Tripping on a Halo

by Alessandra Torre

  This hadn’t been easy for him. He acted like it was. His greeting to me was always light-hearted, and he always had a funny story to tell. At this point, I felt like I knew Nate and Bridget well. She seemed like a lot of fun and had continued to babysit Paige and Caleb on the occasional weekend date night. And Nate was dating Benta, which shocked both Declan. He didn’t think their relationship would last a year, but I was secretly rooting for them. Behind all of Nate’s humor and cockiness, there seemed to be a real sweetheart hidden away. Just like under Declan’s stoic and dry exterior, there was gold in his heart.

  Even Roger loved Declan. He came by last week, on his lunch break, and sat quietly by the window, eating his sandwich. He didn’t say much, but Roger never was a talker. He told me all about his meatball sub, and that he had really wanted a BLT, but that Ansley thought the bacon would offend me, given my love of all things pig. I’d smiled at that. He’d also told me that Declan had invited him to play on his softball team. Roger hadn’t had the heart to tell him no, which was unfortunate for Declan, since Roger’s attempt at sports typically looked like a seizure victim. Their first game was in a week, and I wished I could be there, for the comedic view of Roger swinging a bat, if nothing else. Poor Declan. I hoped he didn’t have anything riding on this season.

  The door opened, and I waited for a hint as to who it was. They’d already checked my vitals this morning, so it had to be a visitor, but it was too early to be Declan. I heard a cadence of clips across the floor and my throat grew thick, emotion swelling when I recognized the sound. I’d heard that sound before. Hundreds of times. I’d heard it when I was sleeping on the couch, the clicks across the wood floor my only warning before a wet snout would nudge my face. I’d heard it barrel down the hall, clippity-cloppiting, whenever the doorbell rang. I’d heard it jump beside my bed, the floor creaking in protest, in an attempt to get me to lift him up. It’s Mr. Oinks! He’s here, in the hospital!

  My entire body strained to reach for him, to touch him, to hug him. I heard Ansley and Declan’s quiet voices as they worked together to lift him onto the bed. “Easy,” Declan murmured. “Watch her cords.” The bed creaked and shimmied, and I could hear the gentle puff of his breaths. He was smelling me, and I hoped he could recognize me. I couldn’t possibly smell the same. I wasn’t wearing my perfume. My hair was washed by clinical hospital soap and not my normal Herbal Essence. I hadn’t just finished baking. I hadn’t been out in the yard, or wearing his favorite sweatshirt. I wasn’t me anymore, and it would break my heart if he couldn’t recognize me through the tubes and mask and hospital gown.

  Suddenly he grunted, excited, and I knew that grunt. That grunt was the sound of his happiness. It was the sound when he got close enough to something to recognize it, and I’ve never loved this half-blind pig more. I could hear the sheets rustling, the bed shaking, and Ansley started to cry. If I could move, if I could reach him, I would have done the same thing. I would have bawled. Inside, I was. I was sobbing and hugging Mr. Oinks, and both of them in turn. I was squeezing them tight and never letting go.

  Declan’s voice was suddenly in my ear, and he was whispering all the things that he always says to me just before he leaves. How much he loved me. How much he missed me. How, once I was able to get up, we had so many wonderful things to do. He had such big plans for us. He saw me in a way that I didn’t deserve to be seen, but that if I ever got out of this bed, I would strive to be.

  “Declan.” Ansley’s voice sounded different, and I stopped breaking down long enough to listen to her. “Declan,” she repeated. “Look.”

  I wished I could see what she was pointing at. Was it Mr. Oinks? Was he okay? Was it my monitors?

  Hard steps moved out of the room, and Declan didn’t say anything. Did he leave? Mr. Oinks was still happily grunting, and Ansley was saying my name, over and over again, and I couldn’t tell if she was happy or sad. Was this it? Was I dying? I struggled to move, struggled to do anything, but I couldn’t.

  More sounds came. A door slammed. Wheels rattled. More people, more voices, more steps. Mr. Oinks squealed, and I heard him hit the floor, his steps moving away as he squawked in protest. Everyone was saying my name—a chorus of voices—and I’d never been so frustrated. I wished someone would shut up with my name and TELL ME WHAT THE HELL WAS GOING ON.

  I fought for movement, strained to open my eyes and then, suddenly, I couldn’t breathe.

