Love Her Wilde

Aces Wilde: Asher

Two days later, not much had changed. Dylan was still in a coma, I still hadn't been allowed in her room, and the cops still seemed to think I was the number one suspect.

Shayne and Stefan had only left Dylan's bedside when the hospital required them to. They altered staying the night, or running for food or necessities, but one of them was always by her side. Lita and Ryder had both visited, but separately, as only two people were allowed at a time. As far as I know, the only ones that hadn't been in were Mason and me. For me, it wasn't for lack of trying. According to Shayne, Stefan was being very particular about who was allowed into the room. I didn't like it, but I understood. He didn't know me more than the mess he'd met in the ER waiting room. His trust in strangers was, for obvious reasons, nonexistent at the moment and I got it. Again, I didn't like it, but I got it.

Shayne kept me regularly updated, either through texts and calls, or meetups. I brought them dinner the first night. We'd had coffee in the hospital shop a few times. I knew everything that was happening with her: good, bad, or otherwise.

Surprisingly, my father had texted me as well. Nothing major, and definitely no life altering realization of the shitty way he'd treated us all of our lives, but he did express his condolences and said to let me know if I needed anything. He'd spoken to the police, and despite his words when he'd met, they quickly dismissed the concern that he had anything to do with her attack. He hadn't even been in the country, and there was nothing that pointed in his direction. They would likely question him again at some point, but at the present time, neither CPD (or I) believed my father was the culprit.

Her head trauma was obviously the most severe. At this point, she was in a medically induced coma in an attempt to allow her body, and her brain, to heal. She had various surface injuries (cuts and bruises and the like), a broken wrist, a dislocated shoulder, and two broken ribs. The attacker had also crushed her voice box, a fact that made my skin crawl. Judging by the bruising and the damage, the doctor had guessed that the attacker had basically stomped on her throat, trying to get her to stop screaming. The mental images coursing through my brain were more horrifying than anything I could have possibly thought up on my own. She would require reconstructive surgery sometime in the next few days if there was any hope of her being able to speak properly again, but the doctors were wary to shock her system too much, too soon.

I tried to go about life, but I felt numb. I went to work, did what I had to get done, and then either went home or headed to talk to Shayne. Sleep was a luxury I had all but abandoned since that night and I was even more on edge because of it. I'd met with the detectives the day after for a more in-depth interview, and I knew they'd be calling again soon. I was fully aware that they were taking a real close look at me, but I was also aware that with all the stops I'd made that day, and the timing of everything, I had a pretty rock-solid alibi. But that didn't seem to get their attention to shift to anyone else. There wasn't much for evidence at the house. Nothing was missing, and everything but the bedroom was pretty much the same it had been when I left. Whoever was responsible for this had only wanted to hurt Dylan, plain and simple. And I had a feeling that the fact she was still hanging on to life, was angering them more than anything.

On the third day, I was struggling to keep my eyes open at my desk. Bryant, the college friend I now worked with, had encouraged me to take some time off, but I couldn't. I couldn't just go home and sit there alone, day in and day out, waiting. It would eat me alive more than it already was. So I kept to my routine, kept my head down, and tried to focus on work.

Just as I began nodding off, my phone let out a sharp buzz against my desk. It took me a second to realize what was happening, but the instant I saw Shayne's name flashing on my screen, I picked up.