“Let’s get you out of here,” I tell her, lifting her from the floor. She allows me to and tucks her face into my shoulder. I hide the wheeze in my chest and ignore the pain in my side, nothing could stop me from holding my girl.
But before I leave the room, I turn back to where the guys are standing and see what it is they’re looking at. I stop a moment to truly take it in.
Christian is slumped against the wall, blood staining the entire front of his shirt and there’s a deep, violent gash in his throat. Willow did that.
I hold her just a little bit tighter, and I know that what she had to do is going to come back and haunt her. But I can’t help but feel proud of her too, for protecting herself, for protecting our daughter and yeah, she protected me too.
She clings to me, even when I climb into the back of the car, staying on my lap. I stroke her hair and listen to her breaths and try to stop her trembling, but I know it’ll take time.
“We heard a gunshot,” Killian says after a few minutes on the road.
“He shot at me after I–” She stops, and no one presses her to answer any further. “He missed.” She continues.
Willow pulls away from me a little, not going far and brings her hand away, opening her palm. There’s a fresh cut on her hand, still dribbling blood.
“Shit!” I snap, grabbing the end of my tee to press it to the wound, “What the fuck happened?”
“It was the glass,” She whispers.
“We’re heading to the hospital,” Malakai confirms, eyes meeting mine in the mirror as he drives us through the city. I know he would have already called in cleanup before he even got in the car and the focus now is on getting Willow the help she needs.
I sit in the chair beside the bed while the technician moves the wand around on Willow’s abdomen, my heart in my throat as I wait for that sound I’ve come to love. And when it fills the room, like the sound of thousands of galloping horses, my breath whooshes from my lungs.
“She’s perfect,” Willow breathes.
I grasp her good hand, running my thumb over her knuckles as I watch the monitor and the black and white image of my daughter, still safe and healthy. Willow refused treatment until she knew she was safe and now we know, I walk her down to the private room Malakai arranged for us to the doctors waiting.
She sits still and quiet as they stitch the gash in her hand and treat the small wound on the side of her head. That one didn’t need stitches, just a clean and while she’s still covered in blood, she’s regained her color, and her eyes are a little brighter.
“Now you, Mr. Levine,” The doctor turns to me and focuses on the stain of blood on my side.
I strip out of my shirt and lift my arm, letting them fix the damage I caused but I’m not staying another night here, I’m not staying another night away from Willow.
When we’re both finally free, all stitched up and ready to go home and shower, I tuck her under my arm and walk toward the exit.
“Willow!” Olivia comes out of nowhere, straight for her best friend. Her arms wrap around her, and she holds her tight, both the girls clinging on as if they couldn’t bear to be apart. Sisters that don’t share blood, a bond between them nothing and no one could break. The guys are waiting too and standing beside Killian is my sister.
She circles her arms around my waist, careful of the stitches. “Are you okay?” She asks.
“I am now,” I answer honestly.
She tilts her face up, “Please don’t do this again.”
I laugh, “Wasn’t something I wanted, Sav.”
She scrunches up her nose. I know she knows but has never said it aloud and I’m okay with pretending all is well for as long as she is.
I cradle Willow back against me when Olivia lets her go and accept the ride Malakai offers us, desperate to be back in our home, alone and in the quiet. It’s been a chaotic and terrifying few days and I am fully prepared to stay locked away for the next six months.
While I know that won’t be possible, not with my life, I’m happy for as long as Willow’s hand is in mine.
Chapter Forty-six
It feels like days have passed since I’ve been back to my apartment and not the mere hours it has been. The silence settles around me when the doors of the elevator close and the weight of everything that happened slams against my shoulders.
My arm circles around my abdomen and I grip the counter to stay on my feet. I’m exhausted. I’m still scared. But it’s also relief. And guilt.
I killed a man.
