“Creed, you’re bleedin’ all over the fuckin’ place,” Doc stated the obvious, grabbing some alcohol swabs and gauze pads from the back seat of his car. “This may sting,” he informed, swiping the alcohol pad over the gash above my eye.
“The fuck?” I winced, turning my head away.
“It’s deep, but not deep enough for stitches. I’ll butterfly it to stop the bleeding and clean up your fuckin’ ugly mug.”
I nodded. Too tired to argue.
“You know Mia will back us up, Creed. She won’t say a word till she speaks to one of us. She’s a good fuckin’ girl,” Diesel said out of nowhere as if he thought that was what I needed to hear.
“Let’s get one thing clear, yeah? I don’t give a fuck what Mia tells them. Truth, lies, it’s all the same. All I want is ta’ put fuckin’ holes in whoever’s heads are behind this. Ya feel me?”
He nodded.
“Ain’t too fuckin’ happy about the bullshit lies you told in there, though.”
“What did you want us to say, Creed? Huh? It’s not just about you. We were all in involved in some way or another. Besides, it’s not that far from the truth. You did save her. Can’t hold yourself responsible for her baby—”
“Don’t even fuckin’ say it! You say it, and we ain’t brothers no more.” I took another long drag, cocking my head to the side, looking him over.
“Jesus Christ, man. You’re your own worst enemy, Creed. One day I hope you fuckin’ realize that. You did what you had to do! End of fuckin’ story. I’ll meet you back at the club, Prez called in church.”
“Ain’t leavin’ till I know she’s alright. You tell Prez he can take it up with me later.”
“What are you gonna do, Creed? Sneak into her room?” Doc questioned, looking at me like I was fucking crazy.
“If that’s what it takes.”
“Creed!” Mason hollered, interrupting us. Running through the parking lot, over to where we were.
Doc nodded goodbye, taking off. Diesel lingered for a few seconds before jumping on his bike and speeding off toward the clubhouse. Waving at Mason as he rode by.
I flicked my cig into the bushes, lighting another one as he walked up. “Look at you,” I breathed out through the smoke, eyeing him up and down. “All decked out in your fatigues. Boots still pinch like a motherfucker?”
He chuckled, knowing I was just trying to make light of the situation. “I was back at Fort Bragg when my parents’ called, saying Mia had been found. Been back in the states since the last time we talked. I jumped on the first plane I could out of Afghanistan after finding out she was missing. Wanting to be as close to home and my family as possible to help find my sister.”
I resisted the urge to ask him how he was doing as he took a seat beside me. Resting his elbows on his knees and signaling for my cigarette, instantly reminding me of old times.
Mason never smoked unless we were in the middle of a shit storm overseas. I guess this situation could be comparable to that.
He took a few drags, peering over at me. “I’m sorry about my dad, man. He... just... just give him some time. The last few months have been pure hell for them. I don’t think they’ve slept for more than an hour, here and there. Terrified they’d miss something. Focusing solely on trying to find her. I swear they’ve aged ten years since Mia went missing. My Aunt Lily has been running my mom’s restaurant, and my dad has his employees running jobs. Bo’s been a fucking wreck... Fuck, bro, my whole family has. Nobody had given up hope that we’d find her alive, and I think that’s the only reason we’re all still standing.”
Bile rose in my throat, but I pushed it back down. It was one thing to assume they were going through hell, it was another thing entirely to fucking hear it. I didn’t think I could feel like any more of a piece of shit than I already did, but I was wrong.
Yet again.
“He’s grateful you found her, I swear,” he reassured, even though I knew he was full of shit.
We sat there for I don’t how long, passing the cigarette back and forth. Exactly how we used to. There were times when all I looked forward to was doing this with him, mindful that we were both going through the same shit. Fully aware that we might not make it out alive. War didn’t even come fucking close to what I knew we were both going through right now.
Except they got Mia back.
And I just fucking lost her.
