Breath Of Life Read online

  “Where are you?”

  “I-I’m here on King street.”

  “Are the people still around?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know what they looked like?”

  The question threw me. “I ... Tall, unkempt, dark hair. Late twenties to mid-thirties. I don’t know. It was dark, and they were all in black. Please send someone. I hear an odd sound like a deflating balloon or a tire. He’s pale.”

  “Help is on their way. What’s your name?”

  “Me? I-I’m Quinn Fleming.”

  “And the gentleman’s?”

  “Ollie ... what’s your real name.”

  He gives a bark of laughter that ends with a wet cough. “Finally got your name. Oliver Hemingway.”

  I repeat his name to the operator. Her steady voice is a lifeline keeping me from panicking.

  “Can you tell me more about what’s going on with Oliver? Is he breathing?”

  “Yes, but it’s labored.” His chest isn’t rising up and down as it should be. I’m no doctor, but I can’t help but think this is a worst case scenario. His skin is clammy, and his eyes are glazing over.

  “Keep him talking, the ambulance and the police should be there shortly. I need you to find something to seal the wound at the exit and entry points. It needs to be air tight. Then I need you to apply pressure until they arrive.”

  I cradle the phone between my shoulder and cheek and thank the Lord they didn’t take my case in the insanity. Pushing it onto its side, I open it with clumsy fingers. The sight of my red-tipped fingers make me sick to my stomach.

  “W-what do you mean by airtight?”

  “Plastic, tape, anything that can stop air from getting into the wound.”

  I grab the pink, white, and zebra duct tape I couldn’t resist buying and tear off the strip, hold it between my teeth, and apologize with my eyes before I push the flannel aside and raise his T-shirt. His body jerks and he gives a hoarse cry as I spread the tape over the dime-sized hole, oozing blood.

  “I-I have one side done.”

  “Excellent, now you need to do the same to the exit wound.”

  I close my eyes.

  “Ollie, I need you to help me. I have to bandage the wound in your back, too. On three.”He grunts. I set the cell phone aside. “One, two, three.” I roll him over as tears stream down my face. Everything I’m doing to help is hurting. The silence that follows horrifies me. I work fast, covering the quarter-sized exit wound. Done, I lay him on his back as the sirens reach my ears. His eyes are closed, and I’m praying he passed out from the pain. His body is warm, but his chest ...

  I shove the thoughts away, pull down the T-shirt, and lean against the wound. Closing my eyes, I count in my head as if the sirens are a storm. One-one-thousand, two-one-thousand, three-one-thousand. I hit twenty when the sound is right behind me on the street. Help’s finally arrived.

  OLLIE

  They say your life flashes before your eyes when you’re about to die. But all I remember is a jumble of actions—fighting for the gun, a struggle—the mingle of voices raised in anger and a higher pitched feminine tone full of fear, and the stink of sweat and unwashed bodies that singed my nose hairs. And then pain. A sneaky pain. It was like being hit in the stomach with a balled fist, and then realizing that hammer-like blow had caused serious damage. I was on my back, struggling to breathe in the span of distorted seconds.

  The only thing I could think of was Rollo and all the time I wasted. Who would look after my boy? An avalanche of regrets damn near crushed me as I fought for every breath. I settled, fucked around, and wasted the allotted minutes I got to walk the earth, and I had to die knowing it. Only ... I didn’t die because of an angel with a sweet voice, and gentle hands that hurt like hell. Quinn Fleming’s first aid saved my life. I won’t waste that gift.

  A surgeon repaired the wounds in the anterior and posterior wall of the left pulmonary artery nine days ago, but he can do nothing about the chaos in my head. I can’t pretend the world is the same for me when everything’s changed. I grip the railing and force my attention back to the petite, dark-haired woman with the pixie haircut, delicate facial features, full lips, and a bright red T-shirt that hangs off her slender shoulder. She’s always been so tiny. I liked that about Allison. She made me feel even more masculine without trying.

