Page 82 of Play With Me

Less hurt.

Less focused on little things that don’t matter.

And wholly focused on what does. Like spending as much time as possible with the people you love and who love you.

I can hear everything—the beep of the machines keeping me alive, the soft murmurings of someone next to my bed. I can hear every little thing, but I can’t open my eyes and tell whoever is by my sideI’m alright. It’s a battle to leave thisin betweenthat I seem to be trapped in.

And I’m tired—so tired.

But the voice is begging me to fight. So I focus on it. I gather my strength to make my way toward it…and, in the meantime, I listen to the person pleading to God to bring me back.

Because they love me.

And I fight.

Because I love them, too.

Anders

Time is a selfish temptress. She always leaves us wanting more of her. Unsympathetic to our desires, she flees quickly and shrugs callous shoulders when we ask her to stay.

Even so, I’d give her anything—anything—for more time with Carmela.

Cara looks frail as she lies in the hospital bed, her chest falling and rising with shallow breaths. It’s an off-putting sight because she’s anythingbutfrail.

She’s a fucking warrior. She survived childbirth and raised Maya on her own as a single mother. What’s a bullet to the chest?

I’ve seen men go down for less.

My phone rings for the millionth time since they stabilized Cara and got her settled in the ICU. It’s Maya. I let it go to voicemail because I have no ideawhat I’m supposed to tell her. I’m still covered in her mom’s blood.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I balance my forearms on my knees, clasp my hands together, and pray to a God I’m not sure I believe in. “Bring her back to me. Please. I beg you.”

The only answer I get is the sound of the ventilator pumping air into Cara’s lungs.

Flashbacks from discovering her surface: Mick flying past Carmela’s office, chasing after the sound of retreating footsteps. Rushing through the open door and freezing momentarily, trying to process what I was seeing. Carmela on the ground. Blood pooling beneath her. Shallow, gurgled breaths filling the room with each raspy inhale.

“The bullet ricocheted off a rib and hit her lung,”the trauma surgeon had explained.“She hit her head pretty bad on the way down, too. Miss Lane is stable, but it’s unclear when she’ll wake up. She’s lucky to be alive.”

“Come on, baby girl,” I whisper, reaching for her hand. “Come back to me.”

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a couple laugh and play like you two do.”The memory of my mother’s words haunts me.

“We’re not done playing yet, Cara. I need you to come back and play with me, baby.” Tears gather in my eyes as my voice cracks. “I love you.”

Still, the only answer I receive is the soft whirringof a thousand moving parts in the machine keeping her alive.

“You look like shit. Where the fuck have you been?” I analyze Mick with a skeptical glare. His skin is ashen, and the dark circles under his eyes make him look like a ghost.

“Dealing with…things.” He doesn’t elaborate, hands bunching in the pockets of his slacks repeatedly. It’s a nervous tell—one I’ve never seen him display.

He peers over my shoulder into the room behind me. “How is she?”

“Stable.” I narrow my eyes. “Now, are you going to tell me where the fuck you disappeared off to?”

“Language, Anderson!” Letitia, Carmela’s mom, scolds as she emerges from the room.

It’s been hours with no change, but I wasn’t about to keep Cara’s family in the dark about what happened. Not after they spent so much time apart.

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