Rule #35: Don’t back down from a fight.
Maggie
My hands are still covered in blood as I sit on the cement curb behind the club, watching the blue and red lights of the ambulance as they speed away, headed toward the hospital. Beside me, Hank rubs my back with his jacket draped over my shoulders, trying to keep me warm—as if my shivering is because I’m cold.
No. I’m shivering because my body is in shock. Because I’m replaying the last horrifying fifteen minutes of watching that monster bash the man I love over the head before running away like a coward. Then holding Beau in my arms as I screamed for help, too shaken to call 9-1-1 myself.
They dragged me away from him, threw him on the stretcher and took off before I could do anything. It all happened so fast.
“Someone’s called the owner already,” Hank says while he rubs my back.
The owner. Emerson.
My eyes widen as I stare at him in shock. Oh, God. Emerson.
“It’s okay, Maggie. They told him you’re okay. You don’t have to do anything. But maybe we should call your friend’s family or something?”
He doesn’t know that was Beau. No one knows.
I’m responsible for this. I brought him here. I put him in danger. I’m the reason he’s…
“Is…Emerson coming…here?” I stutter.
“I think so,” he replies.
“I need to go to the hospital,” I say in a rush as I rise from the curb. “Now.”
“You shouldn’t drive,” he argues, but I simply toss his jacket down as I grab my keys out of my purse.
“I have to.” As I storm off toward my car, my hands still shaking and covered in blood, Hank grabs me hard by the arms, putting his face in front of mine as he shakes me.
“Oh, I don’t think so. Go inside and wash up. When you get back, I’ll drive you to the hospital. Understand?”
My mind is in a fog, and the distance between me and Beau starts to ache. As much as I want to shove this two-hundred-pound linebacker out of the way and get to my man, he’s right. I can’t drive. I couldn’t even handle getting the key in the ignition in this state. With a passive nod, I quickly rush back to the club to do as he said.
The frigid water in the bathroom helps to shake away the shock. So I douse a little on my face once my hands are clean. Then reality sinks in like a penetrating wind. Two harsh, debilitating facts that make it hard to pull air into my lungs.
One: I don’t know if Beau is okay. I keep telling myself he is, but even that feels like a convenient lie. From the second he hit the ground, he was unconscious, and there was so much blood. My bones begin to shake with this realization. He has to be okay. He just has to. I can’t live—
The second thing I know to be true has bile rising in my throat. I have to call Emerson. He thinks his son is safe at home in his bed. Instead, he was with me and that’s why he’s hurt.
Shoving the cruel thoughts away, I spring into action and race out of the club. The bright lights of the police cars outside illuminate the dark parking lot, projecting blue and red on the buildings around us, so it feels like I’m walking into an actual nightmare. I see Hank behind the wheel of my car and I sprint toward him and jump into the passenger seat.
“Please drive fast,” I beg as I clip my seat belt into place.
And he does. He zips through the city and along the shore until he reaches St. Francis by the harbor.
“Just take my car back to the club,” I tell him, but he only shakes his head. Parking in a spot near the emergency room entrance, he quickly pulls my keys out and hands them to me.
“You keep your car. I’m grabbing a lift.”