  After a lifetime of never being taken too seriously, I subconsciously craved that. I can see the situation for what it was now. It’s no wonder it never worked out long term. We were off and on over the course of two years until Roland. We parted ways because the fighting wasn’t healthy. Three years later, we’re back on-ish. I don’t think you can call what we do dating, but it’s more than bumping uglies for pleasure.

  She’s the mother of my child. A woman I once considered myself madly in love with. I think we’re both more comfortable than in love. We’re going through the motions because it’s easy and it makes Rollo happy. I never should’ve started back up with her.

  Perched on the edge of the navy-blue chair, she’s holding my hand and chattering on about things I couldn’t care less about. I get out of the hospital tomorrow, and she thinks I’m going home with her. The thought of living a lie makes my blood run cold. I’ve been given another shot at this thing called life, I can’t screw it up.

  I squeeze her hand. “Allie.”

  She blinks. “Are you okay? Should I get the nurse? Do you need more pain meds?”

  I shake my head. “No. I just ... I don’t want you to think I’m coming home with you tomorrow.”

  “What?” She blinks, and her hazel eyes fill with confusion.

  “I’m going to my house.”

  “Of course,” she laughs. “You want to be comfortable. I can come there.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “That’s not what I mean. My head is a mess. I need space and time to heal.”

  “Oliver, you cannot do this to me ... to us. Not now.” Shoving her tiny fist into her mouth, she shakes her head from side to side. Her eyes glisten, and she sniffs.

  “I’m doing what’s best for both of us, Allie. Trust me. It’s going to take me a lot of time to sort through the sewage leak that flooded into my skull. I’m not taking anyone along for that ride with me.”

  “So you get hurt, and then fuck me?” Her eyes narrow into cat slits, and I sigh. Here we go.

  “No, I’m trying to do what’s right.”

  “By ditching me the first chance you get? Were you waiting for an opportunity? You’re hurt, you need someone to look after you.”

  “No, I don’t.” I shake my head.

  “God, you’ve always been like this! You’re why we stall out every single time. Are you afraid of commitment, or is it me?”

  I close my eyes as we rehash the same tired argument. I could never explain to her, or myself, why I can’t go all in with her. I’ve never been serious about much other than my job and my son, so it was easier to place the blame on me than dig any deeper. Now it’s as transparent as glass. Amazing what a near death experience can do.

  “It was never you. I don’t want you to feel like you did anything wrong. That was never the case. I told you that. I know you want an explanation, but I can’t have that conversation right now.”

  “You—”

  A knock interrupts us.

  “Come in,” I call.

  The door opens, and my heart jumps up in my throat when Quinn peers inside. “Is now a good time?”

  “Quinn,” I whisper. Her name is gospel on my tongue.

  “Yes.”

  “No,” Allie snaps in response to Quinn’s question.

  “This is Quinn. She saved my life,” I say.

  “No, the paramedics saved your life,” Allie hisses.

  “I can come back.”

  “No. please.” I gesture her inside with a frantic wave of my hand.

  She steps inside the room, and the atmosphere quickly turns hostile.

  “I came by before but you were always resti
ng, and I didn’t want to disturb you. I know how important rest is.”

  “I wanted to thank you,” I say.

  She holds her up her hand. “No. You saved me and you didn’t have to, so you don’t get to thank me for anything. I’m relieved you’re going to be okay.” Her voice warbles. She gives me a shaky smile, and I spot a crooked eye tooth that gives her character. I can’t help but smile at her full white skirt with a bright floral pattern, brown boots, and white tank top that shows off her elegant neck and the swell of her generous breasts. I feel like an ass as the attraction that hit me like a sledgehammer the first time I laid eyes on her returns full force. There’s something about this girl that sparks something in me. A twinge of pain begins, and I grunt.

  “Ollie,” the girls’ voices join together.

  “Think it’s about time for my next dose of pain meds,” I mutter.

  “I’ll let you two be alone.”

  “No, Allison was about to leave, and I’d like to talk to you before I lose my strength.”

