Renata and the Fall From Grace by Becky Doughty

Author:Becky Doughty [Doughty, Becky]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, Religion
Amazon: B00WJ2P14M
Goodreads: 25410785
Publisher: BraveHearts Press
Published: 2015-04-21T00:00:00+00:00

~ ~ ~

"It's going to be okay." Her voice pierced the fog of pain and uncertainty. Renata was here. He knew he wasn't supposed to move, but he had to find her, to see her.

"Ren?" He tried to speak, but nothing came out. He clutched at the blanket across his chest; it felt so heavy, pushing him down into the bed he was on.

"Please don't move your head, Mr. Dixon." The voice seemed to come from far above him and he tried to open his eyes to see who was speaking to him. So much pressure on his face, like he was being held in a vice. Everything hurt, but it was as though he felt it from outside his body. He had to open his eyes. He had to find Renata. He had to let her know he was okay.

That had been his thought the moment he came to, faces circling over him, voices careening around the echoing room. "I need to call my wife," he'd spluttered around a mouthful of blood, pushing at the hands that were holding him down. "Renata. I need to tell her—" And then the coughing began, pain punching through his head like a jackhammer. But his throat kept filling with blood and he couldn't get a breath. He had to roll to his side or he'd suffocate, but they wouldn't let him.

"Stay still, man!" Someone was shouting at him, a high-pitched voice laced with fear. "Your neck might be broken!"

"He can't breathe," another voice stated, less stridently. "We're going to have to help him turn or he'll choke on his own blood."

The voices faded away and he opened his eyes to find himself hovering above them all, watching as McCain and Andrews bent over his body, their mouths moving, but no sound coming out. Andrews had his hands on either side of John's face and neck, holding him steady. That younger kid—Logan? Lance? John couldn't recall his name—had his hand on his chest, pinning him to the concrete. McCain. What was that man doing? What was he saying? His face was red from exertion or emotion, but there was no sound. In fact, all around him the air was still, as though he was in a vacuum.

There was so much blood. A pool had formed beneath the head and shoulders of the man on the ground below. He could see McCain's hairy forearms slathered in it. Across the room, some guy was puking in the corner and when John looked back at the broken body being tended to, he felt a wave of compassion wash over him. It was a pretty gruesome sight to be sure and he couldn't fault the guy for being sick. He tipped his head slowly, as though moving through water, and studied the battered face between Andrew's large hands. He didn't recognize it.

"Ah man," he thought. "That poor sucker really took a beating." He was forgetting something, he knew, but it didn't seem to matter so much right now.

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