TRAGICALLY BROKEN: The Broken Series (Damaged, Book 1) (RE-IMAGINED & EXTENDED)

TEN

GAVIN

Hannah breathes softly against my chest as she falls asleep in my arms. She's exhausted. The toll of everything she's suffered from is just too much. Soon enough, she'll be forced to come to terms with the truth of what happened tonight. But until then—with no sign of life-threatening injuries—I'll give her what little time I can before it all comes flooding back.

Before she has to relive it all over again.

I know I saw him—her attacker. He was running away like the coward he is. Though, despite how much I would've loved to give him the beatdown he deserves, I know I made the right decision to continue looking for her.

When I first saw her lying on the ground, there were clear signs of a struggle. Cuts and scratches covered her arms and legs. There were bruises already forming. The combination of blood beneath her hips and legs, and her torn clothes, left little for my imagination to figure out about what happened.

I lost every bit of alcohol I drank tonight in a bush nearby, quickly sobering me. I've seen this kind of thing in movies, probably hundreds of times. But nothing could have ever prepared me for the real thing.

Nothing.

I lightly stroke her silky hair while gently picking out tiny twigs and leaves caught in the strands.

I was being honest with Hannah when I told her I was glad I got to meet her. If I hadn't, who knows what would've happened to her? How far would he have gone? I'm not one to believe in fate, but there was something that guided me toward her silvery eyes across the room. I was meant to find her, though I'd give anything for it to have been under different circumstances.

I continue to give her quiet reassurances in an attempt to soothe her, even in sleep. I'm not sure if she can hear me, but it quiets my own insecurities about not getting to her sooner. If I had, maybe I could've stopped him before things went too far.

Loud sirens send relief through my rigid shoulders, knowing help is finally here. Minutes later, white beams of light thinly flash through the trees, bouncing over the forest floor until they come to a stop on my face, then Hannah's.

"It's going to be hard to carry her out," one of the EMTs calls out. "We'll have to be extra careful."

"No, no, no, please—" Hannah hugs tighter around my waist, tucked beneath my arms. "Please don't let them take me. Not like this." My chest dampens with fresh tears.

"I'll carry her out," I assure them—but mostly her.

They look hesitant but thankfully agree.

One of the paramedics hands me a blanket. After gently lifting Hannah onto my lap, I loosely tuck the fabric around her, place one arm behind her back, and slide my other under her knees. Carefully, I shift to stand, holding her tight against my chest. She nuzzles in close.

Peering through the darkness, I cautiously watch my surroundings from eye level down to my feet, carefully avoiding the random branches of trees and bushes that get in our way. Only stumbling a couple of times, I safely dodge them all and exit past the woods' edge.

The paramedics run out ahead of us. When we finally cross into the opening, the police already have a perimeter set, and the frame of the stretcher is dropped, resting the wheels in the shallow grass.

I'm given the signal that it's time.

I instinctively press my lips to Hannah's forehead, lingering for a moment, feeling an innate need to protect her, knowing first-hand what something like this can do to a person.

"I have to put you down now. I need to talk to the police to tell them what I know. These guys will be able to take over. You'll be safe with them." I speak lowly, trying to infuse a calm into my voice that I don't feel. She numbly nods, letting me know she's ready.

This time when I try to move her, she lets me. I gently lower her onto the thin padding below and let the professionals take over. Her lip quivers as they strap her in, her weeping eyes never straying from mine as an officer comes to an abrupt stop beside me.

My stomach twists as I hold her gaze, explaining how I found her, letting them know I saw the person who did this—as they were running away—but couldn't see their face. I give them as much detail about her condition as I can without saying my true suspicions, what they already know to be true. I can't say the words. Not when she's looking at me with such trust in her eyes. Like her world now rests in my hands. I can't force her to hear them because if I do, I bring the night back to life, and it's too soon for her to have to deal with the repercussions of that just yet.

"Wait!" she throws her hand up to stop the paramedic from loading her in the back of the ambulance. "Will I ever see you again?" Her voice is shaky but filled with so much hope. She's looking at me like I'm a hero that I'm not, a man I can never be. The best thing for both of us is for me to walk away before she convinces herself this is something more than it is.

I don't form meaningful connections—with anyone. I keep my heart distanced, never giving promises of more, and I sure as hell don't pretend to be someone I'm not. I live moment to moment, find ways to feel good and numb the residue of my own shitty life. I'm not the type of person she needs. She needs someone devoted to her, who can hold her and help her through this. That person isn't me.

"I don't think that's a good idea," I admit honestly, reaffirming the fact that I am a first-rate asshole.

Her face crumples, and more tears spring in her eyes as an ache radiates in the centre of my chest. I watch the doors swing closed, hiding her disappointment from view. I imagine the movement inside. The questions. The loneliness. And when the ambulance takes her away, I can still see her eyes staring at the door. Peering through the distance. Finding me exactly where I stand.

When the chaos fades in the distance and quiet surrounds me, I stumble backward, feeling the rush of adrenaline thinning in my blood. I run my fingers through my hair, experiencing a sense of déjà vu. It's as if time didn't gloss over the feelings of sending my mother off in an ambulance.

Only it was too late for her.

My torso and arms burst with goosebumps, finally feeling the eerie chill in the night air. I let my eyes wander the darkened yard. Aimlessly. Thoughtfully. Then, before I can think about the implications, my feet are sprinting toward my car, shifting it into gear, and autonomously driving toward the hospital where Hannah's being taken. Feeling the same compulsion that first led me to her. Ignoring my brain's insistence to stay away.