On the way to the hospital, Ryan called Evan and left a message, telling him where to go when he arrived. He avoided giving any details. He didn't know exactly what happened inside that motel room, yet, and he was hoping wholeheartedly it wasn't as bad as it appeared. By the time he pulled into the parking ramp, he had no actual memory of how he got there. All he could see, in his mind's eye, was Emma laid out on that stretcher, bloody, bruised, and barely breathing.
Taking the first available parking spot, he rushed into the Emergency Room entrance, and waited impatiently to be called on. When the bored-looking redhead, snapping her gum, finally called him forward, he was trembling with impatience.
"There was a woman, brought here by ambulance. I need to know where they've taken her," he blurted out.
"What's her name?" She peered up at him expectantly over the rims of her dark brown, horn-rimmed glasses.
He told her, and waited, clenching and unclenching his hands, as she typed the information into the computer. At last, she looked back up at him.
"Are you family?"
Shit. He wasn't, and they probably wouldn't tell him anything if he told them that. So he lied.
"Yes, I'm her brother."
She nodded and clicked her mouse a few more times. "She's been taken into surgery—"
"What do you mean, surgery? Does it say for what?"
"...and then she'll be brought to the Intensive Care Unit after recovery." She continued speaking, as if he hadn't even spoken. "You can take the elevators up to the eighth floor, and speak to the receptionist at the desk for more information." She lowered her eyes, effectively dismissing him, and he gritted his teeth.
Rather than lashing out, though, he glanced around, and headed to his right, following the signs for the elevators. If Emma wasn't okay... He shook his head and walked faster. It wasn't even worth considering. She had to be.
When he finally reached the desk on the eighth floor, the receptionist there was more compassionate, but couldn't offer him any further information. She directed him to the waiting room and the half full coffee pot, before heading back to her post. Filling a cup with the bitter liquid, he took a sip, barely registering the stale, scalded flavor of the brew, and found a chair near the windows, overlooking the city.
He was acutely aware of the passage of time, but it had no real meaning for him. He checked the clock every fifteen minutes, and badgered the receptionist for more information every half hour or so, but he was there for hours without registering how long it had actually been.
Evan arrived, and for the first time, Ryan became aware of how long he must have been waiting. Rising, he greeted his friend with a strong embrace, rather than the brief, cursory clasping of shoulders they were used to. Evan's face was drawn and his shoulders slouched with weariness, but he didn't comment on it. Just as Evan didn't comment on how bloodshot his eyes were, and how disheveled he appeared.
Sitting a couple of chairs away from each other, they were both lost to their own thoughts, until, at last, the surgeon walked into the little room. He shook hands, introducing himself as Dr. Sorenson, and lowered himself into a chair across from the two of them, his face grave.
"Well," Evan demanded, his patience worn thin, "how is she?"
The corner of Dr. Sorenson's mouth lifted slightly, but his grey eyes didn't lose their seriousness. "Emma's body should recover fully, as long as infection doesn't set in."
"Thank God," the two men breathed in unison.
"But," the doctor cautioned, "she is far from out of the woods. I did the surgery to repair the internal bleeding caused by her broken ribs, but she lost a lot of blood. Additionally, she sustained major head trauma, which is more concerning in the long run. She is being monitored in recovery right now, and then she'll be moved to the ICU, where the neurologist will consult with you."
"How bad is it?" Ryan croaked, his voice rough from trying to contain his emotions.
"We won't know for a while, unfortunately," the doctor replied. "Her skull has a couple of hairline fractures, and there's significant swelling in her brain. It's likely we'll keep her in an induced coma until the pressure goes down, and we can get some better images of the damage. She won't be conscious for a couple of days, at least. Until we can speak to her and assess her properly, we won't know the actual extent of the damage."
"What does that even mean?" Evan demanded, leaning forward.
Dr. Sorenson sighed. "I wish I had more answers for you. The neurologist will be better able to answer your questions, but even she won't know anything for sure until Emma wakes up. Brain injuries are tricky. Even if she sustained any damage, we won't know if, or how permanent it is for awhile. To be perfectly frank, with the kind of beating she took, it's a miracle she's alive. It's similar to a stroke. She might completely recover, or she might always have some issues. It's also possible that she will have to relearn some things. We just can't say, yet." He stood, clasping each of their hands, directing them to the ICU, before taking his leave.
Evan clenched the doctor's hand more tightly than he needed to, but it was in general frustration.
