Speed of My Heart (12 page)

Miranda glared at me for a long minute, in which I remained silent, praying that I would get my chance to run before she accidentally unloaded that gun on one of us.

Like the wind, her face changed from furious to gentle; tender almost. My eyes widened. This girl needed a padded room, and if I ever got out of here, I was going to make sure she got it.

She rested her free hand on her abdomen and narrowed her eyes at me. "I hardly think that Marcus is going to give you the time of day when he realizes I'm carrying his child."

At my dazed expression, she smiled smugly. I guess she thought I was going to be hurt or upset, when really all I felt was sorry for her
and even more so for the unborn child
if there really was one. Marcus would be a terrible father, not to mention her as a mother.

I didn't know what to say, and it was obvious she was waiting. "Congratulations," I managed to get out, my voice hoarse and dry sounding.

"Always polite, Mara. Bravo," she murmured. Suddenly, she straightened her shoulders; all business.

"Well, while it's been
lovely
talking with you, I think it's time we get this show on the road." She raised her gun and pointed it directly at me. The barrel was just a few feet from my nose. The manic light in her eyes was still there.

That's when it hit me. Miranda was
actually
planning on using the gun on me. Call me gullible, but I had thought she was only trying to scare me. As crazy as Miranda was, I had never taken her for a murderer.

Her eyes were flashing like a lunatic and I made the split second decision that it was now or never. I'd rather die trying to get out, than sit there and wait to be shot between the eyes.  

I made a run for it, all the while praying my heart out that she wouldn't have the nerve to pull the trigger. Unfortunately, I wasn’t fast enough and heard the blast seconds before I felt it.

And then I did feel it; the white hot burn in my thigh. I crumpled to the floor, my leg unable to bear my weight any longer. I curled on my side and realized the penetrating scream I heard was my own. Sucking in a breath, I fought the dizzy, swimming sensation in my head. I could feel the sticky, warmth on my hands where I was holding the wound. One glance down revealed blood literally spurting across the room. I was losing massive amounts of it.

Not my leg, I thought desperately. I'll never dance the same again.

"Oh, poor Mara," I heard Miranda croon out softly. "I would say it's a shame about your leg, but you won't need it where you're going."

Her mad cackling was fading in the background as I felt myself getting further and further away; drifting away from the pain.

I felt a split second of confusion as I heard a sharp male voice shout, "Freeze!".

Beep, beep, beep.

The noise was both annoying and confusing. I fought to open my eyes; to make the grating sound stop. I heard voices that sounded like they were from far away, and I tried to climb out of the darkness so that I could hear what they were saying.

"Mara," someone called to me. I opened my eyes and was rewarded with a blurry face. I blinked several times, trying to focus. Relief rolled over me in a wave when I saw the familiar vision of my grandmother smiling down at me.

"I am so happy to see those pretty green eyes, Mara. For a while there, I was afraid I might not. If it hadn't been for Mr. Stevens…" her voice trailed of, catching. "But," she inserted with deliberate cheerfulness, "everything is okay now. You are going to be fine."

My eyes swept across the sterile looking room that was awashed in daylight. My grandfather stood up from the chair he was sitting in, and came to stand at the end of the bed. "Yes, you're one tough cookie, Mara. I always knew you were." He smiled down at me, and I noted the unshed tears in his eyes.

I closed my eyes for a second, trying to sort out the situation.

And then my last memory came back to me. Miranda and her craziness: the gun and my leg.

My eyes flew back open in horror, and I struggled to sit up and make sure my leg was still there. I yanked the covers back and saw, with overwhelming relief, both of my legs. The left one was in a cast, and there was a bandage near the juncture where my left leg met my body. I let out a sob of relief when I was able to wiggle my toes.

My grandmother hurried to explain. "They had to remove the bullet from your leg and stop the bleeding. There was a break caused by the blow. It will heal though, and the doctors say you should be able to walk just fine."

There was that word again: fine. And while it was relieving, there was one question I
had
to know the answer to.

My throat felt parched, scratchy. "And dance?" I croaked out.

My grandparents exchanged glances. Gran cleared her throat and squeezed my hand sympathetically. "Time will tell, Mara. Only time can tell."

My chest hurt from holding in the anger and heartache that those words produced. It wasn't her fault; she was telling me the truth. It just wasn't what I wanted to hear.

My grandfather patted my good leg. "We are just relieved you are alive, Mara. It could have been much worse."

Yeah, I guess it could have —I could be dead. So, why didn’t I feel like I had a new lease on life? Instead, I felt numb; expressionless.

