The Last Woman (All That Remains #1) (5 page)

“God, Abby, I was so scared
I’d be too late,” he breathes. “I couldn’t get a good shot. I was afraid I’d
hit you. Did he hurt you? Did he…touch you?”

I realize what he’s actually
worried about. “No, he didn’t touch me.” I start to shake as it hits me, what
he surely had planned when he sobered up enough. My stomach turns, and I almost
gag. “He didn’t touch me,” I repeat, trying to reassure myself.

“All right, we don’t have to
talk about it. Take a deep breath. You’re okay.” He speaks softly, his hand
stroking the back of my head, and I tighten my arms around his waist, burying
my face in his neck. For just a few seconds, I let myself need him. He came
after me, saved me, and I’ve never felt safer than I do in his arms.

“The kids! Are they...?”

“They’re fine,” he interrupts.
“Just scared. I’ve left the radio in the car. Let’s go tell them it’s over.”

“How did they know what
happened?” He keeps his arm tucked around me as we walk to the car.

“Carson was watching. He made
Jayla stay inside and keep quiet.”

They must have been so
frightened. We climb into the car, and I turn on the heater.

“Are you cold?”

“Not really, but you’ve got
some really pointy nipples there.” I giggle, covering my mouth with my towel
wrapped hand.

“Never mind my nipples,” he
says dryly, giving me an over the top, seductive, sideways look that makes me
giggle again. He keeps glancing at me like I may explode, and it makes me laugh
harder. When we pull into the driveway, he puts his hand on my knee.

“Try to calm down. It’s the
adrenaline. You’re all worked up. It’ll pass.”

I nod and wipe the tears of
laughter from my eyes. I have to face the kids, both of us do, and we’re covered
in blood. The next hour is hard on all of us. We tell the kids everything is
all right, and it’s over. It’s kind of hard to do with an arm full of pellets
and two lacerated hands. Jayla brings me the medical supplies I need to treat
my wounds.

“You don’t have to stay for
this,” I inform Airen. He’s looking a little green.

“Yes I do. I got you shot.”

What? I stare at him as if
he’s grown a second head. “You got me shot in the arm instead of the chest. You
saved my life,” I correct in a stern voice, staring him in those
oh-so-beautiful eyes.

“Right before you saved mine.”

“So we’re even.” I smile at
him, but he frowns, looking at my arm as Jayla wipes the blood off with a
peroxide soaked cloth.

“I don’t have a scratch on me.”

“Fine. After my hands heal, I’ll
punch you in the face if it’ll make you feel better.” Jayla laughs with me.
“Jayla, are you sure you want to do this? I can manage it.”

“It doesn’t bother me, and I
can do a better job than you can with your hands wrapped up.”

The cuts on my hands are
shallow, and Jayla cleans and coats them with antibiotic ointment before she
bandages them.

“You were born to be a doctor,
you know that?”

“I wanted to be a doctor.”

“You still can. We’ll get you
all the medical books you can read.”

She smiles as she asks, “Are
you ready?”

There are five small pellets
just under the skin, a few inches apart. They aren’t deep, thank goodness, but
they do have to be removed. We have a topical anesthetic we’re going to try. It
should numb the area enough to get me through the excisions. Before it numbs,
however, it burns like hell for about ten seconds.

“Do it.” I clench my teeth in
anticipation, and she rubs the anesthetic up my arm, over the holes caused by
the pellets and the shallow cuts they caused by grazing my arm on the way in.
It’s agonizing. My arm is on fire. I instinctively try to jerk away, but she
holds my arm down and Airen grabs my shoulders. She rubs some more up the other
side where there are a few more spots, and I hiss.

“It really hurts,” I whimper,
blinking back the tears building in my eyes.

Airen squeezes my shoulders
and reassures me in a soft voice. “Hold on, it’ll pass.” He’s right, of course,
and I’m embarrassed by my reaction.

“Let’s get started. We don’t
want to have to do that again,” Jayla declares.

