Page 35 of The Awakening

“Listen, he’s stable, but we need to get him home as soon as possible. He’s lost a lot of blood; he’s malnourished, and I’m pretty sure he has an infection from one of his wounds. His fever is high, and we need to act fast.” Releasing my waist, I step closer to the back hatch, peering inside. Colson lays wrapped in thick blankets, his head resting on a pillow. An IV is inserted into his arm, providing fluids. My hands go to my mouth with shock and disbelief at the state of his face. His once golden bright face is covered in black, blue, and purple discoloration. Several lacerations and new scars pepper his cheeks, jaw, and forehead. It’s worse than I thought.

My eyes become blurry with tears. I’m frozen to the ground. The sound of footsteps coming up behind me has me turning my head.

“Fuck,” Arno whispers out, his gaze falling on Colson. A pair of hands rests on my shoulders and I grab them, squeezing them tightly.

“Why don’t you crawl in beside him, love? We need to get him to headquarters as soon as possible.” Dean’s lips are at my ear, his warm breath feathering over my skin. I do as he says. I crawl in beside Colson, being careful not to disturb his IV or wake him. The rest of the guys pile into the suburban, Stix already in the driver’s seat as we take off down the gravel road.

He’s unrecognizable. Is this really him? A once beautiful face is discolored with deep blues, blacks, and purples covering every available inch of skin. His nose is bent at an odd angle, obviously broken in multiple places. An unfamiliar wound is peeking out from beneath the blanket that’s covering his chest. Curiosity gets the best of me and I gently pull down the blanket, exposing a long rectangular wound that looks to be fresh by how red and inflamed it is. I study the wound; skin has been removed with perfect edges, as if a cookie cutter was punctured through his chest and the skin was peeled back.

“It was caused by a tool they use in surgery, little one. When they need to do a skin graft, they basically peel back skin and relocate it to other parts of the body. Think of it as a cheese grater. That’s what that’s from,” Arno informs me from the back seat, his voice pained as he explains the wound to me. He’s turned his body, looking over the back of the seat. Tears begin to sting my eyes again as I continue looking down at Colson’s still body.

“I have to say, he’s a strong motherfucker for making it this long. That’s a new level of torture,” he adds, his hand resting on my shoulder as fat tears stream down my cheeks.

“Six months, he was tortured for six months, and not once did he give Cara what she wanted,” I sniff, trying desperately not to break out in sobs.

“That’s called love, baby girl. His love kept him alive, that I’m sure of,” Everett whispers to me. He’s sitting beside Arno, and I hadn’t even realized it. Looking up to him, I see his eyes are holding back tears. His eyes are fixated on Colson, his jaw clenching tight as his eyes roam over his body. Turning his head towards the window, I don’t miss the tear that falls down his cheek. As much as it hurts seeing him this way, I can’t imagine Everett and Dean’s pain seeing their brother in this state. Colson is their brother, their best friend, their family. I may not have blood relatives, but Everett, Dean, and Colson are my family, my heart, and seeing either one of them hurt is a knife to my own heart.

Gently leaning down, I snuggle my head into the crook of Colson’s arm. I never thought in this lifetime I’d be able to do this again. Never thought I’d see this beautiful soul, touch him, feel his warmth, listen to his heart beat. With that, I let out a soft cry. I fall asleep to the sounds of my own cries, exhaustion slowly taking hold of me as I snuggle deeper into Colson’s body.

“Baby girl, we’re at the plane. Wake up.” Dean’s soft voice fills my head as I slowly open my eyes. Reaching for Colson’s body, I’m met with air. He’s gone. Panic floods through my veins. My eyes snapping open as I sit straight up, hitting my head on the roof of the suburban.

“Easy, love, you’re safe. I’m here.” Dean holds tight to my shoulders, keeping me steady as I search throughout the vehicle. “He’s already on the plane. Everything’s already loaded up. Time to go home.” My eyes adjust to the darkness, and I hurriedly exit the back, looking around to see everyone else congregating at the entrance to the plane. Dean grabs my hand, pulling me close to his side as we make our way to the plane.

“Thanks again, mate. We couldn’t have done this without you.” Everett’s shaking Stix’s hand with appreciation.

“Once a Shadow, always a Shadow. All you have to do is call.” As we approach, Dean claps Stix’s shoulder, squeezing him in thanks. As Dean directs me to the stairs, I stop and turn to face Stix. Without a word, I give him a hug, words feeling like not enough at this moment. His thick arms wrap around my body, his head resting on top of mine.

“Be good, girl. And if these fools get to be too much, you call me and I’ll handle them,” Stix whispers in my ear, making me smile against his chest. I pull back to look up at his aging face. “Somehow, though, I feel as though you can handle yourself quite well.” His finger pokes my nose as he speaks, a gesture I could only imagine a grandfather doing to his granddaughter, and I smile.

“Thank you for everything,” I manage to say without bursting into tears. Giving me a smile, he ushers me to the plane.

“Better get a move on. He’s going to need medical attention as soon as you land.” I give him a nod and turn to board the plane. The cold air blows through my hair as I take a deep breath. It’s done, we did it. Colson is alive and we’re going home. Reaching my arm back for Dean, he grabs my hand once again and follows me into the plane.

