Banged Up (22 page)

A nurse quietly approached her. “Miss Parks, you may see him now.”

“What? I thought—”

“Mr. Smith explained your situation and we realized we had been mistaken.”

Colby silently thanked
Mr. Smith
as she rushed past the nurse and raced down the hallway. She couldn’t push the door open fast enough to enter Mace’s room.

His head was cushioned by a pillow, his upper body in an upright position due to the medical bed. He had ugly black stitches crisscrossing his face, one ear, his arm… She stopped searching. There were too many sutured areas to count. He reminded her of Frankenstein, though not as scary. His eyes were closed and his breathing was steady. He had an IV in his left arm and some sort of machine was hooked to him, beeping every second or so.

She dragged one of the blocky hospital room chairs next to his bed and perched on the edge. She reached out for his right hand, which was unencumbered with tubes, and he met her halfway. His warm, large fingers enveloped hers. Her eyes flicked back to his face and he was staring at her through swollen, purple eyes. They were unreadable, but he gave her fingers a slight squeeze.

Without letting go of her lifeline, she placed the packet of papers gently on his chest.

He lifted his head off the pillow a little, asking “What’s that?” through puffy, bruised lips.

“Your tour of duty is officially over. You’re retired.”

Mace didn’t say anything. Colby didn’t know if it was a good or a bad thing. He couldn’t want to continue getting shot and beaten up. How much could a body take?

After tonight, she couldn’t take anymore. She didn’t want to say, “It’s me or your career.” She wouldn’t do that to him, but she could not stand by and worry about him. Or worse, lose him for good.

“Good. Now I can concentrate on other things.”

Colby let out her breath, not even realizing she had been holding it while waiting for his response. He was letting his job go. “What other things?”

“Building you a new home. Somewhere far way from here. Somewhere safe.” His words were slow and it took him effort to get them out, but she understood every one of them. He gripped her hand harder. “I’m sorry your house is gone, Colby.”

“I know.” She smiled. “I can replace a house. I can’t replace you.”

He gave her a gentle tug and she slid over to the edge of the hospital bed, careful not to jar him too much. “I know how much it meant to you, what a haven it was for you.”

“You are all I need now.” Colby brushed a finger lightly down his bruised, broken features. He laid her head lightly on his chest. She felt it rise and fall softly with his steady breathing. “I love you, Mace.”

The movement of his chest hesitated under her cheek, and a moment later it surged and continued on with its soothing rhythm. He brushed her hair away from her face with his free hand. “How soon can I get out of this place? I’m sick of hospitals.”

“Soon,” she answered, but truthfully she didn’t know. He had a lot of healing to do before he could ever build their home.
Their
home.

“Where do you want to go?”

“Go?”

“Yes, where do you want to build our new house and our new life?”

“Anywhere, Mace. Anywhere you go, I’ll follow.”

He chuckled softly, then groaned in pain. “No, I think you’ve got it backward. I’ll follow you. To the ends of the earth, if necessary.”

Colby sighed as Mace tightened his fingers around hers. He lifted them to his mouth and pressed them ever so lightly to his lips.

She leaned over and laid her cheek against his, careful not to hurt him. She needed him, needed to feel him against her. God, she loved him and she never wanted to let him go.

“You never answered my question,” he murmured in her ear.

Question. What question?

Oh.

“Yes.” She laughed through her tears. “Yes, yes,
yes!
”

The End

About the Author:

I started writing around 13 years old and found it great therapy. Over my high school years I wrote my first novel, a young adult novel that was pretty raw about a young girl growing up in a gang. That manuscript is now forever lost (and that might be a good thing). During this time I read loads of books, most of them historical romances and category romances (contemporary). I fell in love with the genre. And have been writing ever since…

I now concentrate on the erotic romance genre. Why? Because it’s a blast. There’s nothing like a hot, hot romance to get your juices flowing. But I still like the HEA (Happily Ever After) ending.

I currently reside in South-central Pennsylvania with my dog and the love of my life (yes, he has two legs, not four). I am an emergency dispatcher and have my AA and BS in Criminal Justice.

My first published erotica piece was a fantasy short story in the July 2006 issue of Playgirl, which was titled “The Hot Ride.”

My website is at
http://www.jeannestjames.com
where you’ll find info about my presence on MySpace, Facebook, Twitter, and my blog. I update it when I have a chance because I’d rather be writing hot stories.

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