The Way With You (The Way #2) (8 page)

"Holy shit, did you see that last play!" Lex yells. "Cam plowed over those two and dragged them along for a good three yards." She's been going on about him since halftime began.

"He's a beast," Bash agrees.

I smile, pride filling me. My guy puts his everything into the game, and as I look at the scoreboard, I can see that's exactly what he needs to do. We're up 17-14 at the half. It's going to be a tight one.

My phone beeps with a text and I pull it out of my sweatshirt pocket. It's from Cam.

Cam
: We're coming out now. I had one of the assistants put a surprise for you by the fire extinguisher behind the old concession stand. Check it out when you get a chance.

I'm grinning like an idiot and Bash elbows me.

"What?" he asks.

I show both him and Lex—Lex grins, Bash's smile goes flat.

"Go!" Lex urges, "before they start playing again and you miss the ass whooping."

I snort. "Fine, fine, I'll go."

"Want me to go with you?" Bash asks.

"Nah. I should be okay. Want me to bring you anything back?" I ask.

"No! Now hurry!" Lex bosses.

I head toward the stand, weaving between people going up the stadium stairs while I go down. I breathe a sigh of relief when I'm finally outside, away from the crowd, and walking over the grass toward the alleyway that leads from the street all the way to the main cafeteria building.

I get so many people waving—too many—and all because I'm Cam's girlfriend. The attention is daunting. I just want to go back to being a nobody, being invisible, anonymous. Life is so much easier when people aren't trying to kiss your ass to get close to your boyfriend.

I reach the building, finding the extinguisher enclosure, and open the door. I frown when all I see is a piece of paper folded into a tiny triangle. I pick it up, pricking my finger on something as I do.

"Shit," I mutter, trying to see what it was, but it's too dark in that cubby. I pick up the paper and unfold it.

Boo
is all it says.

I flip the paper over, smudging it with the blood from my finger, trying to see if there's anything on the other side. Nothing.

What the hell?
I barely finish the thought when I'm grabbed from behind. He's big and his breath smells like sausage and I want to puke.

"Fucking cunt," he whispers against my ear. "The recognition you're getting by fucking the running back is bullshit. It's time you remember you are nothing."

A fist plows into my lower back—my kidney, I think. Then again and again and again until the pain is so piercing it steals my breath. He turns me around and shoves me back against the wall, the handle of the extinguisher cubby digging into my spine. He pulls me forward and slams me against the wall, the back of my head slamming into it. My vision blurs and my ears begin to ring.

I try to look to see if I can recognize him, but he's got a black ski mask on. His fist smashes into my face over and over. I hear the cartilage of my nose crunch and feel the warm rush of blood.
Well, he broke that real good, didn't he?

My eyes begin to swell shut, and when I can no longer maintain my balance, I collapse onto the ground. But he's not done. Not even close. Now he starts kicking me.

Boots. Black boots with laces, I see when he kicks me in the face, the head. My arms, chest, back. I throw up the third time he kicks me in the stomach and he just keeps going, moving down to my legs and back up.

I faintly hear my phone go off, but there's no way I can grab it. More than one finger is broken, and I wouldn't be surprised if my arms are as well. I hurt. I hurt so badly I can't breathe.

My phone rings again when the blackness starts to dim my vision.

"Liv?" I hear someone call out.
Bash.
Help!
I scream, but it's only in my head.

With one last fist to my face, my attacker takes off.

I turn to my side, my breath wheezing, the pain sharp and searing, and I attempt to crawl out where Bash can see me. I try to grunt or make noises, but all that comes out are wheezes and weak groans.

"Olivia!" he shouts.

I breathe faster until I'm about to hyperventilate, wanting him to find me, needing him to find me.

He hears me and runs.

"Livvy… baby!" he calls out in despair. His breath hitches and he reaches out to touch me but stops himself. "I won't touch you. I want to, but I don't know... I'm calling 911."

I hear him talking and I focus on pulling breath into my lungs, but with each inhalation, there's a gurgle—same when I exhale.
What does that mean? Am I dying?
The pain is so bad now I barely feel it. It might just be because I've closed my eyes and I feel myself drifting…

"No, she's breathing. Olivia! Open your eyes! Stay with me!" Bash yells, and I struggle and fight to do just that in spite of the fact they're swollen. I can still see through what I'm sure are tiny slits.

"Just hurry, god damn it! Everywhere. She's beaten everywhere," he tells the emergency operator. I can hear his fear and agony. I want to reassure him it's going to be okay—but I can't. Not just because I can't talk, but because I don't think it's true. It's not going to be okay. Not by a long shot.

My mouth is dry.
I need water, but I can't open my eyes. Why can't I open my eyes? Why does my body hurt? My chest, my jaw, my hands… it all hurts. I try to shift and the pain is excruciating. I can't breathe.

Someone's calling for a nurse—or a doctor? Or both? Next thing I know, the pain is fading and so am I. I remember this feeling. It happened after the accident. What happened that it's back?

My brain gets fuzzy and I don't fight it.

Ow. Shit. Fuck. Damn.
What is going on?

"Liv."

I take a breath—even that hurts.

"Livvy," Bash murmurs, his hand gently brushing the hair off my forehead. "Just rest."

Easy for him to say. His body doesn't feel like it's going to implode on itself.

"She's awake and in pain," he tells someone.

