by Ellie Wade
As Diane lists off a phone number and extension, I fall to my knees.
No.
No.
No.
I knew something was off, and I ignored it. There were signs tonight. She didn’t want to go to the meeting and then the story about the paper she had due. I didn’t buy it. I believed an addict, so I could come home and fuck my girlfriend. What is wrong with me?
It was all too good to be true…because it is.
I pull in two fortifying breaths before I have the strength to rise from the floor. Diane’s message didn’t give me any details. I have no idea why a nurse from the hospital called me, but I can bet it’s not because Clementine needs her appendix out.
I don’t know if she’s dead or alive, and I’m terrified to find out.
Racing back into my room, I switch on the lights. Grabbing my jeans from the floor, I pull them on before reaching into my dresser drawer for a clean shirt.
Please be okay.
Please be okay.
I chant over and over in my head. I can’t lose Clementine. Fuck, I can’t lose anyone else.
“Ollie?” Quinn’s tired voice startles me. “What’s going on?”
In my panic, I’d momentarily forgotten she was here.
I turn to face her, and I feel sick. I don’t blame her. It’s my own damned fault. I went against everything I believed to have her. I knew I’d become distracted. I knew I shouldn’t be with her. Hell, I’ve been single my whole adult life for a reason. I can’t be everything for everyone.
Thankfully, she insisted on driving her Jeep over after picking up some things from her house. Getting her home is one less thing I have to worry about.
“It’s Clementine. I don’t know,” I say truthfully, grabbing the back of my neck.
“What happened?”
“I don’t know, but I have to go, and I’m sorry, Quinn, but I need you to go, too.” I shake my head. “I can’t do this. It’s just…too much,” I say before turning to leave.
“Wait!” Quinn calls out from my bedroom, but I can’t focus on her right now. I have to get to the hospital.
I don’t remember a second of the trip from my house to the hospital. One minute, I’m starting my bike, and the next, I’m running into the hospital lobby.
My face is numb from the cold wind on the ride here. The night air is chilly, and I probably should’ve driven my truck, but the bite of the frigid air was a needed sensation. Any feeling that rivals this hollow dread in my chest is welcome.
Fear guides my steps as I enter the hospital lobby.
I’ve been here before—not knowing what I’m going to find when I enter—and I hate it. Even if she’s alive, she may already be lost. Sometimes people never recover from their first relapse, unable to muster the strength within them to get clean. They’re forever lost until it’s over.
I despise this place. For me, hospitals mean tragedy, heartbreak, and loss. Everything about my surroundings causes bile to turn in the pit of my stomach. The smell, harsh and pungent, assaults my senses, causing an instantaneous headache to surface. The tiled floor, cleaned with chemicals, feels sticky beneath my feet.
The lobby is quiet. The only person in sight is an elderly security guard.
“I need to check on someone who’s here,” I tell him.
“You’re going to have to wait a few hours, sir. It’s not visiting hours.”
“I know, but I need to see her,” the desperation in my voice a warning.
“What floor is she on?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” I say. “A Diane called me. She said”—I think back to the voicemail—“extension 865.”
“Extension 865 is the eighth floor, the mental health unit.” I say a quick thanks and break into a jog toward the elevators. “Sir, you can’t go up there right now. Visiting hours start at nine.”
He’s still calling after me as the elevator doors close with a ding. Eight floors up, I step out into a dimly lit hallway. The hospital is asleep, but I can’t wait until it wakes. I need to know if Clementine is okay. I’m petrified to find the truth, but not knowing would be even worse.
A middle-aged woman sits at the front desk behind a glass window. Her brows furrow as she concentrates on the computer screen before her. Her fingers, complete with a bright red manicure type furiously against the keyboard.
I clear my throat and tap on the clear partition. She looks up with a small gasp, startled.
I shift back and forth nervously on my feet as she reaches up, opening the window a few inches. “Sorry. I’m looking for a Diane.”
