Page 116 of The Brickwall and the Bombshell

Beeping machines.

Quiet conversations.

My heart trying to mend itself after literally falling to pieces at Greer’s bloody feet.

When I shoved my shoulder into the locked door of that bathroom and found her on the floor. She was lying in a pool of blood, her beautiful skin marred with it, eyes closed, as a woman stood over her with a knife.

At that moment, I had my first out of body experience.

I saw myself moving, yelling, restraining the woman and kicking the knife into the hallway.

A second later, Ross was standing at the door, his eyes wide with concern and confusion, until all of the pieces of the scene started falling into place.

Everything else is a blur.

Sophie’s tears.

The police arresting Lydia.

The EMTs stabilizing Greer.

Her closed eyes that wouldn’t look at me, even when I begged and pleaded, promising her the entire fucking world for just one glimpse at those beautiful brown eyes. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to scrub that image from my mind.

But Ross is right; she is going to be okay. The doctor who’s treating her said all the scans came back clear. We’re just waiting for her to wake up.

“I better get back in there.”

Ross pushes off the wall, both of our suit jackets folded over his arm. “I’m going to head back to the waiting room and give everyone an update. I know they’re all worried.”

“Greer Hawthorne,” a man’s voice booms across the nurses’ desk.

We both jerk our heads around.

A nurse stands from her seat behind a computer. “Sir, she’s resting and there are already several visitors in her room.”

“I’m her father and I demand to see her.”

The nurse turns in our direction, and he follows her line of sight, making eye contact with me.

“Keep your cool,” Ross mutters.

That’s easier said than done on a day like today.

“I was just leaving,” Ross says a little louder for the nurse to hear, giving me one last look. “But I’ll be in the waiting room if you need me.”

I nod and we share a silent conversation that we’ve perfected over the years.

I’m here if you need me.

Thank you. For everything.

“Who are you?” Mr. Hawthorne asks me as he approaches, smoothing down the lapels of his suit jacket.

“I’m Greer’s boyfriend, Mack Granger.”

His expression is unreadable, but I see how his posture tenses. I’m good at reading people and Mr. Hawthorne doesn’t like the idea that I might know more about his daughter than he does.

“How is she?”

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