I could do a shower. I could do a lot of things after a “happy birthday” like that.
He let me go and twisted to put the gun on the side of the bed platform by the mattress.
And that’s when I saw his back.
“Oh my God,” I breathed.
He came back around to me but my eyes didn’t move from the space where I’d seen it even though I was now staring at his chest.
“Jules?” I heard Vance call.
I walked around him and he came with me but I put my hand to his waist and whispered, “Stand still.”
Surprisingly he did as I asked.
I got to his back and saw the puckered scar of the gunshot wound. I put both my hands on him then, my arms tight against my sides to hold up the sheet, one hand went to his belly, one hand at the small of his back.
I leaned around and looked at his chest.
Nothing.
I looked to his back again.
Gunshot wound.
I went back to his chest then to his back and again.
Then…
I lost my mind.
“They shot you in the back?” I yelled.
He turned to face me. “Jules.”
I lifted my eyes to his face. “The back?” I shouted.
His arms started to come around me but I jerked away.
“What kind of ass**le shoots someone in the back?” I was still shouting.
“Jules, listen –”
“That is just… I cannot believe… no one shoots anyone in the back. Only gutless sissies would shoot someone in the back.” My brows drew together and I frowned at Vance. “What happened?”
Correctly reading that there was no way he could interfere with my rant, Vance leaned against the bed platform and crossed his arms. “I can’t tell you. When it happened, we were workin’ a contract with the Feds.”
I put my hands on my hips. The sheet started unraveling so I compromised and put one hand to my hip while the other one held the sheet around me.
“How did you get shot in the back?” I asked.
“I can’t tell you that, Jules.”
I looked to the ceiling. “I just cannot believe this shit,” I told the ceiling like it would respond. Then I looked back at Vance. “I want a word with Lee. Government contracts where you go up against cowardly ass**les that would shoot his men in the back, I… think… not.”
“I’m fine,” Vance told me.
“I know you’re fine. I can see you’re fine. I do not care if you are fine.” I ended my tirade enunciating every word like my life depended on that particular communication.