"Here." I hand the bottle to Doc. "You need me to stay?"
"No, we have it," he says flatly.
He blames me just like I blame myself. I take a step toward the bed but then backtrack.
She will never forgive me for what I let happen to her.
And I'll never forgive myself.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Jaz
Every inch of me hurts. Even as I try to open my eyes, I'm met with pain. I'm scared to wake up, and even more scared of what Dylan will do this time around. Even as I keep myself totally still, I hear movement in the room.
Please leave me alone.
I have prayed for Cutter to come and find me. Prayed that the girls are okay, and the boys made it back safe and in enough time to help everyone.
"Jaz?" Through the fog I hear his voice, but a part of me thinks I must be dreaming. "Wake up, babe."
I force my eyes open and when I see him hovering over me, I want to wrap my arms around him. I try to sit up and gasp.
That's when I look down and start to take note of my body.
My right arm is cast and in a sling. Tape is wrapped tight around my ribs and it hurts to breathe. My left ankle is cast, too, and although I can't see much of my skin, what I can see looks like a leopard; the different spots of varying color peppering my body. As everything starts to flood back my heart pounds. It's like I can't breathe and as I try to catch my breath the heaving of my chest sends shooting pain through my body. I cry out, but even that hurts.
"Hey, calm down." Cutter is next to me, his hand running through my hair, catching on something wrapped around my head. "You're safe now, just breathe."
He maintains eye contact and exaggerates his own breathing, urging me to keep time with him.
In and out, in and out.
My heartrate slows and Cutter smiles. An ache starts to form at my temples and I close my eyes.
Dylan.
Knife.
Blood.
So much blood.
The blade is cold as it presses against my skin. I feel it. It's right there. I open my mouth and scream as loud as I can.
Where is Cutter?
Where did he go?
I can hear footsteps but all I feel is pain and fear. Something or someone touches my body and I flinch, arching to get away from them.
Something pricks my arm and my whole body goes limp. My muscles relax and I feel like I'm being swallowed by the bed beneath me.
I'm tired.
Too tired to fight.
Too tired to wake up.
Too tired to scream.
***
Sometimes the lack of sound is as scary as noise itself. When there is noise, your brain can process it and give you some idea of what you'll see when you open your eyes. The absence of sound means you have to forego that preparation.
I'm done with surprises.
I'm done with everything.
Wake up, Jasmine.
I'm at the clubhouse, in our room. Lucy sits in the chair by the bed, her face red and tear-streaked, her hand resting on mine. Even though it hurts, I squeeze her hand. The movement sends a pain shooting up my arm.
"Jaz?" Her eyes blink a few times before she moves closer. "Thank God you're awake."
"What happened?" My voice sounds strange. Croaky. Like I haven't used it in a while.
"We didn't lose anyone. The boys got here before they could start whatever they had planned." She squeezes my hand as a tear rolls down her cheek. "I'm so glad you're okay. We didn't know . . ." Her sentence falls away, and she drops her head, wiping furiously at her face with her other hand.
"What happened to … " I can't bring myself to say his name.
As if I've flicked a switch, her face hardens. "The boys are taking care of him. He won't ever hurt you again." Her eyes don't meet mine. There's something she isn't saying.
"Is he here?" My eyes dart around the room nervously even though I know that there isn't a chance anyone would let him near me.
"In the garage. Just try to put it out of your mind. They'll handle it." All of a sudden, she's on edge. The earlier gratitude vanishing, giving way to something else that I can't quite name. Her hand runs through her hair. "Let me tell Cutter you're up. He just ran downstairs a few minutes ago."
She stands up and walks out the door, leaving me on my own.
Knowing that Dylan is here makes my skin crawl. It doesn't matter that Lucy told me not to worry. It doesn't matter that he's in the garage, likely being watched, or that he's far away. Having him be within walking distance makes my stomach flip. It's crazy to think this way but . . . what if he somehow gets to me again?
The door opens and I hold my breath, releasing it when Cutter walks in. I take note of his face. He looks exhausted, nervous, and in pain, all at the same time.