“I’m Diane,” she says slow and hesitant.
“Hi. I’m Oliver Hale. You called me about a Clementine Allen. You left a message.”
She pauses a moment, uncertainty lines her features. I’m sure she’s not used to a crazed man showing up at four in the morning.
She drops her hands to her lap with a small exhale and nods. “She’s here. She checked herself in a few hours ago.”
“Checked herself in?”
“Yeah, said she was in danger of self-harm, so she’s here for a week as we assess her.”
“Self-harm? As in suicide?”
Diane nods again.
“Was she on anything, or had she done anything to hurt herself?”
“She didn’t act as if she was on anything. She says she wasn’t. I ran a panel on her to know for sure. The results aren’t back yet. She hadn’t hurt herself prior to coming in.”
“So she’s okay?” The stupidity of my question isn’t lost on me. Of course she’s not okay. She’s a patient in a mental ward on suicide watch. She’s far from okay, but she’s alive, and that’s what matters.
Diane presses her lips in line and raises her shoulders. “For now, yes.”
The way she answers causes my chest to hurt, and I can’t imagine having this job working with individuals that aren’t stable and are a danger to themselves. Nothing is guaranteed when the mind isn’t right. She’s probably seen an unfortunate amount of loss.
“Can I please go sit with her?” I see the answer on Diane’s face before she says it. “Look, I know it’s not the time. I get it, but I’m begging you. Please. Please let me see her.”
Diane hesitates a moment longer and finally dips her chin.
“Thank you so much.”
She steps to the side of her desk and opens the locked door separating us. I follow her down the hall, wiping my palms against my jeans.
Clementine is sleeping in the hospital bed. There are cloth-lined leather cuffs around her hands strapped to the bed rail. She’s always looked so young and small. But lying here in this bed, she looks like a kid. Innocent and fragile. Too small to be dealing with the horrors of mental health and addiction.
I pull the chair beside her bed and sit. As much as I hate seeing her like this, I’m so grateful she’s breathing. People can come back from scary situations as long as they stay alive. With air in her lungs, there’s another chance to make it all better.
Head dipped, I pick at some paint that’s stubbornly stuck to my fingers from the paint job I was working on this morning.
Her small voice startles me. “I’m sorry.”
My head jolts up. “Clem. Are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
“What happened?” I reach out and take her hand. “Did you want to kill yourself?” I can hardly get the words out.
“No.” Her voice cracks. “Not really. I wanted to use so much that I felt like I couldn’t stop myself. So I called 911 and told them that I was going to kill myself. An ambulance showed up ten minutes later and brought me here. It’s stupid, maybe. I just knew that I had to save me from myself. You know? I needed to make sure I was somewhere where I couldn’t hurt myself. It’s not a total lie because every time I use, there’s a chance it will kill me anyway.”
Tears escape my eyes and roll down my cheeks as I pull in a breath. “I don’t think it’s stupid at all. I think you’re incredibly strong and brave.
”
“I feel weak,” she chokes out.
“That’s how drugs make you feel, but it’s not true. Resisting makes you so strong, Clem. But you shouldn’t be here strapped to a bed. You should be in a good rehab facility where they understand what you’re going through. I can make some calls tomorrow and get you in.”
“Okay.” She squeezes my hand. “I’ve been clean for a long time. It feels wrong to go back to rehab.”
“It’s not,” I assure her. “You only have to stay as long as you feel you need to. It can be a reset to help you keep going with your sobriety. The demons you faced when you were first getting clean, and the ones you’re facing now are different. The counselors there can help you navigate these new struggles so you don’t relapse.”
“That sounds good,” she says weakly.
“Do you want me to call your parents?”
She shakes her head. “Not right now. I mean, they’ll find out because my health insurance is still under them, but I don’t want to deal with them right now.”
“Okay, well, get some sleep.”
“You’re staying?”
“I’ll be right here when you wake.”
“Okay. Thank you, Ollie. Thank you for being here for me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” She sniffles as tears roll down her cheeks.
