Page 37 of Rushed

Lincoln

January 15

It’s been days since Keenan was attacked, and I haven’t left her side. Troy tries to get me to go eat or sleep, but I can’t move—Iwon’tmove—not until she wakes up and I see her smile again.

After the police left, Keenan went back to sleep, but it was a fitful one. The doctors decided that it was best she be sedated, to let her body repair. Other than the attempted rape, she has a two inch cut at her lip, a gouge at her temple from hitting the brick wall, two black eyes, and multiple scrapes and bruises on her delicate face, knees, hands and arms.

She looks like she went twelve rounds in the ring.

The little woman lying in the bed has more strength and more courage than that feckin’ Mick Jackson does in his puny prick. I told her she was brilliant to have called me, and I still can’t believe what I heard happening. If she doesn’t have new nightmares about all this, I’ll be surprised; I sure as shite have.

Every time I try to doze off, I hear it all over again. I had just stepped out of the shower and was dressing when I heard the call. Listening in, I immediately hit the street in a flat-out run towards the coffee shop where she called out. In the nightmare, I can’t find her, and I wander the streets for what feels like hours as I hear her screaming. That’s when I wake in a cold sweat.

If Mick and his buddies wanted to make sure I fought, then this was the wrong approach. More and more I want to step away and never hit that cage. It’s becoming a reminder of all the dangerous things that have happened in my life. My father, his years in the ring, my brother and what Mick put him through because of me, and now Keenan, all over a silly feckin’ belt in a plaque on the wall. If it weren’t for the promise I made her that I would, I’d give up the gloves for good. But, she had me promise emphatically that I would fight, and because of that promise, I will.

Over the past few hours, she’s stirred more and more, tossing on the bed spasmodically. I grimace every time I see it, wondering if she’s reliving something from her past, or from the current situation. Troy and the boys have stopped in with massive bouquets of fragile lilies, pansies, and some type of exotic flower I’ve never heard of, all so that when she wakes, the room will smell “lovely.” I don’t know if Kitten understands how much she has us all wrapped around that pinky of hers, but we’re whipped men.

I want her to wake up so I can dote on her, and at the same time, I want her to sleep right through this hell. The fight is only a few weeks away, and I can’t see myself in the cage without her. I’ll postpone it for years if need be. I’ve fallen so hard for her in such a short time. My life would be weak in comparison if she wasn’t in it.

Jon came in the day after the attack, and like me, he’s never left her side. He’s listed as her next of kin. Unfortunately, he was in DC for a meeting at the time, and it took a few hours to get back. He pops in every couple hours to check on her, and make me eat in between phone calls.

My dad was a tough military man, but he has nothing on Jon. I recognized his Delta Force tattoo that first day, so I knew he was a man to reckon with. When Keenan told me he’s a Major General, that was enough to put him on my list of ‘respected men I’ve met.’ We’d met a few weeks back, but we’d never had a chance to chat. But now, he and I have had lots of time to talk, as there hasn’t been much else to do.

He’s been working away on his laptop, and taking the occasional call in the hall. The doctors can’t understand why she isn’t waking up, even after the sedation wore off. I personally think she needs the time to mentally come to grips with it all. I’ll give her all the time in the world.

Troy and Jackson left about ten minutes ago. After dropping off food from Jim’s restaurant for both of us, because Jon and I have begrudgingly eaten little over the past few days. I know they worry about me, and I appreciate it, but all I want to do is curl up with her in my arms and protect her forever.

I want to erase it all. I want her life pain free. And if I’m part of what gives her pain, I’ll leave. It’ll crush me, but I’d do it for her.

It’s selfish to think that her old life might need her back, but I can’t be without her now. I’m not giving her up, not without a feckin’ fight.

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