 But there was something else I needed to know. "What happened to Miranda?" I questioned, my voice coming out surprisingly even. Miranda was obviously crazy and I would
never
forgive her for what she did to me, but she was obviously very sick —and pregnant, according to her.

My grandmother answered. "Sam informed us she was admitted into a psych hospital for treatment. He said she’s been charged with the crimes she committed against you; though we don't know if she'll be fit to stand trial. We'll let our lawyer deal with all that, though. Let's just put her out of our minds and focus on getting you better."

“She said she was pregnant," I told them flatly.

Gram shook her head. "No, sweetheart. Sam interviewed her mother. Miranda
was
pregnant, but according to her mom, she lost it weeks ago."

I nodded. More lies by a very sick person.

I knew I had so much to be grateful for, but I felt bitter. It was kind of hard to put Miranda out of my mind when I was lying in a hospital bed in pain from wounds she inflicted.

 I wanted to be alone.

I let my eyes drift closed. "I'm tired," I whispered, genuinely feeling exhausted.

"We're going to let you get some rest," my grandfather offered. "The phone is next to the bed if you need us, or you can have a nurse call us."

I nodded, not opening my eyes. Tears were stinging the backs of my eyelids and I squeezed them shut, hoping I could ward them off until my grandparents left.

I managed to hold the tears at bay until I heard the click of the door closing behind them. Once I was sure they were long gone, I let the tidal wave of tears flow until my eyes and throat felt dusty and dry. I lay in my hospital bed, staring at the ceiling unseeingly, wondering how my life had taken such an unexpected turn. I hadn't seen it coming
not by a long shot.

A week and multiple blood transfusions later, I was finally released home.

I should have been happy, thankful, and filled with a renewed sense of purpose in life. But the truth was —I felt depressed. I'd rather just stay in the hospital than face going back to my old life a broken version of my former self. Before, my entire day revolved around dance. It was my reward for doing all the other stuff. And now... it would be a while before I could dance again
if ever.

The doctors had told me that with physical therapy and time, I should make a full recovery. But, I knew my dreams of dancing in college and possibly beyond, were over. It was a cutthroat, competitive world that didn't stop for anyone. There was
always
another dancer eager to replace you.

I sat on my bed, propped up on a pile of pillows, my broken leg stretched out in front of me. The phone rang, pulling me reluctantly out of my self-pity party. I glanced down at the display and hesitated.

It was Cole. He had called multiple times over the past week, talking with my grandparents when I wasn't able to myself.

And then when I was able... I just couldn't. I felt overwhelmed by everything that had happened. I'd been having nightmares, and even during the day, I was on edge. Though I think part of that had more to do with the fact I couldn't do the one thing that I had always turned to for stress relief —dance.

I had been begging my grandparents to answer my phone, telling them I just wasn't up to talking to Cole, or anyone else for that matter. I could see the worried look in their eyes, but they never questioned me further; just told him I wasn't ready.

I watched the phone ring until it stopped. Maybe tomorrow I would talk to him.

My grandmother popped her head in the door. "Would you like me to get you anything?" she asked.

I shook my head. "No, thank you." My voice sounded oddly vacant, even to myself.

"Mara, you have to eat," she lectured worriedly. "You need the nutrients in order to heal."

"I'll try," I agreed, just to make her happy.

After picking at my dinner, I closed my eyes simply because I couldn't think of anything else I wanted to do.

And then I had the strangest dream.

I felt feather light kisses on my forehead and trailing down my jaw. I felt someone gently brushing my hair back. And I felt a familiar peacefulness that had been eluding me for a week now.

I fought my way to consciousness and blinked several times to clear my vision.

"Cole," I whispered in disbelief. Could he really be here? Or was this some effect of the pain medication my grandma had persuaded me to take earlier.

"I'm here," Cole murmured tenderly. He leaned down, placing a gentle kiss on my lips that, even in my dreamy stupor, caused a burst of heat in my belly.

"You came back?" I asked, absolutely stunned that Cole was sitting on my bed next to me. I had expected him to be deep in his racing world by now. Surely he couldn't afford to leave again so soon? It had only been a week, but it felt like a lifetime ago.

"Wild horses couldn't have kept me away," he quoted with a crooked grin.

"I think it's 'Wild horses couldn't drag me away'," I corrected him with a small smile. I was pretty sure it was the first smile to break through since
the incident
. That's what I had coined the whole horrifying event in my mind. It made it easier somehow to assign a generic name to the ordeal.

