Seared on my Soul Read online

  She squeezes his arm before brushing past him. “Don’t be too hard on her. This is partly my fault. Maybe if I hadn’t had to leave this wouldn’t have happened. God, Em, I’m so sorry.” She grabs me by the shoulders and squeezes hard. I bite back the cry of pain and lean into her embrace.

  “No.” Lane place a hand on Ash’s shoulder and gently pries us apart. “This is not Ashlyn’s fault, or Mom’s fault, or my fault. You’re always reminding me you’re twenty-one, Em, and that you’re not a child anymore. And you know what? You’re absolutely right. You are an adult and it’s time to start taking some fucking responsibility.”

  His words burn and I flinch.

  “Life isn’t one big party,” he continues. “You need to get your shit together. Start acting like the adult you claim to be.”

  I suck on my bottom lip to keep it from quivering. I will not cry, damn it! There are a dozen names I want to call my brother, balancing on the tip of my tongue, but I can’t muster the strength to let them go. Because, whether I want to admit it or not, I know everything Lane just said is the truth.

  I am a colossal fuckup.

  Maybe Lane reads the realization on my face, because his shoulders slump and he sighs. “Something’s got to give, Em. I don’t want to see you in the hospital again or…worse.”

  “I know,” I whisper. The worried looks shared between him, Mom, and Ash are too much, and I turn to look out the window. What I don’t know is what to do about it.

  Mom touches my shoulder. “I think you need a change, baby. It might be time to start thinking about a career instead of”—she shrugs—“whatever you’re doing at the coffee house. My friend, Sheryl, says her husband’s office is looking for a new receptionist. I could have her put in a good word for you.”

  I fight the urge to roll my eyes. I know she means well, but even if I didn’t have tattoos down both arms and piercings, being trapped inside an office would be my own personal hell.

  “You could take classes at the community college with me,” Ashlyn offers. “It would be fun. We could take the same classes and have lunch together.”

  Yeah. About as fun as shoving forks into my eye sockets. Still, Ash is my best friend, so I do my best to smile. It hurts my entire face. In high school, when the other kids were studying for their SATs and writing their college entrance essays, I was baking with Grandma, sitting in my bedroom, strumming my guitar, and sneaking out of the house to drink beers with the neighborhood boys. Even then I knew college wasn’t part of my future—if only I knew what was.

  “Look who’s awake.” A red-haired man with a bun, pointed nose, green scrubs, and a stethoscope wrapped around his neck enters the room. “Hi. I’m Jerod, your nurse.” His smile is wide and dimpled. There’s a Batman sticker on his stethoscope. He’s practically bouncing on his toes with energy. I immediately hate him.

  “All right, family.” He claps his hands. “Visiting time is over. Our patient needs her rest.”

  On second thought, Jerod is my new favorite person in the world.

  Chapter Six

  Reece

  “That should do it.” The doctor, a tired-looking woman with wiry black and gray hair, finishes taping a bandage to my back. She slides away from me on her rolling stool and pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “I’ll have the nurse send you home with some ointment. Twice a day, okay?”

  I nod, even though I know I’ll never open the bottle.

  “There’s a police officer outside, waiting to talk to you about what happened.” She cocks an eyebrow. “You feel up to it?”

  I roll my eyes. “Who doesn’t feel like being interviewed by the police at four in the morning?”

  She smiles. “You did a mighty heroic thing tonight. I hope you realize that.”

  Heroic. The word grates down my skin, itchy and sharp. That’s what they said when they pinned the medal to my chest for watching my best friend bleed out on the sand. I threw that medal in the trash the moment I hobbled out of the plane onto American soil.

  “You did good, soldier,” she says, patting my good knee.

  “How did you—”

  She cuts me off with a knowing look and grabs my shirt from the nearby chair. “Is there someone I can call to pick you up?”

  A lump wedges inside my throat, but I quickly swallow it down. “No.” My sister’s several states away. And there’s no way in hell I’d call my parents for help of any kind. Even the slightest invitation into my life would result in me having to remove them from my ass with a crowbar. “I’ll be fine.”

