Page 42 of Rushed

Lincoln

She’s still unconscious.

Ihateseeing her this way, and I’m afraid to lose her to her own head; just like I did with Troy. It was a whole year where he was fearful of the train, the streets, the bar scene, meeting new people. Even if I touched him while his back was turned, he’d jump a hundred feet. Jax has been a Godsend, for sure. He pulled him out of it, pulling his ghosts into the background, and I hope I can do the same for Keenan.

I’ve been sitting here day and night, telling her stories about Troy and I growing up— funny ones, and ones where I made a complete fool of myself—so that when she does wake, she’ll only have heard good things from me. No more despair or sadness.

Yesterday, Troy bought a small radio for her, and I thought that if I chose the happiest shite I could find, which is feckin’ hard when most of my music is to ramp me up during a workout, then maybe it will give her only good vibes. My alternative music is harsh, so Troy came over this morning with his mp3. Sugary pop and a smattering of country shite isn’t uplifting, it’s torture. No wonder he’s always giddy-jumpy and goofing off. I never thought my ears would bleed, but it seems I was incorrect.

Troy, Jon, and the nurses understand that I’mnotmoving. It may have been a bunch of blended days but I don’t care, I won’t leave her side. I may not be family, but I can be pretty persuasive when it comes to getting what I want.

In my downtime, when no one is around to poke and prod at her, or stopping in to see us, I’ve been conditioning my body. I know she expects me in that fight with Mick, so I’m keeping my body in shape as best I can here.

She’ll twist my balls if I’m not prepared, and I’m actually looking forward to that. I want her back at my side, giving me shite and twisting my heart into knots.

God, I love this woman. It’s only been a few months, and I can’t see myself without her. I’m feckin’ damn sure that if she was in a relationship before, there’s no reason they left her behind. She’s amazing, smart, funny, and an amazing feck. What’s not to love? I’m a person who believes that yer actions speak for themselves, and she’s yet to show me a side of her that I can’t handle. So I ask myself all the time, why was she alone, and why has nobody come forward?

Either way, they are in for a fight to take her back from me. That’s a bet Vegas can take and count the odds on. I’ll feckin’ win.

Jon and I have been talking an awful lot while we’ve sat here waiting. We talked about that day, and what it’s been like since. I don’t push her about it, I don’t talk about that at all— even though it’s still all over the news—because I know what it means to her.

I know the nightmares are bits and pieces of her past, trying to punch their way through to the surface. I’ve seen her firsthand after an episode, and I can’t imagine what she went through. I’d seen most of it on the TV as it happened, and the rest in person.

I was fortunate enough to be able to help with the retrieval and rescue of victims. It was horrific and daunting, more so than you can imagine. You couldn’t help everyone, and even the rescue workers were hurt. I passed more ruined fire trucks and cop cars than I care to remember.

I know she was lucky to be found, and even luckier to have found someone like Jon to place her in his care. I intend to let her know every day how lucky I feel that she was one of those who came out of it.

Jon expressed to me what state she was in before we met each other, and I’m a selfish motherfecker. I don’t want to have her reliving those days, even if it means she’ll regain her memory. I figure it was tucked away for a reason. Call me callous, but I want who she is now. I want to keep her safe, keep her away from pricks like Mick forever, and I want to know she’ll only know joy.

I know that’s a pipe dream, but I can hope.

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