CHAPTER ELEVEN

– DEANNA –

Ever had a feeling or some sort of dream–more like a nightmare–when you’re floating and you can’t open your eyes or move? You’re simply there, but you’re not. Living in a fog where distant voices are having a discussion you’re not a part of.

That’s me. I have no clue where I am, what is happening, and I can’t form a sentence or get my mouth to work to throw out a single word for that matter. What the hell is wrong with me? I try and think when the fog gets thicker, and nothing seems to matter anymore as I drift off completely.

Pain. Burning. Throbbing. It’s freaking everywhere. My head, legs, stomach, mouth…why can’t I open my eyes? Panic hits me and a scream rips from my throat. I try to struggle but I’m held back. More pain and then it rapidly fades when fog clouds my brain and I fall into oblivion again.

The next time I hear faint voices I finally hear the actual words and recognize Hayden’s voice. “How long are we talking about?”

“Months,” someone’s voice I don’t recognize states. “The tibia fracture takes around four or five months to heal, maybe longer, depending on her recovery. The fractured ribs are wrapped and should heal within six weeks. The MRI showed no brain injury. She does however, have a concussion. The swelling in her face shows the trauma she sustained, and the dental intervention will hopefully reduce inflammation to make the recovery more comfortable. The dentist will be able to explain the procedures to restore the function and aesthetics of the affected teeth and jaw.”

This is a voice I need to tune out. He’s talking about my injuries. I don’t want to know. Hell, I’m surprised I’m still here, wherever it might be. Hospital. It’s a hospital, I recognize the scent, and the beeping of the machines.

How did I get here? How long have I been here? These are questions I don’t know the answer to. However, I do remember killing that twisted sack of meat and bones who I shared DNA with. It’s a hard memory to forget, even with all the punches to the head.

I try and shift my body and groan at the discomfort. Clearly, they gave me some special meds to manage the pain ’cause holy fuck, I’m still hurting and feel woozy.

Someone touches my arm. Instinct kicks in and I try to jerk away from the touch. At the same time, I want to scream “don’t touch me,” and yet I only manage to make some incoherent sounds. What the hell? Does my brain still work?

“Easy, wifey,” I hear Hayden whisper. “Don’t try to talk. The swelling and shit the dentist did is giving you some issues.”

Ah, is that why my mouth isn’t working the way it should?

“You’ve been in and out of surgery to repair your injuries. The last one was a few hours ago when they fixed your jaw. I don’t want to talk about your injuries, and they don’t matter to the extent of the fact that everything will heal in time. The most important thing here is that you’re alive. Though, darlin’? I know you’re used to healing after a fight and all, but this fight might take a little more time to bounce back from. So, no more stepping into a ring, or underground fighting, or fighting in general without having me by your side, okay? Fuck. The only thing involving a fucking ring will be one I’ll shove around your finger. But I guess you’ll want to wait to get married instead of doing it now, ’cause the wedding pictures might traumatize our future kids.”

“Hayden,” I hear my sister snap. “What the fuck? Can you not remind her of bad things when she just woke up? Didn’t you hear the doctor about keeping it positive?”

“What? I was keeping it positive, letting her know we’ll marry as soon as she’s a little more presentable.”

I can’t see, but the smack I hear sounds like someone just got wacked against the back of his head.

“Seal those lips or I’ll sew them shut until you can manage to say something nice,” I hear Blue hiss.

A flow of warmth spreads my chest. I can’t say it’s happiness with the way I feel and not being able to do anything, but at least it’s something. When my sister and I got to town, there was only me and her. The job we landed at the MC owned gym was a first step in a path leading toward their family. Everything spiraled, and I guess I should be lucky to still be breathing, even if my body feels like is torn to shreds and glued back together.

Our lives changed forever a few months ago, when my father and I stopped at a gas station. Witnessing him being gunned down, the police stating we were in the wrong place, wrong time, and wanting me to testify…leaving town and go into hiding to stay safe until the trial…our lives were forever changed.

Back then I thought things couldn’t get any worse, didn’t believe in testifying to gain justice, but the need to keep my sister safe was my top priority. The details of the why and how twisted. If anyone would have told me my father was killed in cold blood, targeted because my biological father found out about my existence? I wouldn’t have believed it.

I would have lived comfortably without that knowledge. Ripping the past open and shattering every memory I had to twist it around and add a horror background to the way my twin and I were conceived, to why my mother was missing from our lives, and the death of the man who raised us.

The flow of memories is unstoppable and the blows, both mentally and physically, I endured course through me. I feel as if I can’t breathe, my heart is speeding to the point where I think my chest is going to explode.

Machines are beeping, I hear people yelling, the fog is back and pulling me under once again. This time, though? I embrace the oblivion…it’s better than the reality and much, much easier.

***THREE WEEKS LATER***

I groan and rub my eyes, something I’ve always done whenever I wake up. Though, it hasn’t been something I could do for the past few weeks. The swelling in my face is long gone and the bruises have finally faded. Sounds like I’m doing fine, but it would be a complete lie.

