Unpolished Sneak Peek.
Exactly what it says on the tin. I lost a bet. Paid in full. Unpolished so please excuse any mistakes.
--
He’s covered in her blood, thick and hot and wet, once, now crusted and dry on his hands, caked beneath his fingernails. He scrubbed until his skin was raw, but the blood wouldn’t shift, wouldn’t wash away, the guilt stained, a reminder tattooed on his skin.
Rick feels the prickle of eyes watching him and he knows that they are. Her father, her friends, her family, his. But when he looks up their gazes are averted, downcast. Not even Ryan will meet his eyes across the room.
They blame him, he knows, all of them, and it’s the hardest thing to swallow, the fact that they’re right.
They should blame him. This is his doing, his own damn fault.
He’s the one who put her in those crosshairs. Too stupid and too proud and he couldn’t leave things well enough alone, could he? No. No, he had to prove he could be something for her, all those years ago, had to dig where he wasn’t wanted, to stir up the past.
And now. Now his world is shattering around him and he just feels broken, feels less than whole, under the too-bright lights in the dull hospital waiting room.
He sits in hiccupping silence, his daughter tucked under one of his arms, and he doesn’t know how to break through the numb feeling to reach out to her. He doesn’t know what to say, can’t find the words to fix this, doesn’t know they exist, even, and so he just holds her to him. He presses one hand flat against her back, holds her to his chest, and hopes his warmth can soothe her trembling.
“Will Kate be okay?” The question is a whisper against his skin, the little-girl voice he hasn’t heard in so very many years, and he doesn’t know, but he can’t tell her that.
“Kate’s strong,” he says, and it’s not a lie, but it’s not an answer either. All he can think about is those minutes in the grass, those fragile moments in the ambulance where Kate clutched at his hand and he tethered her to life with his pleas.
All he can think about is how much of her blood poured out into his hands.
“What about-”
His daughter chokes on the words, cuts her question short, but his mind finishes it for her-
The baby. My brother. Our family.
-And he presses a kiss against the flame of her hair because he doesn’t know. He just. He doesn’t know.
He’s saved from answering at the arrival of a nurse but it’s nothing like relief, this thing that he feels. Terror, maybe. Anger. Desperate, aching fear.
It takes a push, a prompt from his daughter, before he remembers to stand next to Jim Beckett when they call for Kate’s family.
The nurse introduces herself with a sad smile and a name he’s already forgotten. His face drains of blood, spills over into his gut, thick hot acid and bile and twisting, terrible fate and all he can think is - Oh, God. No. - because it’s too soon. It’s much too soon to be anything like good news and he’s lost them. He’s lost them both, hasn’t he?
--
He’s covered in her blood, thick and hot and wet, once, now crusted and dry on his hands, caked beneath his fingernails. He scrubbed until his skin was raw, but the blood wouldn’t shift, wouldn’t wash away, the guilt stained, a reminder tattooed on his skin.
Rick feels the prickle of eyes watching him and he knows that they are. Her father, her friends, her family, his. But when he looks up their gazes are averted, downcast. Not even Ryan will meet his eyes across the room.
They blame him, he knows, all of them, and it’s the hardest thing to swallow, the fact that they’re right.
They should blame him. This is his doing, his own damn fault.
He’s the one who put her in those crosshairs. Too stupid and too proud and he couldn’t leave things well enough alone, could he? No. No, he had to prove he could be something for her, all those years ago, had to dig where he wasn’t wanted, to stir up the past.
And now. Now his world is shattering around him and he just feels broken, feels less than whole, under the too-bright lights in the dull hospital waiting room.
He sits in hiccupping silence, his daughter tucked under one of his arms, and he doesn’t know how to break through the numb feeling to reach out to her. He doesn’t know what to say, can’t find the words to fix this, doesn’t know they exist, even, and so he just holds her to him. He presses one hand flat against her back, holds her to his chest, and hopes his warmth can soothe her trembling.
“Will Kate be okay?” The question is a whisper against his skin, the little-girl voice he hasn’t heard in so very many years, and he doesn’t know, but he can’t tell her that.
“Kate’s strong,” he says, and it’s not a lie, but it’s not an answer either. All he can think about is those minutes in the grass, those fragile moments in the ambulance where Kate clutched at his hand and he tethered her to life with his pleas.
All he can think about is how much of her blood poured out into his hands.
“What about-”
His daughter chokes on the words, cuts her question short, but his mind finishes it for her-
The baby. My brother. Our family.
-And he presses a kiss against the flame of her hair because he doesn’t know. He just. He doesn’t know.
He’s saved from answering at the arrival of a nurse but it’s nothing like relief, this thing that he feels. Terror, maybe. Anger. Desperate, aching fear.
It takes a push, a prompt from his daughter, before he remembers to stand next to Jim Beckett when they call for Kate’s family.
The nurse introduces herself with a sad smile and a name he’s already forgotten. His face drains of blood, spills over into his gut, thick hot acid and bile and twisting, terrible fate and all he can think is - Oh, God. No. - because it’s too soon. It’s much too soon to be anything like good news and he’s lost them. He’s lost them both, hasn’t he?