“You’ll never have to find out because I’m not going anywhere.”
Chapter 27
Quinn
Today sucks. This whole week has sucked. Ollie isn’t answering my calls or texts. He’s completely ghosting me except for the one text he answered, letting me know that Clementine will be okay. I hate that I feel bitterness toward her because I know it isn’t her fault. At the same time, it feels like he’s choosing her over me.
I mean, are we broken up? I don’t even know. I’ve been trying to replay the conversation, and I use that word loosely, that we had at three in the morning. I specifically remember him saying that he can’t do this. Do what? Us? Middle of the night visits to the hospital? Sleeping naked? A lot of things were going on that night that perhaps he can’t do, but I’m having a hard time believing he was referring to our relationship.
We are deliriously happy…were deliriously happy. Weren’t we?
I knew there’d be bumps in the road when I pursued him. It’s the reason I didn’t for so long. A man doesn’t stay single his entire life and be issue-free. I mean, that’s a no-brainer. I’m willing to work through everything with him because he’s so worth it. There are many things that I can’t do, and giving up on him is one of them.
But what if he’s already given up on me?
I lie in bed another minute, contemplating my actions. A part of me wants to go see Alma, or call my sisters, or visit Cassie at Starbucks and tell my sad tale of a broken heart. Misery loves company, and I want to tell them all about this shitty hand I’ve been dealt. Then what? They’ll give me advice, or they won’t. It will be good advice, or it won’t. None of it will change what I know I have to do.
I have to get Ollie back.
Now that I know what it’s like to be on the receiving end of Oliver Hale’s love, there’s no way I’m going to be satisfied with a life without him.
His bike is in the driveway when I pull in.
He’s home.
My heart pumps faster within my chest, and my stomach twists as anticipation rises. I’m nervous to see him, but at the same time, I can hardly wait. I miss him. A week is far too long.
As I approach the garage, I hear the tinkering of metal.
Flutters erupt in the pit of my stomach when I see him. He’s bent over a motorcycle wheel, some metal tool in his hand. He looks gorgeous in jeans and a plain gray T-shirt that clings to his biceps just right. I want to run to him. Hug him. Kiss him. Do all the things. But I can’t because I have no idea where we stand. Given the week of silence, I’m guessing—nowhere good.
“Hey.” My greeting is hesitant.
He looks up from the bike and releases a sigh. His shoulders fall, and his chest deflates on a long breath.
“Hey.”
He doesn’t give me much. His voice is monotone, almost resigned.
“Can we talk?”
He nods and sets the metal tool down on his workbench. “Yeah. Come on.” He motions for me to follow him into the house.
“Do you want anything to drink?” he asks when we enter the kitchen.
I don’t, but I reply anyway. “Water’s fine.”
He grabs a glass from the cupboard and fills it with the filtered water from the refrigerator. It feels awkward. The room is filled with tension as my apprehension swells.
I came here thinking that I’d smooth over whatever it is that’s going on. Reassure him. Talk things out. This palpable unease has me losing confidence by the second.
He passes me, hands me the glass of water, and continues into the living room. I follow. The glass in my hand is so heavy. I set it down on a coaster on the side table and take a seat on the sofa. Ollie sits in the oversized chair facing me.
I’m not sure how to start or what to say. I’m not used to feeling like this around him, and I hate it. The past couple of months have been the best of my life. He’s become my home, my sanctuary. Now, he’s so far away. It’s impossible to find him. The man before me isn’t my Ollie. He’s someone completely different.
“Ollie.” I pause. “What’s going on? Why haven’t you called all week?”
He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and threads his fingers through his hair, clutching the back of his neck before raising his tormented gaze to me. Confusion lines his face, and if I’m not mistaken—sorrow.
“Quinn…” My name is a sigh, a sound of resignation. “I don’t think I can do the relationship thing. It’s not you. It’s me and my life. There’s only so much I can handle, and I have to do the right thing.”