Sleeping on my back sucks. I’ve never been a fan and for the past three weeks I haven’t had a chance to sleep in a different position. My leg needs to be elevated, and I still can’t put any weight on it so I’m using crutches. Crutches with fractured ribs? Yeah, believe me I know, and they told me six weeks with no lifting and so on, which includes using crutches to move around. Insane, but I do need to move around a tiny bit, so I’m taking it real slow without forcing anything.

The painkillers help to take the edge off the shit I have to deal with. You know, having to sleep on your back while that’s not a good position if you have fractured ribs. Uh huh, fuck my life, right? At least I’m halfway into the six weeks of healing they say is the norm.

My body has always been quick to bounce back from any fights I’ve been in, and yet this time it feels different. Maybe it’s my state of mind or the fact that this fight wasn’t a scheduled one I prepared for. Hell, it could be the whole “fight to the death” giving me the mental blow, knocking me on my ass.

Shit. All of this sounds as if I’m feeling sorry for myself, and it just might be the truth.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Hayden quips as he strides into the bedroom.

“Why don’t you stick that good morning where the sun doesn’t shine,” I snarl at the annoying man.

The corner of his mouth twitches. “I’ve got enough fire up my ass as it is with you living with me, don’t you think?”

I keep my lips sealed while my instinct is urging me to lash out again. Instead, I silently agree with him having enough fire up his ass. He doesn’t complain about any blisters either. I still don’t understand why I’m still here, or in his house for that matter.

The time I spent in the hospital, where I mostly ignored everyone, should have given him a good impression that I wanted to be left alone. Not being able to see or talk normally didn’t help the first few days. Yet, I didn’t hold back when I was finally able to make myself very clear.

He simply shrugged and said, “We’re gonna put a pin in this discussion for now.”

Who the fuck says that? I know it’s partly the whole feeling sorry for myself, but if I’m being honest? We’ve only known one another for less than two months. The first few weeks we couldn’t stand one another and lashed out at every turn. The past few weeks I haven’t been myself. It’s not normal, I don’t feel like myself, and am frustrated and annoyed with everything and everyone.

“Bran is coming over in about twenty minutes, which gives you enough time to get ready.” He rips the curtains open.

I blink to process the bright sunlight and snarl, “I don’t need company, pity, help, or anything else.”

Gritting my teeth only lasts a fragment of a second due to the pain and discomfort. The dental bridge is recent, my gums and teeth are still healing. My mouth feels uncomfortable and unnatural. Shit. I’m a petty human, sulking in self-pity, while Hayden, my sister, and the rest are trying to help. And on top of everything? I have to pee and can’t get out of bed without crutches.

I do need help and I hate it. My bladder can go to hell; I’m not leaving this bed or asking for help. I mean, the asshole takes away my crutches every time I get into bed on freaking purpose.

Hayden wanders to the corner and grabs my crutches. “Lyla is coming over as well. You will need to keep her company with all the bathroom breaks Bran takes.”

Regret hits me at the reminder of my sister’s issues. There’s definitely joy for her situation and the reason why she has all the bathroom breaks is simple; morning sickness. She’s pregnant, and over the moon with this knowledge, except for the discomfort of her body. She doesn’t glow or any shit they tell pregnant women. She’s absolutely barely surviving by trying to keep food inside her.

Heath is beyond worried since she’s been losing weight instead of gaining. At least the doctors assured her that the anesthetics Tar Lines used to knock us out shouldn’t have harmed the fetus. The higher-than-normal level of hCG in her blood could be a sign of a twin pregnancy, but the ultrasound she’s getting in a few weeks should make it clear.

I’m happy for them, I really am. Yet, I’m overly glad I wasn’t pregnant during the attack. A twinge of sadness hits me and it’s strange. I’ve never seen myself as a mother or so much thought about having kids, a family.

It might just be the sentimental loop of everything, or the fact I’m chair and bed bound and all I can do is think…but…seeing my sister’s strength and determination these past few weeks while I’m recovering and her puking her guts out does spike some form of jealousy and longing.

Hayden holds out the crutches and instantly pulls them out of reach.

Narrowing his eyes he asks, “Are you in the hitting kind of mood? Your face is weird.”

Yes, the reason why he moves my crutches once I’m in bed is because I use them against him. Some women might find it sweet how he’s taken me in and caring for me, being there, stepping up, the whole “for better or worse” shit. But in my opinion, he should dump my ass and get on with his life.

Even if the thought of someone else having him turns my stomach to acid, obliterating my heart along with it. Fuck. I’m a mess.

“I won’t hit you,” I mutter and take a slow breath to brace myself for the pain and discomfort of moving my still healing body.

Hayden places the crutches within reach and wanders in the direction of the bathroom to open the door, and then he leaves. Also, something that gets on my nerves. The man doesn’t hover or try to help. He does the tiniest shit to make things easier, and this little fact annoys me even more because I can’t hate him.

I love him.