After the anesthetic, the
actual removal isn’t that painful. Jayla takes the smallest scalpel we have,
makes a tiny cut above each pellet and gently removes them. She applies the
antibiotic ointment and uses adhesive butterfly closures to seal the wounds
instead of a suture. My arm is then coated in antibiotic ointment and covered
with a layer of gauze. It feels like overkill, but an infection is one of our
worst fears, with no doctors to help.

“You’re an amazing, brave
girl.” I hug her.

“Thank you. Now go lie down. You
look like hell,” she replies.

I stretch out on the couch,
and Carson brings me a soda and a sandwich.

“You haven’t eaten,” he says.

“Sit with me. I know you saw
what was happening, and I’m so proud of the way you reacted.”

“I didn’t do anything,” he
argues.

“You kept Jayla and yourself
safe. You stayed calm and listened to Airen when he told you to wait here. You
did exactly the right thing. I know I can count on you and that sure helps me
sleep at night.” I hug him.

* * *
*

I don’t know what I would have
done without Jayla over the next couple of days. While my hands heal she takes
over the cooking and cleaning. Fortunately, my palms heal quickly, and I’m able
to cook Thanksgiving dinner with her help. The turkey is delicious. It’s the
first time I’ve ever had one that wasn’t store bought. I also make homemade
noodles, dressing, mashed potatoes, and a green bean casserole. Jayla makes an
apple pie and a huge bowl of chocolate pudding. After dinner, we all lounge
around the living room, too stuffed to move.

“Don’t we usually take turns
saying what we are thankful for?” asks Carson.

“We used to do that at my
house, too,” Jayla adds.

“Sure. Who wants to go first?”
I smile even though this is the complete opposite of how I actually feel about
the idea, and I see resignation on Airen’s face as well. We both do our best to
hide it as if publicly sharing how we feel is a wonderful idea.

“You first,” Carson says.

I take a minute to look around
the room at Jayla snuggled up with a blanket in the recliner, Carson lying by
the fire, and Airen draped across the couch. It’s been such a short time that
we’ve all been together; only five months since we met, but the experiences we’ve
shared, the trauma, worries, and fear make it seem much longer.

“I’m thankful I have all of
you. Jayla, I love you like my own daughter. Carson, you’re turning into a man
right before my eyes, and I’m so proud of both of you.” I regard Airen shyly,
and continue. “I’m thankful to have someone I can count on, even to rescue me
from a smelly maniac.” A lovely smile blooms on his face as he nods almost
imperceptibly. “I’m thankful to be alive.”

“Can I call you Mom?” Jayla
blurts.

“Are you trying to make me
cry?” I accuse her, laughing. Her thin arms wrap around my neck, and I pull her
down to sit beside me.

“Airen says I can call him
Dad. Carson can too, if he wants.”

Carson bites his lip and nods
without looking up. Airen raises his eyebrows at me, silently questioning
whether I approve of the idea. Airen wants to be his father. A lump forms in my
throat for the second time in five minutes and I nod, flashing him a quick
grin.

“I believe it’s your turn,
Airen,” I chirp.

He looks uncomfortable as he
clears his throat and shifts in his seat. “I’m thankful I’ve found a new
family. I’ve always wanted a son to go fishing with me,” he says to Carson.
“Jayla, you amaze me every day, and I couldn’t love you more if you were my
flesh and blood.” He looks around the room and announces, “I love all of you.”
His eyes settle on mine for a moment before he looks away.

My heart leaps into my throat,
and I immediately have to talk myself down. Just stop. Don’t even begin to
believe he loves you. I can believe he cares about me. In fact, I’m pretty sure
he does. You don’t risk your life to come and save someone you don’t care for
at least a little. Still, I will not be so stupid as to believe anything more
than that.

The kids go on to say they are
thankful to have two parents again and to be safe. Carson wraps it up by
professing his gratitude for peanut butter cups, which breaks the tension in
the room and everyone laughs.

