"And I fell from the pedestal
Right down the rabbit hole
Long story short, it was a bad time
Pushed from the precipice
Climbed right back up the cliff
Long story short, I survived"

- Taylor Swift, "Long Story Short"

Chapter Fifty-One

"Shit, dude, get back in your room!"

The surprised voice of Simon Gatz was too loud for a hospital hallway, but it offered a surprising comfort.

The door to my room was open. It allowed me to hear the arguing voices that grew closer. However, the curtain around the hospital bed prevented me from seeing, so I waited patiently as the voices approached.

"Knock it off, I'm fine," a grumbled voice snapped back at Simon. The strained tone to it squeezed my heart. It wasn't just anger or frustration, it was pain. He attempted to conceal it, but I heard it under the annoyance that dominated his words.

I waited to hear a response from Simon, but was surprised when I heard nothing. It was quiet other than the soft sounds of the hospital, but the quiet couldn't stay.

It never did.

"Motherfu— stop poking me!" Reed's grumbling voice bit out sharply, much closer to my door.

"Well, you're fine, aren't you? Fractured sternum, fine. Strained intercostal muscles, fine. Bruised liver, fine. Black and blue all over, fine. Concussion? Oh right, that's fine too." Simon's voice was sharp and unforgiving outside my door.

"Do you ever shut the hell up?"

"Burns? Fine. Psychological damage from this entire shitty day? Still developing, I'm sure, but would you like to tell me those are fine, too?"

"I mean it, shut up. Not a word, Simon," Reed hissed. They were trying to be quiet now, mindful of their location and surroundings, but failing miserably.

Soft footsteps told me they were entering and nearing, and I braced myself for a flung back curtain like the movies showed. Instead, the curtain rippled, and a hesitant face peeked slightly through the crack in the fabric. Relief flooded the withdrawn, wary expression as the rest of his body slipped into the afforded privacy of the curtain.

"Avery. You're awake." Reed's words were quiet, and I was sure both of our heads were grateful for it. I could see the same dullness in his eyes that clouded my mind. Battered brains needed rest and mine was already hissing under the fluorescent lighting of the hospital.

"Reed."

I swallowed, watching as my love made his way to me. His gait was unsteady and one of his arms still curled around his abdomen like it had in the car. I watched Reed's eyes roam over me, evaluating my injuries, his expression sour and guilty. His throat bobbed harshly as he wobbled over to me. My own face betrayed nothing, and I wore a hardened expression as he slipped into the chair next to my bed and reached for my hand.

I hadn't seen him since we were carted to separate ambulances, and I took a moment. I allowed myself that sweet pause of a settling instant. Just the tiniest of breaks to soak in the fact he was alive and walking, looking worse for wear, but alive. He still had the yellow tint of trauma he had in the car, except I realized it was more likely due to his liver and assorted bruises now. I wondered if it would get worse. He also had red and purple on his body like I did, and I saw it reaching softly up under his shirt towards his neck, where further discoloration from the seatbelt showed.

His fingers reached and intertwined with mine, twisting until our hands laid comfortably on the blanket. He took special care to keep my arm still, knowing a swift movement would jerk the IV lines in my arm. But it wasn't like my other hand could be held. The purple cast keeping my bones in place left no room for romantic gestures.

His face was still strained as it trailed the hospital gown that encased my bruised body. He couldn't see the burns under the layers of gauze and fabric, but his eyes lingered where they would be. He narrowed on the marks on my own neck, as purple as my cast from where the seatbelt held me to my seat. Despite the purple mottling and yellow tinged edges, I was glad for it. Without the seatbelt I would've been thrown around the car, or even worse, and flung through the windshield into the ravine below.

"How are you feeling?"

"Maybe I should be asking you that. Fractured sternum? Bruised liver?" I clenched my jaw to keep from gnashing my teeth. I was chomping at the bit to wreck who was behind this, but I was not the person who'd figure this out. I was not able to trace hackers, identify administrative credentials, or dig up the truth. I was only the woman who paid the price.

Reed's jaw unhinged slightly, his eyes growing wide. He spluttered in surprise and choked out a stumbled response. "I'm fine."

I heard muffled laughter on the other side of the curtain, like Simon was choking down humor instead.

"Get in here, Gatz!" I snapped. The laughter stopped.