  The doc has a strange look in her eyes. Sadness? Pity? Whatever it is, it makes me uncomfortable and I quickly snatch my shirt from her outstretched hand. The moment my fingers curl around the fabric, something small and silver falls out of it onto the floor.

  “Whoops,” Doc says. She scoops up the item and hands it to me. “How pretty.”

  It’s a small silver star pendant on a thin chain. It must belong to the coffee shop girl. I start to hand the necklace back to her, only to find I can’t let go. Memories of last night flood through my mind. I remember her small body cradled within my own. The tremor of fear in her voice as she whispered, Don’t let me go.

  Reflexively, my fingers curl around the necklace and I bring it back to my chest.

  “Something wrong?” Doc stares at me, with a furrowed brow.

  “The girl—how is she?”

  The doc stands and sighs. “She’d be dead if it wasn’t for you. She has some burns and a head injury, but she’ll live. The driver was drunk. The police are going to take him in after we set his arm.”

  Good. I almost say the word out loud. That’s the least of what he deserves. I stuff the necklace into my pocket and slide my shirt over my head.

  Doc winces, watching me. “You need some help? You should really be taking it easy.”

  “Nope,” I answer, tugging the hem to my waist. Pain is such a normal part of my life that I think I would only be bothered by its absence. Grabbing my cane, I slide off the bed.

  Doc gives me a pointed look. “You need to wait for the wheelchair.”

  “Pass.”

  She shakes her head. “It’s hospital policy. Can I trust you to stay put until I send a nurse with the chair and your discharge papers?”

  “I’m not going to make any promises.”

  Her lips quirk in an almost smile. “Stay,” she commands, wagging a finger at me before heading for the door.

  “Hey, Doc?” I call out before she disappears. I’m not really sure what compels me to stop her—if it’s the necklace in my pocket or something more.

  She hesitates in the doorway.

  “Do you think I can see her?”

  She frowns. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea at the moment. While her injuries are not critical, she’s getting some much needed rest.”

  “Sure.” I almost reach into my pocket to hand her the necklace, but for reasons I don’t understand, I hesitate.

  Doc eyes me curiously. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  I almost laugh. Not even a little bit. But I don’t tell her that. Instead, I reach into my pocket and touch the chain. Just knowing it’s there loosens the knots in my gut. “I’m good.”

  She nods, gives me a long look, and disappears through the door. Once she’s gone, I pull the necklace out of my pocket and stare at the small glittering star. For the life of me, I can’t figure out what I’m doing. I should leave the necklace here, or ask a nurse to take it to the girl. But even knowing what I should do—the sane option—I still can’t bring myself to let go of the damn thing.

  Muttering a curse, I jam it back inside my pocket. I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m doing.

  What I do know is last night, the girl begged me to not let her go.

  I guess, for now at least, I’ll hold on a little longer.

  It’s nearly five in the morning when I’m done giving my statement, and I’m officially discharged. Both the cops and nursing staff throw
around that hero word over and over. Each time I shrug it off like the annoyance it is.

  I rip off the stupid wristband and toss it onto the wheelchair a yawning orderly is gripping outside the door of my room. “But-but—”

  I ignore his stammering and make my way to the hospital’s exit. If I leave now, I’ll have just enough time to grab my bike, go back to my apartment, and change clothes before the homeroom bell rings. If I really play my cards right, I might even have a few spare minutes to grab a cup of coffee—

  No sooner do I have the thought than the image of the coffee shop girl floats through my mind. It’s as if the necklace in my pocket gains fifty pounds, weighing down each step until I have to stop all together.

  I mutter a curse under my breath. I know why I can’t leave.

  I have to return the necklace.

  The guys in my squad used to make fun of me, nicknaming me Boy Scout because of my rigid moral compass—an annoying personality trait inherited from my grandfather. I can almost see him now, sitting on a cracked leather recliner, smelling of Old Spice and cigars. Behind him, his Korean War medals are mounted on the dusty mantel in front of a framed United States flag. “Montgomery men are proud,” he’d told me. “Honorable men. We do the right thing. Not the easy thing.”