My hand flies out when this thought and realization hits me, causing me to knock one of the crutches to the floor. Oh, for fuck’s sake. I already feel sorry for myself and hate everything and…no, not exactly true. Taking my head in my hands I try to sag into myself and instantly regret my poor ribs getting the brunt of it.

A frustrated scream rips from me, and I hear Hayden bellow, “You good in there, or what?”

See? He doesn’t come rushing to my aid or treat me like a patient. He keeps it real while I’m being a petty, hateful bitch.

“No,” I growl, and have to take another slow breath to calm my voice. “A little help–” I mute my voice to a bare whisper and add, “Please.”

Hayden strolls in and glances at the crutches. “Did I put those suckers out of reach? I do like to torment you, eh, wifey?”

His gaze hits mine when he holds out the crutches for me to take. Again, he pulls them out of reach, a frown appearing on his face.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he demands.

We stare at one another and again the need arises to lash out, except there’s only one word falling from my lips which surprises both of us. “Thanks.”

He gives me the crutches. “You’d do the same for me.” His head slightly tilts. “No, I take that back. You’d hit me over the head instead of simply handing them to me.” Shooting me a wink he adds, “And I wouldn’t expect anything else. Coffee?”

“I’m sorry,” I blurt against his retreating back.

He hits me with a surprised look. “Sorry? What the fuck for?” He steps closer. “Tell me what the fuck is wrong, Deanna. Should I call Leontine? Do you need another painkiller?” He checks his watch. “Let me check if Bran is up, Heath said she was still sleeping a few minutes ago ’cause she was up late last night. He told me she had weird cravings and could finally eat some stuff and keep it down.”

Ignoring his ramblings, I stare down at my lap while I brace myself to stand using the crutches. “I’m sorry for my bitchiness, and I’m thankful for everything you’ve done.” I endure the discomfort and raise myself off the bed when I add, “Including coming, and finding me when I was about to give up.”

A finger is gently placed under my chin. Hayden slightly tilts my head back and stares at me with his blue eyes. “You weren’t about to give up, you never do. You did try to take an everlasting nap a time or two, but sleep is overrated, especially for a woman like you who breathes fire.”

I narrow my eyes. “Are you calling me a dragon?”

He leans in and I feel his lips move against mine when he says, “I think I called you a fierce woman, I guess the translation got lost somewhere.”

I can’t help but snicker. Even if I wanted to push him away, which I might have been doing these past few weeks, I should have known he wouldn’t give up. He’s as stubborn as me and there hasn’t been a man I’ve met before him who could handle my shit.

I close my eyes and lean in to kiss him. The first time I’m initiating intimate contact before I was kidnapped. He rumbles a moan of approval and I feel his fingers sink into my hair. Even within this kiss the man is thoughtful not to touch my body since my ribs are still sensitive.

He pulls back way too soon and places his forehead against mine. “Feels as if I’ve waited a lifetime for this kiss. Don’t distance yourself from me again or try to push me out. You know it won’t work ’cause I’m never leaving your sexy ass.”

“I’m starting to understand that,” I whisper, emotion clogging my throat.

“Good,” he grunts. “You should have known when I stayed with you looking ugly as fuck without teeth, swollen face, and all. Though, no teeth would be nice during a blow job. Shame they put new teeth in, but whatever…I’m still keeping you.”

“What the fuck?” I gasp and smack his shin with one of my crutches.

“Fuck, don’t hit me, two cripples will fuck up our alone time, don’t you think? Especially when we’re getting back to kissing, discussing blow jobs and shit. Hey, when can I lick your pussy? We can keep your leg still, but what about your ribs?”

“And I’m back to feeling nauseous,” Bran grumbles from the doorway. “I’m out of here. Dee, come to my place when you’re…yeah, I’m leaving.”

A bark of laughter rips from me and I instantly regret it. My ribs hurt like hell whenever I sneeze, laugh, or simply breathe too deep. Though, it’s slowly getting better.

Hayden squeezes the back of my neck and murmurs, “We good?”

“Yeah.” I lean in and brush my lips against his. “More than good.”

I get a flash of his teeth and then he states, “I made you love me the way I love you, and that’s fucking everything.”

I swallow at the dryness in my throat. The last thing I remember is saying something similar when I thought I was about to die.

Shoving the memory down I instead focus on the here and now, something I vow to do from here on out, and tell him in a fake annoyed tone, “Yes, you did, and now you’ll have to live with the consequences.”

Hayden shrugs. “Living with the consequences of you being my old lady, my wife, the future mother of my kids, are the kind of consequences I’d risk my life for time and time again, wifey.”

Even if my body is still hurting, I feel lighter, my heart beats stronger, and I have reasons to live…the main one is bugging the shit out of my future husband since he seems to like it. A smile tugs at my face when I move on crutches to the living room, itching to start a new day because it’ll be another one on the road to full recovery.

And now I’m wondering if my body can take an orgasm, because the thought of Hayden putting his mouth on me fills me with tingles and longing. Yeah, I’m definitely on the road to a full recovery and a bigger and brighter future.