Simon poked his head in the curtain hesitantly, peering at the scene he was called into. Reed sat frozen in the chair, still shocked I had overheard their conversation, and looking very on the spot. I was lying stiffly in the bed, probably not looking any better than Reed did.

At least Reed is wearing normal clothes. Simon must have brought him some.

My glower did not deter Simon's eyes from dropping down immediately to my neck. There was no hiding the marks, and their location was too obvious to not draw attention. It was a calling card left behind from my suffering.

Simon weakly tried for a soft approach. "Ms. Woodsen."

"In, Simon."

Simon obeyed, coming into my makeshift curtain fort and standing uneasily at the end of my bed. The grumbling man and his indignant friend were gone now, most likely in part to the harsh energy I felt rolling off of me.

I was in no mood for heartfelt reunions. I was in no mood for 'how are you', or 'I'm okay even though I lived through another traumatic experience and everything hurts', or 'at least we're together'.

How many times will I have to deal with this absolute BULLSHIT?

"Answers, now," I demanded, but I cut them off before they could answer. "Actually, let's get some things straight."

I turned to Reed, who was still wide-eyed and shocked. I'm sure he had a different idea of how this would go. "I'm glad you're okay. I have a lot to say about you being up and moving already, but you're stubborn and I can only hope you have the foresight to not push yourself too much. Otherwise, you will wish you had listened to Simon. Got it? I will lock you to a bed myself, and it won't be nearly as fun as it could be."

Reed's face bloomed with red, but he nodded. He looked flushed with the sincere undertone of my threat, flustered by my allusion to possible bedroom activities, and grateful for my care. I leveled my gaze to Simon next.

"I want complete, straightforward answers out of both of you." I swung my gaze to Reed as well. "There will be no opinions, only facts. No judgements of character. No examination of prior behavior or life events to use as excuses. Only the facts. I'm sorry one of your coworkers is a traitor, but nothing will be held back. Do you guys understand? You'll tell me everything you know — because I have a feeling you two know who did this. And I'm sorry, but I don't care what loyalties there are. I know I should, and I should be understanding of your history with them, but I can't. I can't be understanding. Not after everything. Not anymore. I almost lost you, Reed. We almost died."

I have a feeling I know who did this, too. I have for a long time.

Reed's face was increasingly stony, an anger flaring deep in his eyes at the topic. He did know who did this, and I saw the same restless energy that was flooding me also threaten to overwhelm him. He wanted his pound of skin for what he went through, just like I did. Satisfied that he understood my rage, I looked to Simon. Simon was uncomfortable, battling with his inner loyalties, but I saw the anger that shone in him, too. That strong sense of loyalty had been betrayed, and I had a suspicion his loyalty was stronger to Reed than it was to the traitor, anyway.

Loyalty only went so far when it came to attempted assassinations on your best friend's life.

"Nothing will be held back," Simon promised. "We're as angry as you are. More so, probably."

I nodded. Truthfully, I was sure they were. They would have a different type of anger, because I didn't have the same sense of betrayal they did; I didn't have years behind me of tough times battled side by side with this person. I only had the deep burn of fury at being targeted by someone who was essentially a stranger to me.

A stranger I'd known for a short period of time. Someone I'd thought I had some sort of read on. How did I screw up reading him so badly?

"Beck is getting what we need," Reed's gravelly voice said as he met my eyes. I nodded, knowing what he meant. The pieces were falling into place for us to end this. We would have to hit at a specific time; striking when everything was in place to ensure it went our way. We had to guarantee we were the ones who walked away with answers. "But you never answered my question, Avery."

I pursed my lips, squirming under his hard gaze, and shrugged. By his accusing and tense demeanor, I knew what question he was referring to. "I'm okay."

"You know my diagnoses. What's yours?" He challenged, once again taking in my visible injuries. Unknown to me, my gown had slipped, revealing a hint of the gauze underneath. I tried to pull it up with the hand that wasn't tangled in his, but quickly realized I couldn't bend my arm.

I had forgotten about the cast in all of its grape log-looking glory.

I ducked my chin to try to avert his gaze from what the slipped gown revealed, but he was studying the white bandage intently. When he returned his gaze back to me after a few moments, I saw the determination in his hard stare. He was not going to accept an 'I'm fine' or anything short of the truth.

"Well, I broke my arm," I mumbled. From the corner of my eye, I saw Simon press his lips flat to avoid smiling at my obvious truth, but Reed didn't look amused.

