Adam didn’t look up, didn’t look away from Meredith’s pale face as her grandfather came into her ICU room and wearily dropped into the plastic chair beside Adam’s.
‘I’m okay,’ Adam said quietly. And he was. The knife had not hit anything major and he had not gushed like a stuck pig when it was removed, contrary to Trip’s dire prediction. ‘I’ll stay until she’s awake.’
She had woken once, shortly after her surgery. Her eyes had opened and she’d looked around wildly, only settling when she found Adam in the chair beside her bed. Her dry lips had mouthed ‘Love you,’ and she’d smiled at him. Then her eyes had closed as she slipped back into unconsciousness.
He gingerly held only the middle and forefingers of her left hand, which bore all the needles and IVs, as well as splints on her ring finger and pinkie. Her right hand was swathed in bandages that continued all the way up to her shoulder.
The bullet Wyatt had fired at her as he’d made his desperate getaway in the van had damaged the tendons in her upper arm, which was why her arm had hung so limply. The surgeon believed he’d repaired the damage, but the recovery would be painful. He had, however, been hopeful that she’d regain full use of the arm. Which was all good news.
That she was alive was Adam’s main concern. And she was. Her chest raised and lowered with regular, if shallow breaths. The bastard had broken one of her ribs and two of the fingers on her left hand, but she’d fought him hard. She’d shot him twice and slashed his face twice – with her shoe and with her pretty pink tactical pen. With hearts.
Quincy had found the pen in the bloody snow and had brought it to show Adam, tagged in an evidence bag. Adam had seen her coloring with it, but he hadn’t known what it was at the time and his eyes had stung brutally when he realized how damn good his woman had been at protecting herself. Even though she shouldn’t have had to. Ever.
Still, Adam was going to buy her a whole case of pretty pink tactical pens and a closet full of high-heeled shoes when she woke up, because she was who she was, and as long as she helped children in need, she’d make enemies.
Other than that one moment after her surgery, she hadn’t woken again. She’d had a steady stream of visitors, because Meredith was well loved by everyone. That had not surprised him.
That they came in one at a time, not one of them disputing his claim on the chair closest to her bedside had surprised him. And humbled him.
Clarke resettled his big frame in the small chair. ‘You need to eat, boy,’ he said gruffly. ‘She’ll have my hide when she wakes up if you’re half dead from hunger.’
Adam’s lips curved, visualizing her locking wills with her grandfather. But his smile quickly dimmed. He didn’t have the energy to maintain it. ‘She told me to tell you that she was okay,’ he murmured. ‘When we were waiting for the ambulance back at the crime scene. Oh,’ he remembered, ‘and that she loves you. I’m sorry. I forgot to tell you before.’
The big man beside him shuddered out a breath. ‘Thank you,’ he said, and there were tears in his voice. And on his face. The old man was crying openly and without apology. And without an iota of shame.
Adam nodded, remaining silent because he was no longer able to trust his own voice. He reached out a hand that trembled and stroked the inside of her left arm, over the faded scars, emotion welling up to choke him. He clenched his jaw against it, clenched every muscle in his body against it.
It always passed, the need to weep. But it wasn’t passing this time and he found himself impaled on it, stuck between breaths. Unable to inhale or exhale. And panicking.
A beefy hand thunked him heavily on his back and with a whoosh he expelled the breath that had been stuck in his lungs.
‘You gotta breathe, son,’ Clarke muttered. ‘It’s kind of a necessary thing.’
Adam expected the weight on his back to disappear, but it didn’t. It gentled, the old man’s hand spreading wide and rubbing his back in slow circles. And once again his eyes burned and his breath hitched.
‘When’s the last time you let it all out, Adam?’ Clarke asked in a whisper. ‘Let your guard down and just let it all out?’
Adam turned only his head to look at him. ‘What?’
Clarke smiled sadly. ‘When was the last time you cried, Adam?’
Adam blinked at him, thrown by the question. ‘I don’t know.’
Clarke sighed. ‘That’s what I thought. It’s okay, you know. To cry.’
Adam shook his head. ‘I know that. But . . . not for me.’
The big hand kept making those big, soothing circles on his back and Adam felt his eyes growing heavy. ‘I met your father,’ Clarke said suddenly and Adam blinked awake.
‘When? Where?’
‘About an hour ago. And in the waiting room. He’s . . . well, he’s an asshole, if you don’t mind me saying so.’
Adam huffed a shocked laugh. ‘No, I don’t mind at all. It’s true. What did he do?’
‘Demanded to see you. All bluster and “me, me, me.” He had your mother with him. I think she’s the one who wanted to see you, but your dad . . . ? Well, he kind of—’
‘Mowed right over her,’ Adam supplied sadly. ‘I wish I’d known she was there. She doesn’t deserve what he does to her, but she doesn’t fight back. I don’t think she ever could.’ He frowned, turning back to the woman who lay in the bed, motionless except for the even rise and fall of her chest. ‘She’s no Meredith, that’s for sure.’
‘No, she’s not. But she seems to love you. I could see it in her face.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I offered to bring her back here to see you, but that only two people could be here in ICU and you weren’t leaving Merry’s side. In actuality, I never would have allowed him to come back here. You understand that, right?’
‘Oh, I do. And I agree.’
‘Good. Anyway, your father said he wasn’t allowing your mom to come back here without him. That you should come see your mom in the waiting room. She backed away from that, said that your place was next to the woman you loved.’ Clarke drew a breath and held it for longer than necessary. ‘I thought he’d hit her. Does he hit her?’
‘She says no,’ Adam said uneasily. ‘I’ve never seen him hit her. He never really hit me, even. It was more emotional manipulation. He’s good at that. I tried to get my mother to leave, to walk away and come live with me. Well, I used to. I haven’t for a year or so.’
And I should have. I’m sorry, Ma.
‘Since the girl was killed in front of you,’ Clarke said, not mincing words.
Adam’s brows lifted. ‘How did you know?’
‘It’s all over the news. The Ledger ran a piece on the girl, posted a photo of her taken from one of your Skype sessions. CPD is trying to find out where she came from.’
‘Nash wanted to,’ Adam remembered. ‘Right after it happened. I did too. But Wyatt said the videos had been lost.’ He frowned, then closed his eyes on a sigh. ‘I found a DVD in a pile of stuff on my kitchen table a few months later. I was drunk that day. Every day back then, actually. I was on mental health leave, but I made a copy and took it to my old boss in Personal Crimes. He promised me that he’d put a team on it. I guess they did for a while, but . . . priorities. They had live kids to save. I should have fought for her, should have asked Isenberg to take the case. But I couldn’t. There was this mental block whenever it came to Paula. And then when I got sober? My sponsor said I needed to distance myself. That every time I thought about Paula I was dancing close to the edge, and he was afraid if I fell over again that I’d never find my way back.’ He rubbed his temples. ‘Now I’ll never know if John really believed that or if Wyatt put him up to it.’
‘Either way, he may have been right,’ Clarke said softly. ‘Sometimes you have to walk away and save yourself. Did you wonder where the DVD came from?’