Page 104 of Single Mom's Bodyguards
One medic barely glances at me. “Bad. Everybody move!” He jams gauze into the hole, clamps it down. Huck grunts, his back arching, but he doesn’t scream. He never screams.
“Stay with me,” Bailey whispers, clutching his hand now, tears dripping onto his knuckles. “Please, Huck, stay.”
Paramedics do their thing and get Huck out, Bailey piling into the ambulance with them. Police follow, weapons drawn, shouting commands that don’t matter because Sean’s already got David zip-tied and bleeding on the floor. Friedburg is pale and trembling, babbling to a detective about how he didn’t know.
I stand in the middle of it, my heart thundering in my chest. My hands shake from the realization that I almost killed an old man in cold blood. Huck might not make it. Bailey’s traumatized. We beat her kids’ father into a bloody pulp.
What the fuck do I do now?
36
HUCK
The first thingI notice is the beeping.
Slow. Steady. Irritating as hell.
Then the smell. Antiseptic, sharp and sterile, the kind of smell that clings to you long after you leave. My tongue feels like sandpaper. My chest aches, heavy, like a truck parked on me.
I crack my eyes open. The ceiling’s too white, with those square panels and fluorescent lights that make everything look flat. For a second, I think I’ve woken up in some military ward again, same routine, same injuries, same story. But then I hear voices. Familiar ones.
“He’s waking up!” Eli’s voice, high and excited.
I turn my head and see them. All of them. Bailey is in the chair closest to me, her hand wrapped around mine so tight my knuckles ache. Sean’s in the corner, arms crossed, watching like a hawk. Wesley’s on the other side, phone in his hand, pretending to check something but really glued to me. And the kids. Maeve and Eli, wide-eyed, clutching paper in their hands.
I blink. “What’s going on?” My voice comes out rough, gravel in my throat.
“You’re awake,” Bailey whispers, and her eyes shine like she hasn’t breathed until now.
“Not sure that’s a good thing,” I rasp. I shift, and pain lances through my chest. I grunt, biting it back. “Feels like I got hit by a train.”
“Close,” Sean says dryly. “Bullet.”
I let my head fall back against the pillow, sighing. “Oh yeah. How long was I out?”
Wesley checks his phone. “Only about…four days.”
“Jeez. No wonder you guys look like shit. Sitting here, worrying about me?—”
“I wasn’t worried,” Sean lies.
“Me either,” Wes doubles down.
But both of them clearly haven’t slept in four days. The big softies.
Eli bounces closer to the bed, holding out his paper. “Look! I made this for you.”
It takes me a second to focus. It’s a drawing of the Hulk, big and green and muscled, with tattoos sketched all over his chest. My tattoos. Across the top, in bold letters, it says,The Incredible Huck.
A laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it, tearing at my ribs but worth every stab of pain. “That’s…damn. That’s good, kid. Real good.”
Eli beams, shoving it closer. “It’s you. You’re a superhero now. Mom says you saved her.”
“Superheroes don’t bleed this much,” I mutter, but I can’t stop smiling. I take the paper, staring at it like it’s a treasure. Because it is. “Might have to get this inked on me for real.”
Maeve rolls her eyes. “You’d get a seven-year-old’s doodle tattooed on you?”
“Damn straight. Best art I’ve seen in years.”