"I've got her pain medication right here," a bright female voice says.

"Good. I don't want her to hurt," Bash tells her.

"Did you ever reach her parents?" that female voice asks.

"I did." Lex answers.

I want to see. I push myself to open my eyes but I just can't. My eyelids are too heavy and that blissful numbness that comes from those pain meds is taking over.

"They're on their way," Lex says.

"Where's your fucking brother?" he barks.

"I don't know," Lex bites out, her anger clear.

"It's three in the morning. What the fuck?" Bash growls.

"I don't know and I don't care. I left him messages—about twenty of them. I'm done with him. He doesn't deserve to see her," Alexa replies.

"He doesn't deserve her, period," Bash rebuts.

"No. He certainly doesn't," Lex agrees.

I sigh, and immediately regret it. He's not here again—even through this—whatever this is. I search my brain trying to remember what happened. The accident? No. I didn't know Sebastian then, but I hurt more now than I did then.

What the ever-loving hell happened to me?

The sun is peeking
between two clouds, letting a lone ray of sunshine into my room. I feel the warmth on my hand, and a deeper warmth on the other hand. I take a steadying breath, bracing for the pain that's sure to come and turn to see who's holding that hand.

Bash. I should have known. He's asleep, sitting in a chair, leaning forward so his head rests on his arm. His eyelashes fanning over his cheekbones, dark circles beneath his eyes. Just how long have I been out?

I want to talk, but my mouth isn't working so I wiggle my fingers. Big mistake. My scream comes out as a soft groan. Bash's head jerks up.

"Livvy," he whispers, moisture gathering in his eyes. I want to tell him there's no need for that, but—what's going on with my mouth? So many questions.

I lift my other hand slowly, noticing two of my fingers are casted along with my arm which is casted to the elbow. Lovely. I point to my mouth and frown.

"Your jaw's cracked," he tells me softly. My eyes widen as shock ignites inside me. I knew it was bad, but I wasn't expecting that.

I frown again. How can I ask what I need to ask?

"Try talking without moving your jaw by keeping your teeth together," he instructs.

"Wh--," I huff when I can't do it. It's much harder than it seems. "What happened?" is what I ask, but it's all muffled and garbled.

"You were attacked."

I meet his soothing brown eyes and the memories flash in my mind of being hit, kicked, punched.

"Who?"

He shakes his head, his jaw clenched. "We don't know yet."

An image of Alison threatening me on the bench by the creek comes to the fore. "Alison."

He shakes his head again. "She was at the game, in the stands."

My turn to shake my head. "No, a man but she set it up."

He tilts his head. "Did she threaten you with that?"

"Not those words. I wouldn't see it coming."

"When did she say that?"

"The day of the attack," I tell him, spitting all over as I do.

"The police want to ask you some questions. You need to tell them about this," he informs me.

"I know. So hard." Talking like this is frustrating the fuck out of me. "My chest hurts," I tell him when I try to take a deeper breath, only to pull up short when I get a sharp stab in my right side and chest.

He swallows—hard. "Baby doll, you had a collapsed lung. They had to put some tube in to drain the blood. You had to have surgery on your wrist."

I close my eyes. "Same one." Same one as the accident.

He nods. "They had to set it and do some other stuff so it stays that way. I don't know everything they did."

"Tell me all."

"You want to know what's all wrong?"

I nod faintly.

"I'm not going to sugar coat it, Livvy baby. It's bad. Concussion. Broken nose. Fractured jaw. Broken wrist and fingers. Collapsed lung. Bruised kidneys. And, baby, your entire body is bruised purple, black, blue, yellow, and green. There isn't a spot on you that isn't bruised except for behind your ears," he confesses and I let the tears fall.

He reaches up to wipe the tears with his fingers. "Livvy."

I meet his gaze with my watery one.

"You're
alive
. This will all heal," he says firmly.

"Lucky," I say with sarcasm.

"Damn right. Olivia, I—"

"Liv!" my mom cries, flying in from the hall, coffee in hand, my dad joining her beside my bed.

The drama ensues and I'm just too tired to deal with it, so I close my eyes.

Flashes of fists flying at me, hitting me—feet kicking me—blood everywhere. My eyes fly open and I grip Bash's hand tighter. He rubs his thumb over my wrist, his fingers holding on to me.

"It's all right now, love. You're safe," he whispers, his other hand lifting to touch my face.

"I bet I look like shit," I blurt out, a tear slipping out and running down my temple and into my hair.

"You look like you've gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson, but Livvy?" he pauses.

"Hmm?"

"You're still beautiful," he tells me. I look into his eyes and I can see he really means it.

"Weirdo. You need glasses."

One side of his mouth tips up in a half grin. "No, I don't. I see you."

I frown, confused.

"
I see you
," he repeats. My eyes widen at his meaning, my breath catches. I knew that already, so why does it feel different now? It feels like…
more
.

I'm not ready to deal with that yet. I need to deal with my broken and battered body that's starting to ache again. Then there's Cam. The thought of him hurts me, disappoints me, and saddens me.

"Hey," Bash whispers. "What just happened?"

I look away.

"Livvy. Look at me," he demands.

I meet his gaze.

"What's going on?"

"I gave him a second chance yesterday morning," I confess.

Bash's lips tighten and he nods.

"Fool me once…" I let the rest of it hang there.