“Fuck... bro... if you... I mean... if you hadn’t... found her... she could of...” Mason stammered, unable to say what he was thinking, not realizing how close she was to exactly that.
Death.
“You got no idea...” I whispered under my breath. “Your old man may be grateful she’s back, but not wit’ my involvement in it. He made that very fuckin’ clear. Don’t hold it against him either, if my baby girl was missin’ and then turned up lyin’ in a hospital bed,” I paused, shaking my head. “The motherfucker responsible would be dead.” Stubbing out my cigarette with my boot, I stood. Not wanting to have this conversation any longer.
“Do you know who did this?” he asked, looking up at me. “What fucking happened out there, Creed? How did you find her?”
I walked over to my bike blowing off his interrogation, removing my cut and draping it over my seat. Waiting for what I knew he’d say next.
“What the fuck, man?! If you know who is responsible for this, I want to help take the fuckers down!”
We locked eyes.
“You wanna help me? Then I need ya to do me a favor.”
Mason didn’t bat one eye when I asked him for his uniform. He was fully aware of why I needed it. I think it was his way of thanking me for bringing his sister back home. This was the only way I could get past security and anyone else who stood in my way. After we exchanged clothes, he took off saying he’d be back later. Something about needing to go find Giselle, she’d been ignoring his calls since he came home. He was going to drive over to her apartment and tell her Mia had been found.
Shortly after midnight, I walked through the double doors of the hospital like a man on a fucking mission. Praying I could pull it off and see my girl. I spent hours outside waiting for the right moment, hiding in the fucking shadows watching people come and go. Eventually spotting Mia’s dad leaving just after eleven-thirty. Minus Detective McGraw. When he got into his car and sped off, I knew I didn’t have much time.
But it was now or never.
I walked in like I knew where I was going. Hanging my head, hiding under the brim of Mason’s military hat as I made my way down the now dim hallway. Heading straight toward Mia’s room. There were three police officers right outside her door, just as I expected there would be. McGraw’s back was turned to me, talking to one of the cops by the nurse’s station. I approached with caution, my heart beating out of my fucking chest the closer I got to see her. I saw McGraw abruptly turn out the corner of my eye as I passed by.
“Hey, Mason,” he called out.
I didn’t stop. I didn’t turn. I just raised my hand, making sure the cuff on his crew was pulled down past the tattoos on my hand. Giving him a wave as I approached the guards.
Nodding to them before I reached for the handle and quickly walked into the room, closing the door behind me.
“Shit,” I groaned, faltering against the door. Even through the soft lighting of the hospital room, I could still see Mia’s mom sitting beside her on the bed, holding onto Mia’s hand.
Not saying a word, she eyed me up and down, taking in Mason’s military fatigues and badge. Letting out a loud, long breath when she was done.
I removed my hat, giving her the only respect I could. “No disrespect, ma’am. I just wanna see her and make sure she’s all right,” I coaxed, needing her to know.
She glanced back down at Mia who was hooked up to all sorts of machines. I recognized some of them which were similar to what Doc had used. Though most I didn’t know what the fuck they were for. She stood, wiping the tears from her cheeks with a tissue, and adjusted Mia
’s blankets to tuck her in. Reminding me how she came from such a loving family. Breaking my heart even more that I was also responsible for this woman’s pain. She leaned over and placed a kiss on her daughter’s forehead, murmuring something in her ear I couldn’t make out.
“You got twenty minutes,” her mom whispered, peering up at me, catching me completely off guard. Never expecting her to say that. “I need some coffee.” With that, I moved away from the door, letting her pass by.
I walked over to Mia and stood at the foot of her bed. Watching my world, my girl, my life, fight for hers.
