In Love and Rescue: When love is the perfect rescue... (33 page)

He pulled back on the trigger of the pistol, but the click that resonated indicated that the chamber had been emptied. Desmond’s
eyes narrowed into angry slits, and he made eye contact with Eddie one last time before pulling out a knife and launching it towards Eddie’s chest. As the knife penetrated, the gun lazily fell from Eddie’s fingers and his head hit the wooden floor, this time remaining permanently motionless.

Desmond finally registered the moisture seeping over his hand. There, in between his fingers across Larke’s back, was where Eddie’s final shot had landed.

A quiet gasp escaped from her lips as pain began to engulf her body and blood pooled on the oversized shirt she wore. This was no flesh wound. Larke had taken the bullet to her upper back and there was a good chance it had lodged itself in her left lung. It was an injury that he had seen many times. Soon, she would begin to aspire on her own blood and without medical assistance, she could die.
Larke could die.

“Baby,” he finally managed.

Pressing his fingers into her back, the scene blurred as his eyes clouded. “We need some help in here,” he yelled towards the open front door. “We need some help in here
right now.
”

“Des,” Larke groaned.

“No,” he answered more gruffly than he’d intended. “Don’t talk. They’re coming.”

She touched a hand to the side of his face. “It’s okay, Des. I can go. You can let me go.”

Desmond squeezed his lids and clenched his teeth. “Never, baby. Just…just be quiet. Don’t talk anymore. Hang on. They’re coming.”

“
Until death do us part, Des,” she continued.

He pressed his fingers even harder to try
to slow the bleeding. “Not like this. Not this way. This was our second chance, baby.”

“
I forgive you,” she added. “For leaving. I get it now. You thought you’d be like your father.”

Desmond thought back to what he now realized was one of the dumbest moments of his life. He’d just returned from his father’s parole hearing and had already been tightly wound from having to see the man he loathed most in the wo
rld try to proclaim his reformation. After the hearing, when he went home that afternoon, Larke had immediately noticed that something was wrong. She’d tried to get him to talk about it, but he’d refused. Then, she’d walked up and tried to wrap her arms around him from behind, tried to show the care and compassion for him that she always did without question, and he’d reacted violently. He’d flipped around, pulled her off of him, and knocked her off balance in the process. Right into the coffee table.

He remembered the
broken shards of glass, and the way she’d cringed in pain. The way she’d moaned as she struggled to get up from the floor.

Completely terrified that he’d hurt her, he’d gone over to try to help her up, only for her to retract from his hand. Then, when she looked up at him, he saw the fear outlined in the same eyes that had captivated him
from day one. He’d managed to make his wife fear him, just like his father had done, which made him feel no different from the evil man. From that one look, he’d seen their life years down the road with him eventually blowing up enough to strike her, and that had been enough to force him to leave. There was no way he would have been able to live with harming the one person that meant more to him that anyone else in the world.

But he’d been wrong. Leaving her wasn’t the best choice. The best choice was to tell her the truth. What his life had been like. Let her in so that she could help him let it out. If he had only done that, he could have been there. Perhaps, he could have even nipped this Jarvis business in the bud from the first time around. If only he’d been a real husband, his wife wouldn’t be dying in his arms at that very moment.

“Larke…please…don’t talk anymore.”

Outside, emergency lights began to flash.

“Larke,” he began again. “Don’t you know how much I love you? Baby, I would have taken any bullet for you.”

She smiled weakly at him before her lids fluttered closed. He then felt himself being torn away from her as the emergency personnel rushed in. Law enforcement officials also rushed in and surveyed the area while the medics ran over to tend to Doug’s wounds.

Dammit Larke, why didn’t you let me take that bullet? I wouldn’t have even hesitated to do that for you. I told you that. It doesn’t work the other way around.

As the paramedics took them away, Lawrence appeared in Desmond’s line of sight
, Timothy entering behind him with the sniper rifle still in his hand. Lawrence sent a team over to check on Desmond, but he refused their assistance. Lawrence then put a hand on Desmond’s shoulder and leaned close to his ear.

“Let them help you, Harding,” he insisted.

The team cautiously approached Desmond again while he remained kneeling on the floor, his gaze locked on the open front door while they examined his body.

“You probably have some fractures,” one of them seemed to say. “You have to go to the hospital.”

When he didn’t move, they looked to Lawrence for help once again. Lawrence solemnly shook his head and tugged Desmond to his feet.

“The more you try to fight your fear, the longer you will remain standing here,” he explained. “She’s in good
hands. Get yourself patched up, then go to her.”

Desmond slowly turned his head to acknowledge that Lawrence had been speaking. Lawrence half-smiled and nodded, and finally Desmond felt his feet begin to move forward. Lawrence was right. He wasn’t standing there in strength, he was immobilized by fear. Fear
hadn’t saved his mother’s life and he wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. All this time that Larke had needed him and this was when he was going to back out?

There was no way in hell.

He sat in the back of the ambulance while the paramedics continued to monitor his vitals. She needed him…and he was going to be there when she woke up. 

Chapter Sixteen

Desmond didn’t make it any easier on the medical staff who tried to tend to his wounds. X-rays revealed that he had cracked a few ribs and that there were broken bones in his left forearm, but he could only concentrate on the fact that both Doug and Larke had gone into surgery at the same time, and he hadn’t gotten an updated status on either. All he knew was that Doug was expected to recover because the bullet had missed major organs, but Larke’s status was critical. Unfortunately, that information had meant nothing to him. What he needed to know was what it was going to take to save her life, and what he needed to do to make sure that she received it.