The next month drags by. The
weather has turned cold, and it seems the sound of raindrops hitting the roof
and windows will never cease. We spend most of our time indoors studying, reading,
watching movies, and playing seemingly endless games of Monopoly. When
Christmas comes, we have a big dinner, and the kids open presents we chose for
them. Somehow, it’s not the same when they know they can walk into any store
and get whatever they want, but we want to keep things as normal as possible.

Jayla helped me pick out a new
fishing pole and tackle box for Airen. He exclaims over them and thanks me,
though I know he has a dozen more. He surprises me with a beautiful deep blue
robe with matching slippers. It’s incredibly soft and comfortable.

“I love them, thank you.”

“Check the pocket.” His lips
curve in an adorable grin. I pull out a fat roll of one hundred dollar bills
from inside and everyone laughs. It takes a while to get used to the fact money
is now completely worthless.

“Lovely,” I remark dryly. “We
can use them to start the fire.”

The night after Christmas I
wake abruptly. Did I hear something? I open my bedroom door and listen hard.
Just when I’m convinced I must’ve been dreaming, I hear a noise coming from
Airen’s room.

I peek around his door,
terrified I’ll see someone in his room, and it’ll be like the Mr. Disgusting
incident all over again. It’s just Airen, and it looks like he’s having a
nightmare. I quickly step in and close the door behind me so his shouting won’t
wake the kids. Whew! The room reeks of whiskey. He must have been drinking
before he went to bed.

“No!” he shouts again. I turn
on the battery powered lantern by his bed. Dressed in dark sweats and a white
t-shirt, he’s covered in sweat and tears run down his face, which is screwed up
as if he’s witnessing something horrible. He probably is. “Please,” he moans,
and my heart breaks for him.

“Airen. Airen, wake up. It’s
just a nightmare.” When I shake his shoulder, he wakes in a panic, sitting up,
wide-eyed and panting. “You’re okay,” I reassure him softly. “It was just a
dream, Airen. Everything is okay.”

He finally recognizes me. “Abby,”
he whispers and falls back onto the bed, an arm across his face, trying to get
control.

“They die,” he moans as I sit
beside him on the bed. “They die in my head over and over again. I can’t save
them. I can
never
save them.” His voice cracks, and he wipes his eyes.

“Who can’t you save?”

“Mom, Dad, Samantha,
everyone.” His chest hitches on a deep sigh.

“Oh, Airen, you know there was
nothing you could do. There was nothing anyone could’ve done.”

“They died, and I lived.” His
laugh is hollow, his eyes haunted. “I’ve always been the lucky one,” he
whispers.

“I’m very glad you survived. I
know you feel guilty, but I’m sure they wouldn’t want that for you. They would
want you to live and be happy. You saved my life and probably Jayla’s as well. We
wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t lived, Airen. You have to let it go.”

I put my hand on his, and he seizes
it, a lifeline in the darkness. I can feel him trembling, trying to hold in
those emotions he loathes to display, fighting not to expose his vulnerability
so openly.

Impulsively, I climb into bed
and put my arms around him. He buries his face in my chest and wraps his arms
around my waist, holding onto me desperately. I’m in his bed, but there’s
nothing sexual or exciting about it. We’re just two survivors clinging to each
other to make it through the long night. We hold one another, and eventually
his breathing becomes slow and even. He’s asleep.

I’m wide awake, however, and
my brain just doesn’t want to rest. It must’ve been so hard for him and Jayla. They
were alone until they found each other while I had Carson with me the entire
time. My brain conjures up the image of them alone and scared, surrounded by
bodies with no voice to break the silence in the middle of the night. It’s
horrifying.

My gaze falls on Airen’s face,
now slack and vulnerable in sleep. He doesn’t realize how amazing he is, or how
far he has come. He grew up with money. He was a successful model and actor,
and probably never so much as washed his own laundry. This disaster has to be
so much harder on someone who is accustomed to comfort and stability. Yet, he
has adapted so well. With the way he looks after Jayla and Carson, all the
things he has learned to do, he doesn’t give himself enough credit.