  And I know he’s right. With a grunt, I turn on my heel and hobble in the opposite direction. My knee is on fire, making each step agony, but I know I’d feel even worse if I gave up and went home. And I don’t dare take a pill for it—that’s a black hole I’ve watched too many good men fall down.

  Ahead of me in the hallway, a man in green scrubs studies a clipboard. His red man bun gives off an unnatural sheen, causing me to suspect it’s a clip-in. His name tag reads Jerod and there’s a Batman sticker on his stethoscope. He glances up at me as I approach. “Hey. You’re the guy who saved the drunk driving couple.” He nods. “Really solid thing to do, man.”

  He slaps me on the arm, and I fight to not frown. I’ve had more physical contact with people today than I have in the last year combined. It’s not helping my mood. “Yeah, about that—do you know where I can find the girl?”

  His smile fades. “Oh, I don’t know.” He touches his hair. The bun moves suspiciously to the left before he quickly drops his hand. “She’s resting right now.”

  “I understand. But I have something of hers I’d like to give back.”

  He grins. He’s entirely too cheerful for this early in the morning. “I’d be happy to take it to her.”

  I consider giving him the necklace, but then I worry it might not make it to her. I’ll rest easier seeing it delivered in person. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d rather do it myself.”

  Jason taps his pen against his clipboard. “I’m not really supposed—”

  I can see I’m not making any headway, so I decide to play the one card I hate playing. “Listen, I’m a United States Veteran. Call it a sense of duty, or even honor, but I have to deliver this necklace personally. I’ll leave after. You have my word.” I fight to keep a straight face. That speech was a little pretentious for even me.

  But it works. Just like I knew it would. I can see Man Bun’s resolve crumbling as he chews on his lip. “Fine,” he says after a long pause. “Third door on the right. Just be quick, okay?”

  I nod, patting his shoulder lightly as I walk by. My knee is screaming by the time I reach the open door and step inside.

  The lights are off. The only illumination of the sleeping figure comes from the light filtering through the blinds. Even though her cheeks are swollen and her eyes are bruised, the daylight confirms she is who I first suspected—the tattooed barista from the place I grab my morning cup.

  Staring at her, I remember how she felt last night, curled against me as I held her back from the fire. Small. Fragile. My fingers twitch, itching to touch her and confirm she’s really okay.

  That saving her wasn’t just a dream.

  But no matter how badly I feel a pull toward her, something holds me back. The way my pulse skips and my chest tightens, I suspect its fear. For the life of me, I can’t figure out what I should be afraid of.

  A shadow bleeds across the floor in front of me, and I freeze as invisible bands squeeze around my chest. This fear I understand perfectly. I’m not alone. The pain in my knee is buried under wave after wave of adrenaline. My muscles tighten, and I turn to face the threat. It doesn’t matter if the enemy is real or in my head, I won’t be caught off guard. Not again.

  Standing in the doorway and blocking my exit is a man about my age—and that’s where the similarities end. Tattoos decorate both of his arms and peek out from the collar of his V-neck T-shirt. His dark hair is long enough to curl over his ears, and a light beard covers his face. Despite the dark circles beneath his eyes, his blue eyes narrow, suddenly sharp.

  The look is anything but friendly.

  “Who the hell are you?” he asks, pushing his shoulders back.

  Behind him, a girl peeks around his shoulders. She, too, can’t be any more than twenty. She eyes me curiously.

  Reflexively, I grip the handle of my cane tighter. “My name is Reece Montgomery.” I touch the small silver chain nestled in my pocket. “I have something that belongs to her.” I nod my head toward the sleeping girl.

  “Why would you have anything that belongs to her? Are you the guy?” He takes a step toward me, cheek muscles clenching as he works his jaw back and forth.

  “The guy?” I ask.

