Free Stricken Resolve by S.K. Logsdon

mumble and lick my dry
lips. My mouth feels like cotton. A drink would be nice. But I
don’t really care. It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.
    Elevating me from my chair, two nurses
attempt to maneuver me to the bed. I know I’m standing as I look
down. Although the feeling in my legs is gone.
     
    ***
     
    “Emily.” Some lady I’ve never seen before
with short tawny pixie hair snaps her pink adorned fingers in front
of my face.
    “Emily!” she yells.
    I move my mouth to respond but nothing comes
out. Only sounds with no meaning or context gurgle up out of my dry
raspy throat.
    “She’s in shock,” I hear the pixie haired
woman state, as I glance down.
    When did I get dressed? Or covered? Reaching
up I touch my hair to find it pulled back into a…
    Is that a bun?
    Blinking my eyes rapidly, apparently the
tears have dried up. For now. Leaving me with puffy tender
sockets.
    Four nurses and the pixie woman in normal
street clothes are in my room talking.
    About what? You got me.
    I peer around. My room looks the same. White
walls, flowers in a plethora of colorful arrangements, my hospital
table, a TV on the wall. Just no Papa Bear.
    My heart clenches and tightens into pain at
the slightest thought and I force myself to swallow down my
suffering.
    The pain is unbearable.
    Focusing on the wall clock my eyes blend in
and out with blurriness. Closing my eyes tightly and popping them
open, I dart my vision at the clock to see how long it’s been since
I’ve last experienced his warm supple kiss upon my lips, or his
hands softly caressing my body.
    That time can’t be right. I blink again.
    How did I lose eight hours of my damn
day?
    It’s four fifteen. Was I really out of it
that long?

 
    Chapter Seven
     
    ~James ~
     
     
    “Master Sergeant James— this way please.”
    An officer in full dress blues escorts me
down to the bottom floor of the hospital by way of the service
elevator, to avoid dealing with the substantial amount of paparazzi
staking out the main exits for Stricken’s divine twins to
emerge.
    “You are sure Davis is already stationed with
her?”
    Pressing a little ear piece, the man radios
in. “Davis stationed at point?”
    The man’s face furrows at his brow, leaving
thick wrinkles in his forehead and nose. Either deep in thought or
something isn’t going as instructed. He better pray with all of his
might that it’s the former. Because if she’s not under properly
trained protection, I will by all means necessary do something to
ensure her safety and that of the babies. Even if I can’t be the
one to administer the retribution if someone messes with her, I
sure as hell will have somebody with equal skillset to rain all the
forces of hell upon them. And Davis will do that.
    “Yes sir, she is and so are the other
men.”
    Damn straight, they’d better be. I hired more
security for her. Each of them discrete with vast amounts of
federal training. After placing hours upon hours of calls to DC and
attempting to call in a favor, I spoke with two generals, six
sergeants and five others at the Pentagon and turn up with
diddly-squat. No way to deter the enviable. Me leaving.
    By some act of god, after I’d slept maybe
twenty minutes, Emily’s water broke and the twins were hastily
delivered. I was there. I’ll never forget watching my children
being birthed into this world. I thought meeting and falling in
love with Mama Bear was my life’s happiness. Never in a million
years did I ever think my heart could expand anymore. However, now
Jenna and Eric have taken up their rightful spaces right next to
Emily’s piece of my heart. Which is nearly its entirety.
    “Sir, we’re over here,” the man says,
breaking me from my thoughts and gesturing toward a shiny black
armored unmarked car. Two men in all black gear are stationed right
outside of it. Obvious security detail. Interesting….
    Since when do they send the entire cavalry to
bring in a safe link?
    My something’s-fishy radar