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CHAPTER TWO *JULIAN*

        We didn't even have a chance to start. We hadn't even had our first kiss before I was pushing on her chest and releasing my breath into her lungs. We hadn't gotten to do one thing before that son of a bitch killed her.

        My only solace in the long days that followed, was that we were there when it happened. That I recognized the sound of a sucking chest wound from my years in Afghanistan. That Violet was able to find Saran Wrap to cover it with and my CPR training was still fresh in my mind. That I brought her back quickly and that the paramedics responded rapidly, preventing a tension pneumothorax from the air escaping her lung. They were able to release the trapped air from her chest cavity caused by the puncture of her broken rib though her lung and her side- occurring when that cowardly bastard kicked her-  and stabilize her before moving her to the hospital.

        Everly was taken to the hospital. Tate sought out and arrested at his apartment in the city, all full of regret, I've heard. He has no idea how lucky he is that he is considered a flight risk and denied bail. If they'd let him out, I'd have hunted him down like the rabid animal he is and snapped his neck without breaking a sweat.

        I am a soldier. I spent two years defending what we believe to be right. I lost two very close buddies while I was there- one to "friendly fire" and one to a roadside IED. But I am telling you that these are experiences of war. Finding someone in Everly's condition is not anything you can ever be prepared for. Here, at home. Where she's supposed to be safe. Beaten to death on her own living room floor. Especially when she probably suffered this fate because of something I did.

        Oh, guilt. You sneaky bastard.

        She has no one but us. Not really. She has a few friends and acquaintances, but we Sawyers are her family. One of us is always at the hospital. In case she wakes up and is scared. I only leave to shower, nap. Both are always brief.

        "It's not your fault. You say it yourself all of the time! Free will- everyone's got it and draws their own consequences." This, from my father. But it was me who riled Tate up.

        This is on me.

        I sit by her bed and hold the hand of this woman I had only just met. I gaze upon her broken face, her bruises, stitches, fractured bones. And I would imagine all of the things I had wanted to share with her. The dinners, the walks, the movies. All the ways we'd get to know each other.

        I imagine what her lips would feel and taste like if I was kissing her instead of resuscitating her.

        I know she wouldn't want any of that now. I'd lost her before I'd even had her. She'll never forgive this. Forgive me.

        But still. I stay. I couldn't leave at this point even if someone asked me to. I need to see her eyes open. I need, like I need air, to know she is going to have a life ahead of her. A real one- not one hooked up to monitors and machines, lying in bed.

        If she wakes up- when she wakes up- I will go. It is only fair. I will go and not come back so that Everly can heal and move on. My face surely will always remind her of what has been done to her. How being a cocky bastard had ignited the spark in Tate that ended in her death.

        I swallow audibly against the lump that has risen in my throat. I sit at her side studying her battered face eight days after Violet and I found her. Her list of injuries at the hands of a man that professed to love her turns my stomach: fractured left clavicle and shoulder, fractured left orbit, fractured ribs, a bruised kidney, a punctured lung, a concussion, and severe bruising to her face, torso, and arms. And the vaginal tears indicating rape.