true what they say: fear sweetens the meat."
She laughed, a soft ripple. "Okay, Dr. Lecter. I think I'll just have to take your word for that one."
He straightened, and she couldn't tell if he were disconcerted or offended. She propped her elbows on the table and took a bite of her Twizzler.
"Must suck for you I'm not afraid anymore," she said.
His head tilted and he watched her through narrowed eyes. "Truly?"
She shrugged. "Happens when you watch the man you love almost bleed to death all over you."
"So you feel as though you have nothing left to lose."
"No, I wouldn't say that. I just understand what my priorities are. You? Are not one of them."
He nodded toward the box on the table. "Would you mind? I'm a bit—indisposed."
His hands were cuffed behind him, and then to the chair, and the chair was chained to the floor. They weren't taking any chances.
She pulled out a waxy red rope and stuck it in his mouth. His lips closed around it and he chewed contentedly. "Such a plebeian sort of pleasure. If my chef could see me now he would weep."
"I'm sure he would," she said with an amused smile. "I thought everyone deserves a last meal, so I had Tig stop by a 7-11 on the way here."
His expression turned sour. "Tig," he said the way one might say dead cockroach. "Is that the vulgar one we picked up with you?"
"The one and only."
"Really, strawberry, a biker whore? You could be so much more."
"Rather a biker whore than your whore, Teddy," she said, mildly, her eyes never losing their sparkle.
He cleared his throat. "Could you please—?"
She took the Twizzler from him and set it on top of the box.
"Thank you. Terribly difficult thing to eat without one's hands. Now, where were we?"
She raised a brow and said nothing.
"Ah, yes, we were discussing whores." He paused. "I remember a time when you were far less hostile toward me than you are now. One might say friendly, even."
"Already we're at the victim blaming portion of the evening?" She shook her head. "I'm so disappointed, Teddy. I thought we were beyond such things."
"You know, Audra, it's possible we could work something out."
Her head tilted and the corners of her mouth twitched. "Could we?"
"I've never forgotten you. Your scent. The way you taste. How you used to moan my name."
She didn't flinch. She refused to give him the satisfaction. Her gaze stayed steady on his and her only reaction was a brief quirk of her lips.
"You were always bright. I imagine we could do wonderful things together. I could give you anything you want, my strawberry."
"Diamonds? Could you get me diamonds, Teddy?"
He snorted. "Diamonds are child's play. I could give you a mine of them—cruelty free, of course, because I know how tender your conscience is."
She smiled and leaned forward a little. "Cars?"
"A fleet of them, whatever type you like. I'll even buy you cars in disrepair so that you can tinker to your heart's content."
"Hhmm. An island? I've always dreamt of owning my own island."
"I'll buy you a dozen and string them around your neck like pearls," he said, his voice vibrating with conviction—and, she thought, lust.
She ran a fingertip over her lower lip as she seemed to consider. Her eyes were faraway, thoughtful, and when she focused on him again she looked delighted. "How about this one. Give me this and we've got a deal."
"Anything, Audra. Name it and it's yours. I'll make you a queen."
When she spoke her voice was vicious, scathing, and it burned like acid. "Make me whole again. Take away my memory of everything you or your son ever did to me. Knit my bones and heal my mind. Smooth the scars and give me the last thirteen years back. Can you do that, Teddy?"
If she'd flustered him he covered it well. His eyes darkened, but his smile was as smooth as ever. "You would be surprised at the hurts money can soothe, my dear."
"Oh, Teddy." She laughed and gathered the Twizzlers box. Tucked his half-eaten piece into it and reached behind her for Chibs' hoodie. "I've had your money, remember? The only thing that will soothe me now is you, dead."
"So you are going to kill me."
She knocked on the door and Happy opened it. "No, I wasn't lying about that." She nodded toward the grinning sergeant-at-arms. "I would honestly hate to deprive him of the pleasure."
Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "There's a reason they call him Happy, you know," she said with a wink.
"Audra!" Teddy called after her, his cool cracking at last. "Audra, my offer was genuine! I can give you everything you've ever wanted!"
"That's right, Teddy," she said over her shoulder. "And what I want is your head on a platter."
Happy shut the door behind her and she walked away without a backwards glance.
Okay. *deep breath* I basically have the rest of the story plotted out; I just have to write it...which is the hard part, of course. HOPEfully I'll be able to tie up all the loose threads I've created over the past 240k words and, well. End the damn story. Novel. Thing.
What I would love from you, faithful readers, is some reviews. :) They help keep me motivated and writing, and for fuck's sake we're almost done so I really don't want to run out of steam now!