"If your father survived, I would murder him myself," he ground out, his jaw tight.
"Get in line," Ryan replied, darkly. "That man was no father to me."
~*~*~
The next few days were hazy for Ryan. Only two people were allowed into Emma's room at a time, and he and Evan had taken up permanent residence. Rosie came by to bring them food and changes of clothes each afternoon. At that point, one of them, usually Evan, would leave the room so she could spend half an hour with her friend.
Most days, he used that time to go check on his mom. She'd also survived, and with less head trauma, but she'd still sustained some serious injuries from the gunshots she'd received, as well as a few broken ribs, and a number of bruises. Though she wasn't in a coma, like Emma, she was kept pretty doped up and was unable to speak when he visited. Although, he suspected she wasn't as out of it as she seemed, and was more or less avoiding having to face him.
Ryan refused to leave her side. After a couple of days, the nurses took pity on him, and scrounged up a cot. It was too narrow, and his legs hung off at the knees. He was so exhausted, that it shouldn't have mattered, but he couldn't sleep regardless. Most often, he would doze off in his chair for half an hour, with his head lying on the bed, fingers entwined with hers.
He used the shower in her room when he remembered to, though he hadn't trimmed his beard since his Ma's funeral. Food was tasteless, so he didn't bother eating, either. Though when Rosie came by, he'd manage a few mouthfuls just to keep her from nagging him. He was gaunt, and shrinking in on himself. His skin had taken on a pale, sickly pallor, his eyes had dark circles underneath, and he was sporting a beard a mountain man would be proud of. It was all irrelevant to him; none of it mattered if she didn't wake up.
The day after she'd been admitted, a couple of police officers showed up to finish taking his statement and return Emma's belongings. Her phone was among the items returned, and Evan went through her contacts and messages to see if anyone else needed to be contacted. He called Jeannie and Andy, and they'd stopped by briefly; Jeannie tutting over the state of he and Ryan, and force feeding them homemade pasties.
He also called Manny and Ron, who came by later that day. They stayed for hours, drawing both men away from her bedside, as they had more insight into what had happened. Manny divulged the details of his meeting with Emma, and what he suspected, but with Danny dead, and both women unconscious, they still didn't know exactly what had happened. The cops were still investigating, but until Emma or Julie came-to, they were in the dark.
Despite the circumstances that brought them together, meeting Manny and Ron was the one bright spot in the entire situation. Manny had known Frankie and Greta well, and regaled the guys with stories of their parents, giving them a glimpse of a side of them they weren't familiar with. They also brought them food, and they discovered that Ron was an amateur chef in his own right.
On the fourth day, her EEG results showed signs of improvement, so the doctors began to wean her off of the barbiturates in her system, hoping she would wake up within the next few days. Evan was in the family waiting room, chatting with Manny, while Ron fluttered around them like a mother hen, plating up the food he'd brought for lunch. Ever since that morning when Emma's doctor began the process of weaning her out of her coma, Ryan had refused to leave her bedside. The others had passed in and out of the room, and the nurses came to check her vitals and take blood at regular intervals, but he barely stirred.
All he could do was stare at her, willing her to wake up. They were told it would likely take a couple of days at least for her to become conscious, but he was silently begging for a miracle. The fingers of both of his hands engulfed the hand that was free of the IV, interlacing them, and resting his lips in a perpetual kiss upon her knuckles.
Her bruises were still bright purple, but had begun fading into green at the edges, and the swelling in her face was down significantly. The wounds she'd sustained were healing well, as was her incision from the surgery. But the breathing tube and the plethora of tubes and wires running from her body to various machines made her look small and weak, and though the doctors said she would live, he wouldn't believe it until she opened her eyes and spoke to him, herself.
"Emma, sweetheart, I need you to wake up." His voice was rough and cracked from lack of use and too much emotion. "Plea-please, Em. I really need you to come back to me. I love you, little girl... just please, give me something." Despite the desperation in his voice, and the salty tears stinging his eyes, she remained silent, her face a serene mask.
"Ryan, muchacho, you must rest." Manny had come into the room unnoticed, and placed a hand on his shoulder, his brow furrowed in concern. "It will do our niñita no bueno, if you are ill when she awakens."
Ryan dragged his gaze up to the stocky Puerto Rican beside him, before dropping it back to Emma's recumbent form. "I can't sleep anyways, Manny. If she wakes up, and I'm not here..."
