Page 149 of A Breath of Life
News flash. I wouldn’t give up my secret band of musketeers for anything.
The officers had requested a private chat with Diem, but I suspected it hadn’t gone well since my surly boyfriend had spent less than five minutes with them before returning. When I asked about it, he dismissed me with a shake of his head.
Kitty showed up after breakfast and delivered Echo. It was the first time I’d seen anything resembling relief in Diem’s eyes. He sank to his knees right there on the hospital floor and buried his face in the canine’s fur. When his shoulders bounced with restrained sobs, Kitty and I pretended not to notice.
I’d never seen Diem like that. He’d always been a bit broken and troubled, but the events of the previous night had stripped his armor and dissolved the glue that held all the carefully mended parts of him together. I was afraid for him more than I was for myself. His limits had been tested and tested and tested. Enough was enough. The man deserved a break.
Kitty and I had chatted quietly while Diem shared a heartfelt reunion with Echo. I learned more about the investigation and cringed when she shared that Costa’s involvement hadn’t gone unnoticed as we’d hoped. He’d been in an interrogation room for the past six hours, and even my witchy co-worker had no updates.
Diem sat vigil beside the bed as doctors and nurses came and went, checking my heart monitor and performing tests. Every time they left, he slid the plastic chair closer and held my hand, never letting go. When a brave nurse suggested he head home and let me rest, the animalistic growl he unleashed made her scamper away. No one made that suggestion again.
“Use your words,” I reminded him.
But Diem had no words. Since arriving at the hospital, he’d been completely mute, staring with a concentration that might have caused discomfort in anyone who didn’t know him. All I could do was stroke his unshaven cheek and reassure him I was okay.
Family and friends arrived after lunch, hence my currently bustling room. It had taken that long for the hospital to make phone calls.
As they visited, Diem hovered. Diem supervised. Diem noted every cringe of discomfort or shallow breath I took. He registered each time I readjusted my position or absently massaged my sternum.
He also kept one hand on Echo, no doubt leeching her strength. The dog knew her daddy wasn’t okay, and she did what she was trained to do. She kept him calm.
The afternoon sun bathed the room in a pool of yellow light. Summer clung to Toronto, refusing to give way to autumn. My mother mentioned it was a balmy twenty-seven degrees. Good. I hated the cold. The warm weather could stick around for as long as it liked.
My stepfather joked and called me Iron Man because I possessed the supernatural ability to reflect bullets. My mother didn’t like the joke and smacked his shoulder admonishingly.
Memphis and Joshua stuck close to each other, chatting quietly at the foot of the bed, allowing my parents to monopolize the visit. Their intimacy did not go unnoticed, and a secret part of me hoped that this experience would bond them. My friend needed to settle down, and Joshua seemed like a decent guy.
My heart monitor blipped a few times, alerting the nurses and tensing Diem’s shoulders, but it was usually nothing. They silenced the noise, reset the machine, checked me head to toe, and told me all was fine.
Due to a moderate myocardial contusion, I was closely observed to be sure my heart continued to function properly. Apparently, the impact of the bullet initially offset its natural rhythm, causing concerning skips in the middle of the night. The skips hadn’t happened since the early morning hours, so the doctor was confident the interruptions were temporary and would cease on their own without intervention.
One or two more days of observation, they said, then I could go home with a story to tell the grandkids.
Joshua didn’t say much. He struggled to meet my eyes, waves of guilt pouring off him and stinking up the room. I didn’t know what he felt guilty over. I was the one who had dragged him into this mess.
I wanted to ask what had happened after I’d sucked the Jackal’s fingers and headed to the little boys’ room, but not in front of my parents. Parts of the story did not need to be recounted in detail. It was bad enough to admit that I’d willingly taken drugs to perpetuate a ruse. Perhaps another day.
Bloodwork confirmed I’d been given MDMA. It accounted for my lack of impulse control and was the perfect excuse for the vague detailing of events I’d given the police, not that any of it mattered if Costa was being interrogated. The truth would come out.
My parents stayed for an hour. Memphis and Joshua left soon after my best friend gave me an earful for my stupidity, told me he loved me, and then hugged me hard enough that I winced. He was not impressed with my war wound, no matter how many times I flaunted it.
Alone again, I glanced at Diem. He slid the chair next to the bed and took my hand, silent as ever. A sentinel watching his charge. A sailboat adrift on a stormy ocean.
“You’re not talking, D.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed. Strain appeared at the corners of his shiny, red-rimmed eyes. Tension rippled along his jaw as he clenched his teeth. He shook his head.
I didn’t push. He wasn’t ready.
Getting shot was a lot for him to process. The fact that I’d literally been in his arms when it happened didn’t help.
“Can you lower the rail?” I asked.
He did so without objection.
I was still too high. “Bed, too. Please.”
Questions swam in his stormy eyes, but he complied with the request, holding the button that brought me closer to the floor. Closer to his level.