  “Asshole,” Allison spits. She stands, snatches her purse off the table beside the bed, and storms off. I’m used to her drama. I used to love it. Now I’m too tired to humor her and feeling ancient. I’m forty. It’s past time I got my shit together.

  “I didn’t mean to piss your girlfriend off.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend. That’s what has her pissed her off. She and I have a son together, Roland.”

  “Oh,” she whispers.

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  “Me? Yeah, I ... uh, tried to help the police with a description but it’s all so damn hazy. I’m working on trying to recall more.”

  “You’ve been busier than you let on,” I say, impressed.

  “I don’t want this happening to someone else. Maybe next time they’ll kill them, or worse.” She shudders.

  White hot rage fills me. I knew the plans they had in store for her.

  “I can’t have that on my conscious,” she continues.

  “Me either. I’ll help any way I can.”

  She smiles. “Thank you. But for now, you should probably worry about getting well and leaving this place.”

  “Ten more hours. I’m out of here the minute they say your papers have been processed, and you can leave.”

  “Why, you don’t like questionable Jell-O and bland chicken?” she asks with a smirk.

  I flip her off, and she laughs. The sound is deep, loud, and sassy, much like its owner.

  “I’ll go and let you rest. I wanted to stop in and see you up and about with my own eyes.”

  “You chase off my company, and then you leave me to be alone?”

  Her eyes widen. “You said—”

  I smirk.

  “Yeah, I think you’re going to be fine.”

  It feels good to talk to someone who didn’t know me and was there when my life was altered. No one else I’ve seen understands. My mom fusses, while my brothers chide me and congratulate me on my bravery at the same time. I mentally roll my eyes as I think of my older brothers: Harry, the doctor, and Patrick, the lawyer.

  They were the responsible, intelligent, overachievers of the family. They took after my philandering father. Which left me to be the one who kept Mom’s spirits up when the rumors went from whispers to blatant open conversation they didn’t bother to quell. The only thing I knew how to do was to make her laugh, and thus began my career as the jester.

  “The docs say I was lucky. Another half inch to the left and it would’ve been lights out.” The hairs on the back of my arms and neck stand on end. Saying it does nothing to dispel the absolute terror that consumes me when I think about how close I’d come to my death. How the hell does anyone get over this?

  Walking over to the bed, she places a hand on my shoulder. “But it didn’t, and you’re here.”

  “Yeah.” Her touch is solid, and her voice is steady and sure. I can’t help but be grounded.

  “I know it’s easier said than done. I won’t disrespect you by acting otherwise. I’m still having nightmares and looking over my shoulder at every turn. Hell, I’ve signed up to get my conceal and carry.”

  “Really?”

  She nods. “I need to get back to feeling in control. When they pulled that gun, we were sitting ducks. My mace did help, but it was like bringing a knife to a gun fight ... no contest.”

  I meet her stormy gaze and a flash of understanding passes between us. She sinks into the chair beside me, and I lay back against the pillows as I try to block out the elevating pain. The nurses will be coming by soon. I don’t feel the need to fill the space between us with small talk, and her presences isn’t intrusive. I take comfort in her until the door opens.

  “Hey, Ollie, you ready for your meds?”

  “I am, Tina. Thank you.”

  “I’ll let you rest, okay?” Quinn asks as she stands.

  “Yeah.”

  I’ve never been so sad to see a virtual stranger leave before.

  She walks to the end of the bed and stops. “I got Efia to give me your number. Is it okay to text?”

  “Anytime.”

  She studies me, and a flicker of a smile turns her plump lips up in the corner. “All right. I’ll be in touch.”

  There’s a bond that comes with surviving the robbery I can’t explain. I know our lives will always be connected. My desire to know more about her outshines the physical attraction. I have no clue what the future holds for me. My perspective has changed, and things inside of me are shifting even as I watch her leave and the nurse hands me a Dixie cup with two white pills. I take the pills, wash them down with a cool sip of water, and lean back against the pillows as a wave of exhaustion hits. Eager to escape all the questions I don’t have an answer to, I embrace the oblivion of sleep.