The words leaving his lips are so foreign that I can barely register their meaning. At the same time, I knew they were coming. I didn’t want to believe it, but deep down, I already knew.
“The right thing? What does that mean? What changed? I thought everything was going great.”
“It was, but with my life, there’s always the inevitable fall after a high. The good doesn’t last, and it’s always followed by heartbreak. I can’t live like that.”
“You’re not making any sense. You have to give me more. Explain,” I urge.
He presses his lips in a line and pulls in a breath. “You know my role as sponsor and what that means for people like Clementine, Leo, and the others. I am literally the person standing between them and death. Here’s the thing. If addicts use, they die. Sometimes it takes years of abusing one’s body. Sometimes, it’s one moment of weakness or a bad batch of a drug that ends everything. I’m closer with these people than I am with anyone. I know everything about them—their fears, their passions, their deepest and darkest moments. I know it all, and it creates this bond between us that can’t be explained. I love them. I would do anything for them, and it’s my job to be that person in their lives—the one who fights to save them.”
Ollie’s bottom lip shakes, fighting off the emotion that’s building inside. He takes a moment, pulling his lip between his teeth. He’s visibly shaken up, and it hurts me. It kills me to see him like this.
His hauntingly beautiful blue stare finds mine again. “It’s not fair to you, Quinn. I know it’s not. Maybe, it’s not even fair to me. But I signed up to be this person. It’s my job, my purpose. I was so lost in you that I didn’t see the signs in Clementine. A part of me felt them, and deep down, I think I knew they were there, but I ignored them because I was caught up in you and us. I could’ve lost her. Had she made a different choice than the one she did, I could’ve lost her.” The emotion is thick in his voice.
“You didn’t lose her,” I say.
He shakes his head. “I could’ve. I have before. I lost Leo. I knew he was struggling, and I didn’t get through to him. I wasn’t able to save hi
m, and that’s on me.” His eyes fill with tears, and it breaks my heart.
I swipe away the tears that roll down my cheeks. “No, it’s not.” My words are loud and firm. “That is not on you.”
“It’s my fault. I failed him. You don’t know what that’s like…to have someone’s life or death on your conscience. It’s fucking hell, Quinn. The weight is too much. I can’t go through that again. My happiness isn’t worth someone’s life. It’s just not.”
“No,” I state, firm. “You listen to me. Leo’s death isn’t your fault. Whatever happened to Clementine isn’t your fault. They are responsible for their choices. You can’t live their lives for them. You’re only human, Ollie. You have limitations. You can’t be everything to everyone.” I shake my head and take a breath to compose myself. “You were so important to Leo.” My voice breaks as tears fall freely. “You did everything you could. You were always there for him. He loved you and would hate that you’re carrying this guilt. It wasn’t you. Maybe it wasn’t even Leo. It was the addiction, the abuse, and the demons. You can give everything, and in the end, some people aren’t meant for this world. I don’t have all the answers, but I’d like to think that Leo is happy now. He’s free from pain and torment. He’s watching his family from heaven with a smile on his face. Some demons are too strong to live with forever, and I think he lived with his as long as he could.”
We sit in silence save for the sounds of our broken hearts, the wounds from the loss of Leo freshly open.
“That isn’t on you.” My broken words come out barely a whisper.
“It feels like it is.”
I shake my head, and my lips turn up into a sad smile. “It’s not. I promise you, it’s not. You are the kindest, most caring and selfless man I know. You give your all for everyone you love, and that’s enough. Whether they make it or not, it’s enough. It has to be. Ultimately, it comes down to them and their choices, and you have to be content knowing you did your best. They have to choose to beat addiction. They have to choose to fight. You can’t do it for them. And if they give in and you lose them, you have to make peace with their decision and let it go. The alternative is a life of loneliness. You deserve to be happy, Ollie. You do. You’ve given twenty years of your life to service, to what? Make up for your wrongs? Yes, to help others, but at what cost?”