The plane ride feels shorter than before. I’m sitting in between Everett and Dean on the leather sofa towards the rear of the plane. I look to my right and see Everett’s eyes are closed, his head leaned back on the sofa and his mouth is slightly open as he softly snores. Turning to my left, Dean has his head propped on his hand, his elbow resting on the sofa’s armrest. Then I look to the back of the plane. Colson is laying on a small cot, his body covered in a blanket as he remains asleep. I smile to myself. The thought of all three of my guys breathing and alive makes my insides feel light. It’s a feeling unlike anything I’ve ever felt. You know when you’re underwater and you feel like you can’t hold your breath any longer, then suddenly your head breaches the surface? Your lungs fill with air and your chest no longer feels tight—everything just feels peaceful, and you’ve made it? That’s the feeling.

“I’m so fucking happy for you, little one,” Arno whispers to me from across the plane. When I look up towards him, he’s leaning his arms on his knees, his eyes locked on my face as his head tilts slightly to the side. The corner of my lips lifts to a small smile as I stare back into his dark eyes.

“Why do you say that, big man?” He shifts his body so he’s sitting on the edge of his seat. “You’ve beaten all the odds; you’ve found your heart. All four pieces are now placed together into a perfect match.” He takes a small breath before continuing, “And you got the revenge you deserved.” Combing his hair back with his hand, he grabs the back of his hoodie, pulling it above his head. His shirt gets caught underneath his hoodie, lifting it up as he yanks the fabric from his torso, exposing his ripped abdomen.

Willow.

One word tattooed in delicate handwriting written across his right hip bone has my smile instantly falling. Willow. Colson’s diary. My eyes darted to Colson and then back to Arno, who’s now looking at me with a confused expression.

“What’s that face for?” he asks me, his eyebrows pinching together. There has to be a connection between the two names, right? Willow, who was found by Colson, has to be the same Willow Arno has been searching for all this time? My eyes soften on Arno’s face. This man, so full of mystery, transitioning from one of my enemies to my closest friend. Arno has helped me and succeeded in saving my guys, all three of them. I have to find Willow for him. I need to help this broken, determined, devoted man find his heart as he’s helped me find mine.

“Nothing,” I lie to him. Then I get up from my seat and throw myself onto Arno, hugging him as I squeeze my arms as tight as I can. His arms wrap around my body, lifting me up and sitting me on his knee. “Thank you for helping me, for saving them and making me whole again. I couldn’t have done this without you, big guy.” The back of my eyes stings again, but I hold them at bay. Arno’s chest rises and falls with a deep breath.

“You’re welcome, little one.” We stay like this for a long moment, embracing one another. In this moment, I promise to myself I will find his Willow; I will do everything in my power to save this man as he’s saved me.

FOUR MONTHS LATER

“Alright, two more, you’ve got this.” Smith’s voice sounds like nails on a chalkboard at this point. I extend my right leg two more times as he instructs, and I let out a breath of pain and frustration as the weights clang together. I’ve been in physical therapy since recovering at the organization under the supervision of our doctors. Once arriving back at headquarters, I was assessed, tested, and scanned for any and everything possible. After many tests, x-rays and imaging it was found I had suffered a femur fracture in two places that had healed awkwardly. Doctors had to go in, re-break the bones and reset them for the bones to heal properly.

Among all the other injuries I endured such as a broken nose, several lacerations sustained from knives, wipes, cattle prongs, surgical instruments, electric drills, and my least favorite the dermatome—or cheese grater. This was one of Cara’s favorite tools to use on me. I have six new scars from that fucking tool. Two on my left arm, one on my left pectoral muscle, one on each calf, and the most painful one being on my back. I also suffered from eight broken fingers, a broken wrist, a dislocated jaw, a broken eye socket, and a shattered right foot. Yeah, she did a number on me, that’s for sure.

These past months have been nothing but recovery for me, physically and mentally. Smith has been in charge of my physical rehabilitation, while Ms. Janice has been in charge of my mental rehab. If I had to pick, I’d say Janice has the harder job. Since returning home, I’ve been having intense nightmares that leave me short of breath and drenched in sweat. That’s not the worst of it, however. Dean has had to pull me off Sloan more than once, waking me with my hands tightly gripped around her neck. My dreams are so vivid, it’s like I can feel Cara’s throat beneath my fingers, but every time I’m woken by Dean, it’s Sloan’s face I see. Her red face as I drain life from her. Just as her eyes begin to roll back, Dean successfully pulls me off her. It was so bad; I began locking myself in my room at night and refusing to have her sleep beside me. I couldn’t bear hurting her like I was. What if I killed her by accident? I couldn’t live with myself. She begged and pleaded with me to let her sleep in my bed with me. I finally gave in. I let her sleep beside me. However, when she finally does fall asleep, I move her to her room or one of the guys’ rooms before locking myself back in my room. As mad as she gets in the morning when she realizes I moved her, she understands my fear.

We’ve been inseparable since coming home. She’s not left my side through this whole recovery. She sits in the corner of the room now, reading her cute little romance book as I struggle through my session with Smith.