Page 156 of Stay with Me

My eyes widened and my fingers jerked around the strap of my purse as I spun around, my back to the road, disbelief ringing through me as my gaze darted wildly and landed on the source.

She was standing under the flickering parking lot light. Even in the low light, I could see her washed-out, bottled-blond hair with dark, dark roots, her gaunt face and frame. Clothing was wrinkled. An old T-shirt hung from slim shoulders. Jeans were skintight but billowed out from the knees.

She took a step toward me, and I moved a step back. Her smile was tight and brittle. “Baby ...”

I couldn’t believe it.

Mom was standing right in front of me, looking strung-out and calling me baby. I was literally rooted to where I stood, absolutely dumbfounded. I didn’t even know what to say to her, because there were a thousand things I wanted to scream at her, but none of those things came out of my mouth.

“Are you okay?” That was what I said.

She opened her mouth, but whatever she said was cut off by a roaring sound, like an engine gunning it. My head jerked and I looked behind me. A four-door car with tinted windows sped into the parking lot, stopping under the sign. A window rolled down on the driver’s side.

Tiny sparks speared into the night.

There was a popping sound.

Mom shouted, and I thought she screamed my name, but there were more popping sounds, like a dozen corks being pulled at once, and more sparks. I dimly realized it was gunfire just as glass exploded all around me. Metal pinged close to me, too close, and my purse slipped out of my fingers as a scream built in my throat.

The sound never left me, because my breath was punched out of me as a strange burn lit up my stomach, sharp and sudden, intense and stealing my breath.

I looked down as I wobbled back, bumping into a Jeep. I thought I heard shouting, but my head was spinning in a funny way. My hands shook as I pressed them against my side. I felt something warm and wet.

“Mom,” I croaked as the bones left my legs. I didn’t remember falling, but the back of my head hurt, but not as bad as my stomach. I was staring up at the sky, but the stars were moving, like they were raining. “Mom?”

There was no answer.

Thirty-one

When I opened my eyes again, I wasn’t staring at stars or even a bright light. It was a ceiling, a white drop ceiling with a soft, dim light fixture. The rest was shadowy and as my gaze tracked to the opposite wall, I saw a pale blue curtain. My thoughts were slushy and I felt funny, like I was floating, but I knew I was in a hospital. There was a dull sensation of something in my right hand and as my gaze slowly trekked to where it rested on the bed, I could see an IV.

Definitely a hospital.

Oh yeah, that was right, I’d beenshot. Actually shot with a gun. Seriously.

God, my luck sucked.

I started to sit up, but the dull ache turned sharper, piercing across my belly, and the air punched out of my lungs at the suddenness of it. The walls spun like a bad acid trip.

Movement from the left of my bed stirred the air around me and a gentle hand landed on my shoulder. I blinked the room back into focus as my head was guided back against the surprising stack of pillows.

“Awake for a couple of seconds and you’re already trying to sit up.”

The heart monitor registered the sudden increase in my heart rate as I turned my head to the left. My beat skipped unsteadily.

Jax was sitting in a chair next to the bed and he looked ... he looked like crap. Dark smudges bloomed under eyes that were normally the color of warm whiskey. The shadow of stubble along his jaw was thicker than normal.

But he smiled when my eyes met his and he said in a gruff voice that was thick, “There you are.”

“I took your shirt.”

His brows furrowed together. “What?”

I don’t know why I said that. I could tell there were some really sweet drugs rolling through my system right now. So I was going to blame them. “I took your shirt when I left your house, because I wanted a part of you if you decided you didn’t want to see me anymore.”

He straightened in his chair and his lips parted as he stared at me.

“I feel funny,” I admitted. “I think I’ve been shot.”

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