"She will not wake up for at least a couple more days, Ryan. It will take time to get the drugs out of her system," Manny retorted firmly. "You have barely eaten, and haven't slept in days. Go home for the night, let us watch over our niñita."
"I'm not leaving her," he ground out stubbornly. "I'll lay down on the cot and sleep for a little while, but I am not going home."
Manny sighed deeply, shaking his head. "The two of you were made for each other, muchacho; you're both bullheaded!" He threw his hands up and then squeezed Ryan's shoulder. "Go. Lay down and rest. She will need you awake, and not falling down when she finally opens her eyes."
Reluctantly, Ryan rose, kissing Emma on her forehead, before heading over to the cot under the window. Pulling a chair up to the end of it, to make it longer, he kicked off his boots, and then crashed. Manny had been right, he was drained. He still woke up every couple of hours to check on her, but he managed to sleep for most of the night.
When he woke the next morning, little had changed. The neurologist checked in and told them they were still decreasing the drugs in her system. She was encouraged by the fact that the swelling had gone down and there was no hemorrhaging in her brain, but that did nothing to calm Ryan's anxiety. The longer she was asleep, the more fearful he became. At the same time, the rest he'd finally allowed himself, allowed him to think more rationally. He needed to start taking care of himself, and languishing by her bedside without eating or sleeping was in no way helping her.
After the doctor left, he headed out of the room in search of breakfast. He still wasn't planning to leave the hospital, but his stomach was grumbling and it had literally been days since he'd stretched his legs. Popping his head into the waiting room, he found Evan leaning back in one of the hard chairs, tree-trunks of legs splayed in front of him, and Rosie curled into his side with his arm looped around her shoulders in the chair beside him, both sleeping.
A small grin made its way onto his face. It was one of the few times he'd seen them together in over ten years that they weren't arguing. Might be hope there, yet. At the same time, it made him think of Emma, and his heart tightened painfully. She has to wake up... she'll be okay. He recited the mantra to himself all through his breakfast, before hurrying back to her room.
Shock stopped him mid-step when he reached the doorway. On one side of the bed, sat Evan, and on the other side, in a wheelchair, sat Julie. His hands clenched into unconscious fists, and he gritted his molars together so hard, he was sure to grind them into powder. Deep crimson crept up the back of his neck, and he took one threatening step forward before halting. His normally sage-colored eyes darkened to forest green and narrowed on Evan.
"What the fuck is she doing here?"
"Cool it, bro," Evan warned him in a low, measured tone. Glancing at Emma's still unconscious form, he indicated toward the doorway. "Let's take this to the waiting room," he suggested with a pointed look at Ryan.
Ryan turned on his heel, stiffly leading the way as Evan followed behind, pushing Julie's wheelchair. When they finally reached the waiting room, he spun around, watching as Evan closed the door behind them, so the three of them were alone.
"Well?" It was a demand, as much as a question. This time, he turned his hard gaze on Julie. "Since you're here, why don't you explain what the hell happened at that motel? Tell me why the woman I love is still in a coma fighting for her life."
Evan blew out an uneasy breath, but didn't interfere. He wanted the same answers, and his mother was certainly not innocent. Crossing the room, he slouched his burly body into a small couch that fit him like a chair, his golden-brown gaze settling on his mom as well. She glanced up, meeting their eyes briefly, and flinching away from the unwavering animosity she found. Fiddling with her fingers in her lap, she tried to take a steadying breath, whimpering when pain shot through her side from the healing gunshot wounds. When pain subsided, she began speaking, almost in a whisper, her eyes focused on the floor.
"I'm so sorry. This is all my fault."
"No shit," Ryan muttered, but snapped his mouth closed when Evan shot him a glare.
"I deserve that," she agreed, flicking her eyes toward her son. "This all started years ago, when you were all small children. I—I explained in more detail to Emma while Danny was holding us, but my reasons for acting the way I did, don't excuse it. Daniel and I were responsible for that heist at the museum. We framed Frankie and intended to escape together. Except I was greedy, and I didn't want to share—the jewels or my life with a man, any man." She sighed heavily. "So, when we arrived at the place we were supposed to lay low, before we fenced the jewels and ran, I shot Daniel. I thought I killed him, but he managed to survive, laying low all of these years."
She ventured a glance upward, and was met with disbelief and contempt. Nevertheless, she forged on.