"I see that, babe. What else?"

My concussed brain paused, trying to order all of my diagnoses so I could just rip the band aid off.

I grimaced, but tried to lighten up with a joke at the end. "Severe concussion, whiplash injuries to my neck, friction burns and compression bruises from the seatbelt, burns from the airbags, and like Simon said some unaddressed psychological trauma."

Reed wasn't amused.

"I'll kill him."

"Care to confirm who 'him' is?" I prodded, ignoring the deep-set tick in Reed's jaw and the grip he had on my hand. I led the conversation back to where it should be.

"You already know, don't you?" Simon piped up. He eyed me curiously, reading between the lines of my pushing.

"If I'm right, then it crossed my mind a few weeks ago. I pushed it off because I thought I was being paranoid. In hindsight I had every right to be even if I was, but I thought differently at the time. And if it's who I think it is, you wouldn't have believed me even if I brought it up then." I was looking at Reed, but he was looking away. "I have a feeling I'm right. So, who is it? Who did this?"

Reed grappled with his fury for a moment. I waited for him to say it out loud. He had already talked about it with others, but admitting it to me was different. It was like finding out about the betrayal for the first time to actually say the name out loud, to have to admit to an outsider and victim how deep the rot ran.

He opened his mouth to spit out the name of the traitor, the person who'd be handled as soon as we were ready, but he didn't get the chance. Loud footsteps stepped into the room beyond the curtain before it was abruptly pulled open. The tiny makeshift area opened up to include the entire hospital room as three other men joined us.

The first man to come forward was my worried boss, who rushed to my side with stricken eyes. I was emotional seeing him. The way we'd left things off the last time we saw each other was unsatisfactory, to say the very least. He'd been an amazing mentor and father figure in my life for years, and I'd accused him of horrible things. I was wrong, but I had only given a half-hearted apology afterwards in my anger and quest for truth. I left without a goodbye. While I'd reassured myself I would reach out to him another day for closure, to mend the bridge, I hadn't known how I'd be able to do so. I'd been so embarrassed and worried I burned that bridge forever, too scared to face the possibility of such, and so avoided it.

But I saw no ashes or flames as he rushed to me. I only saw the fear of injured family stretched across his face and nothing but concern in his eyes. It almost seemed to make the guilt worse that he wasn't angry with me.

"Avery!"

"Mr. Cruz!" I choked out. "I'm so sorry."

But Cruz shushed me and laid a cautious hand on my shoulder. His grip was gentle so as not to hurt me, but there was no hesitation or bitterness.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"I'm okay. I can't believe you're here. I'm so sorry for what I said." My already sore throat felt like it was shaking under the heavy weight of emotion.

"You were well in your right to be suspicious of me with everything that happened. I would've questioned your training if you hadn't," he joked lightly. He was trying to quell my guilt, but I still felt terrible.

"I'm sorry," I repeated. Cruz nodded, squeezing my shoulder gently.

Noise broke me out of my cage of guilt and regret. I hadn't realized what was happening with the other two men who'd entered the room.

Quentin Romano stepped further in, standing in the middle of my hospital room with a blank expression on his face and his eyes watchful. Beck stood a ways behind him, his own eyes on Reed as he assessed his coworker's injuries. Beck's gaze darkened as he took in Reed's rough shape, and grew even stormier when he took a look at me next. His frame filled the doorway where he stood. Beck's sturdy stance brought me to the realization he wasn't just standing in the doorway — he was purposefully blocking it.

Reed sat stiffly in his chair, his eyes trained on his boss as Cruz and I reunited. But in the quick break of silence, the stoic man gave way to his anger. With a nod from Beck, Reed confirmed the pieces were in place, and he could unleash the hell that raged in him. His chair scraped across the floor as he stood and turned.

"Sterling. You've looked better. Good to see you up and moving." Quentin's words rolled out evenly as he looked plainly at his right-hand man. Reed stood a few paces away, tense and rippling with barely contained turmoil. Quentin's eyes landed on me next, and he opened his mouth to presumably utter another stiff acknowledgement or cold wish of wellbeing.

Then, the leash snapped, and Reed Sterling took quick strides to meet the CEO of Greystone Security.

He greeted Quentin with his fist, decking the man to the floor. With a sickening slap and gruesome thud of flesh and bone, Quentin Romano fell with the ruins of his legacy.