  “The son of bitch who thought it was a good idea to drive drunk with my sister in the car?”

  His accusation catches me off guard, tangling the words in my throat.

  He must take my silence as confirmation, because he reaches for me. Luckily, a bum knee hasn’t dulled my reflexes. I duck beneath his outstretched fingers. I’m not sure what he intended to do, but I can assume it wasn’t friendly. With his arm still over my shoulder, I grab onto his wrist and twist.

  He lets out a grunt and stills. From the angle I’m holding his arm, any movement on his part will result in more pain and possible shoulder dislocation. “You could have killed her, you bastard,” he snarls through clenched teeth. “My baby sister, my only sister might be dead, and it would be all your fault.”

  “Guys, stop it,” the dark-haired girl pleads, arms outstretched. Her wide eyes dart back and forth between us. “You’re going to get us kicked out. You think Emily would want that?”

  I glance at the girl in the hospital bed, worried for some bizarre reason she’s going to be pissed I’m holding her brother. Thankfully, she doesn’t stir. “All right, buddy, I’m going to let you go now. Be cool.” I release his arm, not because I have trouble holding him, but because his eyes are brimming with tears. He loves his sister, and I can’t help but respect that. “I’m not the driver of the car your sister was in. I’m the guy who pulled her out of it.”

  The dark-haired girl inhales sharply.

  The guy’s face crumples, and before I realize what’s happening, he has an arm around me, crushing me against his body. He makes a choked noise. “Thank you.” He mutters the words over and over. “I didn’t mean—I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s cool,” I answer, prying myself out of his grip. I haven’t been held so tightly by another human since I came back from the desert.

  To my relief, he frees me. His eyes still brim with tears, but not a single one has fallen. I respect that, too. “What can I do?” he asks. “How can I repay you?”

  I shake my head and take another step back. Only when he’s at an arm’s length do I find I can breathe again.

  “You don’t owe me a thing. I was only being a decent human being.”

  “No, man. I can’t accept that. You risked your life for my sister. I have to do something.” He reaches into his jeans pocket and retrieves a business card. “Here.” He thrusts the card at me. “My name’s Lane. I own my own tattoo studio. I’m the best around. You ever want some ink, you come to me, okay? On the house.”

/>   I take the card and tuck it into my back pocket. Tattoos have never been my thing, but the thought of how my parents would react is enough to make me smile. “Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Lane smiles. “Good.”

  I glance at the sleeping blonde. Her lips are parted and a small line of drool dots her left cheek. For reasons I don’t understand, I’m disappointed she’s not awake, though I have no idea what I’d say to her if she was.

  “I can tell Emily you stopped by,” the other girl says, her voice lilting at the end, waiting.

  Emily. Pretty.

  “My name is Ashlyn.” The dark-haired girl continues to watch me expectantly. When I don’t answer, she prods, “I’m sorry. What was your name again?”

  “Reece,” I tell her. “But you don’t have to say anything. She probably doesn’t even remember me. I just wanted to make sure she was okay.” I turn for the door, only to hesitate as I remember the real reason I came here. “I also wanted to return this.” I open my fist and hold my hand open, the silver star necklace still safe. “Here.”

  Lane’s eyes widen and Ashlyn gasps. “Dad gave that to her before he died,” Lane says.

  Ashlyn takes the necklace from me and cradles it in her hands. “You have no idea what this necklace means to her.”

  “I get it,” I say, thinking about the bullet hanging from the chain beneath my shirt, forever resting against my chest—its intended target. If only Chad hadn’t gotten in the way. I don’t know what I’d ever do if I lost it, my last and only connection to him.

  “Do you want to wait with us? Em’s on some pretty strong sedatives. But when she wakes up I know she’ll want to thank you.”

  Em. I like that even more. It’s cute. I consider Ashlyn’s offer for a heartbeat before remembering school starts in a couple of hours. “Sorry, I have to get going.” I turn for the door before they can argue.

  “Don’t be a stranger, man,” Lane calls after me. “You saved my sister’s life. I owe you.”