"After I shot him, I went home. I thought I'd lie low there, and hide in plain sight. Evan and Emma's father was under suspicion, as we planned, and I thought it was just a matter of time before he would be arrested and I could leave. Unfortunately, he found my hiding place, and confronted me. He took the gems and hid them away, and told me he had proof of what Danny and I had done, and that instead of turning me in, he was going to hold them over me as leverage. He demanded I leave. I hadn't been a very good mother, and he wanted me to relinquish my parental rights on you two.
Meeting Evan's eyes, and seeing the hurt and growing awareness in them, made hers fill. "I left, doing everything I could to find out what he'd done with them, without success. So... so I called him up to meet m-me..." Hunching over, she began sobbing in earnest, the pain in her side fueling her tears. "I killed him. I'm so, so sorry."
Evan stared at her, stone-faced. "That's why you wanted to get into the house so badly when Grandma died."
"Yes. I figured if he hid them anywhere, it would be there. There was no possible way of me getting into that house. Your grandmother hated me. I didn't know Danny was alive at that point, though. I didn't know until after Greta was attacked. He had the same thought I did when he read Edie's obit in the paper, and tracked me down to make me help him. He blamed me for ruining his life, it was only a matter of time until he killed me, whether he got what he wanted or not. I never meant for you kids to be drawn into it."
She dropped her head in her hands wearily, closing her eyes. The physical exertion combined with the emotionally charged atmosphere was wearing her down.
"Why did he want to take Emma?" Ryan asked, deadpan.
"Because he thought she would either know something or have access to something that could help him find the gems. When I saw Greta in the hospital, she told me she had proof of what we did, so he wanted to find that, too."
"Why would my mom have proof?" Ryan sneered.
"Frankie gave it to her. He knew it wasn't safe with him, so he had Greta take out a safety deposit box and put the jewels in there, as well as all the other evidence he'd gathered. He kept the key, and only she knew which bank it was at. I only found out after Danny kidnapped Emma because the letter Greta left her detailed what happened. The key was in Frankie's safe, which was why Danny left us at the motel. He'd already beaten up on us pretty good before he left. Then, Emma managed to get a call out to you, and we got our hands free. I broke the mirror in the bathroom, and we used the shards as weapons. When he returned, we attacked him.
"I told Emma to run, let me distract him, but she wouldn't go. I attacked his face, and he lost his mind. Threw me across the room and shot me twice. While he was distracted, Emma stabbed him in the shoulder, but he managed to overpower her. He was beating her over the head with the butt of the gun, and I was just lying there. I managed to find my piece of mirror, and got his attention back on me. I s-st-stabbed him in the throat, and then shot him. That's all I remember before waking up here."
"She could've died because of you. She might have permanent brain damage!" Scalding hot fury burned in Ryan's chest and shone in his eyes. How he wished he could be the divine hand of retribution; hurt her and make her regret that she didn't die in the room with his father. Only the thought of Emma lying in that hospital bed, stayed his hand.
"I know," she admitted, her voice small. "The cops have already been here for my statement. They found the key and are gathering the rest of the evidence together. They've already gotten the contents of the safe-deposit box. The jewels were inside, as well as a recording implicating Danny and I. Frankie's name will be cleared, and I've made a full confession. Once I'm released from the hospital, I'll be taken into custody. Evan, I know it doesn't mean much, but I love you and your sister. I'm sorry for all I've done. I don't expect anything from either of you... I just thought you should know the full story."
Evan nodded, his face void of emotion, and then cleared his throat. "Thank you for telling us. I'll take you back to your room." Without another word, he rose, pushing her away, leaving Ryan to stare after them in disbelief. After a few minutes, he stood up, striding purposefully back into Emma's room.
He'd be there when she woke up, and every day afterward. If Julie's confession did anything besides infuriate him, it solidified his resolve. His woman had had enough rejection and disappointment, at the hands of people who should have loved and taken care of her, to last a lifetime. He'd make damn sure she never felt that way again.
A/N:
Hey y'all!
For all of you who have made it this far with me on this journey-I am just so absolutely and incredibly thankful for your support: Following me, voting, adding Untethered to your reading lists, commenting-all of it. Thank you.
There are literally, only three chapters left (including the epilogue)!
I can't believe it... when I started writing this, it was nothing more than an experiment for me-a writing exercise-it has just become so much more because of all of you :)
Love,
Jessa xx