"I would have come right away," he said regretfully, "but the nurses, your grandparents; they told me you weren't ready. It almost
killed
me. And then I couldn't take it anymore —I came anyway."

I looked down at the bed, immediately contrite. I hadn't meant to worry Cole by not taking his calls. To be honest, I didn't know myself why I hadn't wanted to talk to him or anyone else. Depressed, maybe? If Sadie and Jack hadn't come to see me in the hospital, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have talked to them either.

I swallowed. "I should be the one apologizing. I told both the nurses and my grandparents that I wasn't ready to talk to anyone... even you."

I could see the hurt in his eyes, but he waited patiently for me to finish.

I took a deep breath. "I'm so sorry, Cole." I pleaded with my eyes for him to understand. "I don't know what's been wrong with me. I've just felt so
," I trailed off searching for the words, " —so helpless, and hopeless," I finished. I took a deep breath and went for complete openness. I was trying to convey with my eyes the undeniable truthfulness of my next words.

"But waking up to find you here, it's brought a comfort I didn't think I'd ever feel again. I wasn't sure if I ever could."

Cole squeezed my hand. He was looking at me so intently that I couldn't help but marvel that he felt invested enough in me to care so much.

I had spent the past couple of days staring at the wall, shutting everyone out, but suddenly it felt so right to talk to Cole.

"You have no idea the nightmarish memories that have been haunting me since I woke up from that night," I said, my voice was tortured and it broke on a sob.

Cole climbed into the bed next to me and easily lifted me onto his lap, taking care not to jolt my leg. I turned into his chest, finally releasing all of the tears that I'd been being so greedy with.

He held me in the strong safety and warmth of his arms, rocking me back and forth while I soaked his shirt. That was
exactly
what I needed. Cole was incredibly intuitive when it came to me. He had such an amazing way of knowing exactly what I needed, when I needed it. I realized that I didn't want him to leave. Ever.

Unfortunately, he would be leaving. I was sure of that.

Finally, I'd depleted my reservoir of tears and there wasn't a drop left to cry.

 I lifted my wet lashes to look at Cole. "Thank you," I whispered to him.

"Mara, I'm here for you
whenever
you need me," he emphasized, his eyes intense. "And I mean that. I don't hop on a red-eye flight for just anyone." He was wearing a teasing grin and I couldn't help but smile back, even if it was a bit weak.

"I know that the circumstances were very different," Cole said carefully. "But when I was lying in the hospital that night after the accident; with my arm broken and a head injury... I was scared. Scared that I wouldn't return to the level of physical form that I needed to be in to compete professionally again."

I watched him intently as he spoke. It was comforting to know that maybe he had experienced and overcome some of the depression and fear I was feeling right then.

"Mara, I believe you
will
push past this. And I believe you'll do the work it takes to dance again
at any level you choose. But if you lie here in this bed and waste away, you'll never know."

I nodded, but didn't trust myself to speak. I could feel the tears stinging the backs of my eyelids again.

"What it comes down to," he continued, his eyes boring into mine, "is that if you think you can't —then you won't."

I swallowed, looking down at the bed. Someone needed to come in here and pull me out of the hole I had crawled into, and he was doing it expertly.

I looked back up at him, a true smile on my lips. That made two since he'd walked through my door. "How am I so lucky to have you —," I stumbled to a stop when I realized that I didn't really
have
him at all. Our relationship was very undefined.

"Well, I don't
have you
," I corrected quickly. "But, you know what I mean...," I mumbled, trailing off.

Cole put a finger up to my lips to hush me. Amusement twinkled in his eyes.

"You
do
have me, Mara," he said intently. "Every part of me; whether you realize it or not." He paused, our eyes locked together. "I knew the day I drove away from here that I loved you; I just knew you weren't ready to hear it."

He lowered his finger from my lips and my jaw dropped open, stunned at his confession.

Cole smiled sympathetically. "You may still not be ready to hear it, but I knew after what happened last week, that I couldn't waste another day without telling you."

My lips trembled when I opened my mouth to speak, but he put his hand up, stopping me. "Don't respond yet," he said, his tone weary, like he was afraid of what I would say. "Don't respond until you're sure of how you feel."

I nodded silently and he leaned down, brushing my lips with his, sealing his declaration.

He had swept in here and instantly made my life worth living again. Of course, it was always worth living. It had just been sucked out of me with the crushing blow of a life long dream disintegrated.

But, suddenly, I was realizing that there were other things in life worth living for. And, for me, one of them was Cole.