“Get your hands off of her or I’ll fucking end you.”
Wayne whirls around from where he was bent over his daughter and Austin sobs in relief, curling up. He stumbles back away from her, grinning maniacally. “Welcome to the party, boys. You here to buy?”
“What the fuck? No, you dipshit.” I nod my head over to the other side of the bed. “Go stand over there.” I need to get to Austin. Her whole body’s shaking, tiny little whimpers escaping her.
Wayne’s entire demeanor changes at the demand. “You think you can come up in my house and start waving your guns around and telling me what to do?” he slurs. “Fucking Whittakers, too big for your britches, every one of you! Mind your goddamn business.”
Despite his words, he steps away from Austin, walking up to me like I don’t have a gun pointed at him. I cock it, but I’m distracted. My eyes keep flicking over to Austin, who still hasn’t gotten up off the ground. I can hear sirens in the distance but they sound too far away.
Behind me, Jameson racks his pistol with a clunk. Wayne’s steps falter. “Maddie, go. I’ve got him.”
He’s barely done talking before my knees are hitting the floor next to Austin. “Baby, I need you to tell me where all you’re hurt, so I don’t make it worse,” I tell her, terrified. The twitch of her brows is the only indication that she’s heard me. I reach to push her hair back away from her face, but she flinches, so I leave her be.
“Austin, can you stand up for me? Are your legs hurt? Your back? Your neck.”
She doesn’t answer me, but I’m honestly surprised she’s alive at this point. There’s a cut on her forehead and blood streaked down her face from it. The mess makes it hard to tell if her nose is broken or just also bleeding. It damn sure seems broken though.
She’s curled up on her right side so it’s hard to see that arm, but her left arm looks fine, other than redness that will surely bruise later. “Can you look at me, baby? Can you try?”
Her brows twitch and the sirens grow louder and her eyes barely crack open. “What happened?” she mumbles, barely audible over Wayne and Jameson’s bickering by the door.
I reach to push her hair behind her ear again, forgetting why I wasn’t touching her. The confusion isn’t an incredible sign, but talking is good. Talking is great, even. “You’re okay,” I tell her, not wanting to traumatize her right now if she can’t remember the specifics of what just happened. No one needs to hear that their father beat them like this. “Can you tell me where all you’re hurt?”
She opens her mouth to try, but shouts echo through the single-wide as the police arrive, far too late. Austin flinches at the volume and I reach over and try to muffle some of the sound for her by pressing the heel of my hand against her ear gently.
The officers who enter the room first take one look at the scene and immediately start screaming at Wayne to get on theground, never even batting an eye at Jameson’s gun. There are days when I can’t stand how the Whittaker name follows us around and grants us favors we didn’t ask for, but this isn’t one of them.
“What the fuck are you arresting me for! He’s the one pointing a gun at me!” Wayne shouts, backing himself in a corner away from the cops.
“Austin, stay awake for me, baby,” I beg her, pulling my hand away enough for her to hear me. She whimpers. “I know, Tex, I know.”
It feels like it takes forever for them to finally get Wayne cuffed and on the ground, but the second he is, they’re radioing for the paramedics to come in for Austin.
Everything goes from a crawl to a sprint from there. Two paramedics come in and I’m shuffled out of the way. The officers restraining Wayne fight to get him out of the room. Jameson’s beside me all of a sudden, gun gone. And Austin’s out.
She hadn’t answered any of their questions, but where her face had at least been showing some sort of indication that she realized they were speaking to her before, it was blank now, eyes closed and body deadweight.
“What happened?” No one answers me, speaking in some kind of fucking code to one another more urgently than they were a few moments ago. “What the fuck is going on?”
“Mr. Whittaker, please stay calm,” the female paramedic says as the two men leave the room. Jameson’s hand curls around my shoulder. “She’s passed out, most likely from the shock. I can focus better on taking care of her if I’m not worried about you, too.”
She says it in the no-nonsense way I can usually appreciate, but right now, I don’t appreciate a thing. “You’re not taking care of her, you’re just sitting there!”
“Maddie,” Jameson admonishes behind me and I shake off his hand.
“I’m waiting for my colleagues to return with the stretcher sowe can get her into the ambulance. I’m alsotryingto keep track of her pulse, but I keep getting interrupted.” Her glare is enough to shut me up.
“No ambulance,” Austin mumbles, barely audible. A breath punches from my lungs in relief. “No insurance.”
Everyone ignores her, thankfully. The paramedics start questioning her again, but my girl is stubborn. She shakes her head when they ask her if she can get onto the stretcher on her own or if she needs help, and then flinches at the pain the action causes her. “No ambulance.”
“Austin, hush,” I tell her, the same demanding tone she’s used to hearing from me, but I’m surprised when it works. She doesn’t argue as they fit her with a neck brace and lift her onto the stretcher.
I follow after them like a puppy as they lift it and start making their way through the tight hallway, but hesitate as they transfer Austin to a gurney once they have the room to do so. My stomach’s in my throat and I’d give anything to be alone right now so I can fall apart, but leaving her side sounds far worse.
The neighbors have gathered outside now, the blue and red lights beacons for gossip and sad eyes. Where was all of this concern while Austin was dealing with an abusive father for God knows how long?
“Hurry up if you’re riding with us,” the no-nonsense paramedic tells me as they load the gurney into the ambulance.