  Chapter Two

  Quinn

  “We don’t have anything else to give,” Ollie says coolly. My throat is as dry as a desert, and my chest is rattling under the onslaught of my palpitating heart.

  “But you do.” He’s evil incarnate with thick, bushy eyebrows that accentuate his dark, malice-filled eyes. His thin, chapped, pale pink lips sit below a hawk shaped nose, and his narrow chin has a spattering of dark hair. He raises his gun and pulls the trigger. Oliver hits the ground. I peer down and find a circle in the center of his forehead and unseeing eyes. A scream tears its way from my throat. I jerk into consciousness.

  My breath is coming in short bursts, and I’m covered in sweat. The cotton nightgown sticks to my skin. I focus on calming my quick breathing as I peer around the dimly lit room, reassuring myself I’m actually home and not in some flop house. Placing a hand over my heart, I inhale through my mouth and out my nose as I try to come down from the high. I roll onto my side and glance at the clock. The digital numbers are unforgiving. Three a.m. Disgusted, I roll onto my back. It’s like they’re winning. They’ve gone on with their lives, moved to the next crime, and I’m still struggling to limp my way forward, and regain a sense of security.

  Getting new locks, cards, and identification did nothing to start replacing what they’d stolen from me. I’ve been violated. I glance at my window. They had my wallet. Even now, they could be out there watching me. Slipping from my bed, I crawl on hands and knees to peer out of my blinds. The street is swathed in darkness broken by street lights. The cars are familiar ones. My anxiety eases, and I rest my head against the cool wall. What if they’re there and I can’t see them? Sweat makes my palms clammy and dots my brow. My heart goes wild in my chest, and I struggle to take in enough air.

  I lean against the wall and close my eyes tight, willing the storm inside of me to ease as I ride it out. Exhausted, I slide to the ground, fighting tears. Every noise makes me jump. I’m constantly looking over my shoulder, and I don’t trust people the way I once did. I knew the world wasn’t all sunshine, rainbows, and lollipops. But staring evil in the face shook me to the core.

  If Ollie hadn’t stood up for me, they would’ve taken me and raped
me. Admitting it makes me ill. Gagging, I swallow down the bile threatening to shoot up my throat like a sickeningly sweet rocket set to embarrass and mortify me. I choke it back down and slowly the feeling of the room closing in on me dissipates.

  This is the third nightmare in a row. I haven’t told anyone about this side effect. I can’t stand the way everyone looks at me. The sorrow they bring with their pity filled eyes is a smothering weight that sits on my chest like an overweight cat trying to steal my breath. They’re all watching me, waiting for signs of cracking. My mouth is dry, and all I want is to feel safe and not alone. My mind returns to Ollie.

  He’ll understand. The man is healing. I should let him rest. Maybe he’s suffering from nightmares, too. Regardless of the little voice battling inside of my head, I find myself going for my cell phone and looking up Ollie.

  I hit send against my better judgment.

  “Hello?” a husky, sleep heavy voice says.

  “Hey, Ollie. It’s Quinn.”

  “Quinn? Everything okay?”

  “Umm. I’m sorry if I woke you.”

  “Don’t worry about that. What’s going on?”

  “Have you had trouble sleeping ... since?”

  “You having dreams, too?” he asks solemnly.

  The words break the dam inside me. My emotions rush forward, turning a trickle into a flood.

  “Almost every night this week.”

  “Same. I don’t sleep much between the pain and the nightmares. You’re the first person I’ve admitted that to.”

  “I’m sorry. Don’t you have meds?”

  “I do, but this is more than not getting comfortable enough to sleep deeply. I could take more pills, but I don’t like the total disorientation that comes with too much medication. I want to be alert.”

  My heart goes to him. “I get it.”

  “I knew you would,” he says.

  His voice is a lifeline. No words are needed. A hush falls over the phone. The tension slowly fades away, and I find a sense of peace. There’s something about sharing the experience with the person who was there when it all went down.

  “Do you feel better?” he asks.