“She hasn’t woken up yet, but the doctors think that she’s going to be just fine. Physically that is... the rest will take time to heal,” she shared, bringing my attention back to her. She was almost the spitting image of Mia, except for the brown eyes. “Mia has always been a very happy girl, and it breaks my heart that losing her baby... that... this...” Her eyes welled up with tears, struggling to keep going. “But Mia’s a fighter. She’s always been this stubborn, strong-willed, determined girl. Even as a baby there was no telling her no. If Mia put her mind to something then she would do it. I know she will get through this, we all will. Even her father.”
“Why are you lettin’ me stay?” I questioned, yearning to know.
“Because if my son can you give you the benefit of the doubt then I can, too. But please do me a favor. Be gone before I get back.”
I nodded as she turned around and left.
The beeping sound of Mia’s heart monitor brought my eyes back to her. The rhythmic hissing sound of the ventilator echoed all around me. Filling me with some sort of hope. I pulled up a chair next to her bed to get a closer look at her beautiful face. Reaching for her hand, I lifted it and placed it in my tight grasp. Hoping that she could feel my presence, my heart, and my love for her.
I leaned forward, bowing my head in shame over her broken, bruised, cut up body. Laying my forehead on our joined hands. Needing to feel her soft skin against mine, I kissed along her pulse.
It felt like only seconds had gone by, but my time was starting to run out with her. I didn’t know when I would be able to see her again.
Hold her.
Feel her.
Love her.
“I’m so fuckin’ sorry, Pippin,” I choked out, praying she could hear me.
She could feel me.
She could possibly still love me.
Her hand stirred, and I immediately looked up, narrowing my eyes. I was so fucking exhausted, I couldn’t even see straight. I blinked away the haze, thinking my mind was playing tricks on me, but it wasn’t. Big, bright blue eyes stared back at me, void of any reaction. Dazed and confused. She searched my face for I don’t know how long before she blinked, showing me she was really awake. As if she could read my mind.
“Oh my god, baby, you’re awake.” I jumped out of my seat, getting close to her face just so I could feel my lips against her skin. “Jesus Christ, Pippin... I love you so fuckin’ much... I’m so fuckin’ sorry, babe. I’ll do whatever it takes... please... please... fuckin’ forgive me...” I urged, kissing all over her face. Unable to get enough of her. Wanting her to feel my love, hear the sincerity in my voice. The desperation in my touch. So fucking thankful she was awake.
I leaned back, taking her face in my hands to look into her eyes. Ready to get on my knees and beg her for forgiveness. Do whatever it took to make her mine again.
Her eyes widened and her skin suddenly paled, making my heart suddenly drop.
“Fuck... baby, you okay? Tell me you’re okay...”
She stared right into my eyes and softly muttered,
“Who are you?”
“Mia is experiencing situation-specific amnesia. It’s a psychogenic amnesia that can occur in distressed patients as a result of a severely stressful situation they have experienced. It can also be brought on by post-traumatic stress disorder. In her case, we think it’s the result of being shot in the back and/or losing the baby. She has no recollection of either incident, the shootout or even being pregnant, to begin with. It could also possibly stem from what she saw while being held captive. At this point, it could be a number of different factors. Although, like I said before, her body has no trauma other than the bullet wound and the incision from the emergency C-section that was performed. Her mind shut down to protect itself. As far as I can tell, there were no signs of negligence nor physical or sexual abuse.”
The doctor’s words played over and over in my mind, set on repeat with no end in sight.
According to the therapist I met with at the hospital, the violent experiences I endured caused my brain to go into emotional shock. My head was hoarding said traumatic events as a way to protect my mind from itself. As far as I knew, nothing ever happened. The potentially harmful memories were blocked out. Stuck in the unconscious purgatory of my brain where they would remain until I was willing to free them.
What if I didn’t want to free them?