Instead, he was wasting away on an exam table.

“Look, Mr. Harding,” an exasperated nurse was saying. “You have to let us help you. Your wounds are way more serious than you’re taking them for. Do you know the complications that can arise from damaged ribs?”

“I’ve had worse,” Desmond shot back.

“I’m sure you have,” she affirmed, “but the mere fact that you’re walking around with all your limbs and joints intact tells me that at some point and time, you sought care for those injuries.”

Desmond shot her a look which she returned with the same vehemence. She was a woman that looked to be in her mid-fifties with a head full of short, cropped black hair. Her expression was stern, yet gentle,
and he could tell that she was not one to be trifled with. 

“On one condition,” Desmond bartered.

Her hand went to her hip. “What’s the condition?”

“Larke Tapley,” he answered. “Has her status been updated?”

The nurse sighed and pulled up a chair, taking a seat in front of Desmond. “Mr. Harding, she’s still in surgery. At this point, we don’t know anything more.”

Desmond held her gaze until he decided whether or not to believe her.

“You don’t believe me,” she stated. “My thirty-six year old son gives me that same death stare when he thinks I’m lying to him. He’s been doing that since he was five. You don’t intimidate me, Mr. Harding.”

As his expression softened, she moved close
r and gently touched his knee. “But, I am being honest. Her injury is pretty serious. By the time she arrived at the hospital, the injured lung had collapsed.”

An icy sensation filled Desmond’s veins.

“In your experience, what would
you
say her odds are?” He asked.

“Honestly? Fifty-fifty. But she’s in the hands of one of the top surgeons in the world. You have to have faith.”

He diverted his attention to three boxes of latex gloves on a shelf on the wall. “Do you know how she got shot?”

The nurse half-smiled. “Yes. The whole staff knows, which is why we’re pulling extra hard for her. Outside of law enforcement, we don’t get too many stories about people jumping in front of bullets to save others. Larke, she’s a courageous woman. She must love you something serious.”

The scowl vanished from Desmond’s face only to be replaced by a mixture of uncertainty, fear, and guilt.

“Talk to me,” the nurse urged. “You’re carrying a lot on those broad shoulders of yours, young man, and I’m sure it’s much heavier than if
you’d been carrying one of your brothers in the service.”

Desmond’s head fell with a quiet ‘hmph.’

“I’m serious,” she asserted. “Look, I’m fifty-nine years old. My oldest child, my daughter, is turning forty this year. I already told you how old my son is. Now, I’ve seen your chart and you’re younger than my baby boy. So, if you think you’re going to win this little one-on-one with me with a silent treatment or an angry face, honey you’ve got another think coming. You can’t tell ‘cause I dye it, but my gray hairs come from years of practicing patience with my kids, and not to mention two ex-husbands. But I know that being there for them is why they’re doing so well today.”

She leaned back in the chair and folded her arms. “So, talk to me. I have some time.”

Desmond lifted his head and zeroed in on her name tag. “Maria.”

“Don’t wear it out,” she said with a nod. Then she made a “come here” motion with her palms facing the ceiling. “Now come on. Spit it out.”

Desmond squeezed his forehead. “I don’t know what to say. I’m not used to…talking.”

She twisted her mouth to reveal a dimple in her left cheek. “Oh honey, you’re so plain-faced that I could probably tell that from just looking at your
chart. But since you’re not used to talking, I’m going to give you some sage advice. Are you ready for it?”

She cleared her throat.

“This isn’t your fault. You think I can’t see those wheels turning? I can see you blaming yourself. I can see you feeling guilty that she took a bullet for you because you figured that it was your job to love her, and not the other way around.”

He locked his gaze with hers.

“I got your attention?” She asked. “Look honey, I’m a mother first, nurse second. I have had my share of experiences. My first husband died when my daughter was twenty-four years old. I lived in New York at the time and she called him on the phone begging him not to be late for dinner because we were meeting her boyfriend, now husband, for the first time. So, he left work early and rushed home, only to end up having a heart attack right there on the metro. When I tell you, that girl blamed herself for years saying that if he’d stayed at work, which was closer to the hospital, he would have been alive today.”

She touched his knee again. “But honey, you didn’t make Larke jump in front of that bullet. She did it because she loves you. I guarantee she didn’t even think about it. All she saw was that you were in danger and she needed to help you.”

“But she could have died,” Desmond sharply replied. “She didn’t think about that. She could have died right there in my arms. It was
my
job to protect
her
.”

“In the beginning,” Maria countered. “You know that you love her, but I don’t think you get that she feels the same way
about you. Well, now you have proof. It was your duty to protect her, but it became her duty when she fell for you. So now, the only problem I see here is that you have two people in love with each other, but until she’s out of surgery, nothing can come of it.”

A soft knock resonated from the other side of the door.

“Come on in,” Maria invited and Desmond felt his heart rate jump when Wren walked into the room. Her face was moist from tears that she tried uselessly to dab away, and her bloodshot eyes and red nose told him that she’d been crying for a while. He braced himself and prepared for the worst.

“How-a
re-you-doing, Desmond?” She asked between tears.

He slid down off of the table and pla
ced his hands on her shoulders. “I’m okay, Wren. Tell me…how is Larke?”

With the mentioning of her sister’s name, more tears began to pour from Wren’s eyes. Desmond felt as though a balloon had been inflated
in his chest. There was no preparation for this. Nothing could prepare him for this.

P
lease…