I knew I was Mia Ryder, daughter of Lucas and Alexandra Ryder. Sister of Mason and Bo Ryder. My memory wasn’t completely lost. There were some key moments I still recalled, like the first time I rode a bike and my first day of preschool. Even the time I jumped into the pool and landed wrong, fracturing my arm. But I couldn’t remember what my favorite food was, or my favorite color, or the first time I was even kissed. It was as if there were holes in my memory... I knew where I lived, but not what my room looked like. I recognized my uncles, aunts, and cousins, but confused their names.
The list of what I did and didn’t remember grew with each passing day. It was an endless scroll of paper I couldn’t keep up with.
We hadn’t discussed the bullet wound in my back or the scar from my pregnancy. I was told that I was missing for several months, but no one bothered to talk about the details or mention how I was found. Everything remained a mystery that I was too exhausted to solve. We also didn’t talk about the man who got kicked out of my hospital room by my Uncle Dylan after I woke up.
Nothing.
Maybe it was because I hadn’t asked, or it could have been that they didn’t want to divulge the truth. I figured it was probably a little bit of both. My therapy sessions were starting in a week, and I assumed the truth would eventually reveal itself behind those closed doors.
To be honest...
It was just another thing I didn’t want to know. If my mind blocked out the traumatic memories, why would I want to remember them? It would only lead to more harm for me and my family.
It was so overwhelming not knowing who I was, how I was supposed to act, what to say and not to say. Especially when everyone around me looked at me with such fondness and love. They waited months for me to be found, never giving up hope that I was alive. And I couldn’t even remember I was missing to begin with. No amount of words could describe how deeply it hurt my heart to see the struggle in my family’s eyes. Looking at me, desperately searching for the girl they anxiously prayed for to return.
Mia Ryder.
The exact same girl...
I prayed would never be found.
The day had come to lay my baby girl to rest, an event that no parent should ever have to endure, but here I was doing exactly that. The only difference was I didn’t feel the tragedy like most would. I spent the whole morning laying in bed, blankly staring at the ceiling, conjuring up excuses to why I wouldn’t be able to attend the funeral.
What was wrong with me? Was I always this heartless? Why couldn’t I mourn my baby?
One question after another plagued my mind till I found myself out of bed. Standing in front of the full-length mirror in my bedroom, in nothing but my bra and panties. Lightly tracing my finger along my C-section scar. Lazily tilting my head to the side, watching the motion through my reflection. While a voice in the back of my head screamed at me to dig deep, try to push through the murky waters separating me from the truth.
It was like I was having an out of body experience. A battle between the conscious
me and the unconscious me. I watched from afar as a girl who looked like me stood there in a trance-like state. Going through the motions of life, feeling absolutely nothing but guilt that she couldn’t remember her own flesh and blood.
Then there was me, yelling at my conscious self to snap out of it. Willing her to remember what she once loved more than anything in this world. Breathing life into her to feel, to mourn. To honor a life that was so cruelly ripped away from her. Trying to break through the wall my own mind built, so I could feel whole again.
And not this girl who didn’t feel anything at all.
“You ready, sweetheart?” Mom asked in a gentle lull, walking up behind me later that morning.
I was once again standing there, staring at myself in the full-length mirror in my room, only this time I was clothed. Taking in the black dress and cardigan I was wearing, along with a pair of black heels I had slipped on to complete my outfit for the funeral. My dark hair was down, cascading along the sides of my pale face, a face I no longer recognized. My once bright blue eyes were now empty of any life. They held no emotion. They were just dark pools, hollow caves staring back at us.
You’d think that would be enough of an answer for her.
It wasn’t.
It never was.
Not for any of them.
I didn’t answer her question, preferring to stay silent instead. I wasn’t ready. I would never be ready for this. I learned rather quickly, once I was released from the hospital a few days after I woke up. It was better to just stay quiet and not say anything than to say something wrong.
She gazed at my reflection in the mirror with the same familiar longing I’d come to expect. She hesitantly reached up to sweep my hair back away from my face, placing the loose strands behind my ears. Wanting to get a better look at her broken daughter. Not grasping the fact that I was intentionally trying to hide.