  37

  She was here. It was only for a moment, but it happened. Ansley saw the tear first, the lone drop of moisture running down her cheek. By the time Declan got the doctors, she had started to breathe on her own. They removed the tube and then put her back under. But she was here. She was coming back.

  There were few certainties in life. Declan knew every degree of angle it took to build a house. He knew that the Yankees, no matter what, weren’t ever going to put Chase Stern back in pinstripes. And he knew, had known from the very beginning, that Autumn Jones would wake up. Screw what the doctors had said. Screw every nurse who had gently urged him to “go out and live your life.” He had never stopped believing in her.

  And today, finally, it happened.

  She was as beautiful as ever, especially now they had removed her mask and tubes. Her hair had grown a lot in the last nine months. And she was thinner. Once she was out of here, they’d need to put some weight back on her bones. Lots of protein-rich meals were in order. Lots of stories to tell, things to catch up on, backrubs to give, feelings to share. And kisses. Lots of kisses.

  If he’d ever wondered about his feelings for her, about whether it was purely lust or a fleeting attraction, his resolve had been strengthened during the nine months of her coma. Every day had been a prayer. A plea. He’d fallen for Autumn Jones on a downtown street, over a deli sandwich, and in the woods. But he’d given her his heart during those nine months, and he would have sat by her bed for another nine years.

  Now, watching her through the glass, Ansley’s hand gripping hers, the two sisters talking, he was filled with the panic that he might lose her again, in a different way this time. Rejection. Ansley leaned over, hugging Autumn, and then glanced at him, smiling. She moved out to the hall and held open the door for him. “She’s all yours.”

  If only she was. He stepped in and quietly closed the door behind him. She watched as he approached, her gaze holding his, and he couldn’t hold back his smile as he got closer. She was alive. In the light of that fact, it didn’t matter if she ever grew to love him.

  “Hey.” Her voice was raspy, and he was reminded that they weren’t supposed to tax her. The doc had given strict orders to keep conversations to a minimum and to give her time to rest.

  He sat beside her bed and fought the urge to pick up her hand. He had to remind himself that, though he had spent nine months falling in love with her, she was still stuck, one week into their relationship. Back then, she’d fought tooth and nail over anything other than a platonic relationship. Although… his mouth tugged into a grin… that hadn’t exactly been their MO. He schooled his thoughts away from the memories and back to the present. “Did the doctor tell you about your brain?”

  She nodded. That morning, they had performed an MRI and discovered that her brain had healed, fresh tissue filling the divot left by the cyst removal. It was a miracle, one assisted by her unlimited funds and world-class care. He had tortured himself endlessly over his selfish frustration at her inheritance and his insecurities around it. That inheritance had saved her life, and he was eternally grateful for its existence.

  “Don’t cry.” She reached out for his face and he leaned into her, her touch soft as she brushed away his tears. He swallowed at the gentle contact, and struggled with his emotions, the urge to kiss her, to squeeze her, to tell her all of his feelings … it took every ounce of his resolve to stay in place, and he let out a shudder of breath, his hand tightening on her bed’s rail.

  “So…” she said quietly. “No Guardian Angel superpowers.”

&nbs
p; He watched her closely. “No. Just normal Autumn Jones awesomeness.”

  She smiled weakly. Started to speak, then gestured for the cup of water beside her bed. He tried to hold it for her and smiled when she batted it out of his hand with a scowl. She took a sip, then swallowed, passing it back to him. “Doesn’t sound nearly as cool.”

  “It’s way cooler,” he responded. “But it wasn’t bullshit.”

  She raised her brows at him in question.

  “I think you did have Guardian Angel superpowers,” he said gruffly. “At least for a short period of time.” He set down the cup and picked up her hand, bringing it to his mouth and kissing the back of it. “You saved me.”

  She rolled her eyes and he squeezed her hand, getting her attention.

  “You did.” He turned her hand over and kissed her wrist. It was an act he had done almost daily, his lips brushing over the delicate skin as her hand had hung, limp and unresponsive. Now, her fingers curled around his, tugging, and the simple act broke a dam in his control. He swallowed hard, fighting back tears, and leaned forward, trying to hide the emotion behind another kiss to her wrist.

  She had saved him. She had created them. She had wormed her way into his life, and then his heart, and broken him open in a hundred different ways. Gave him love and chaos and color in a world that had always been precise angles of gray.

  She surprised him by patting the bed beside her. “Come here.”

  “I don’t think it’s big enough for both of us.” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, fighting for control. She patted the bed again, and the look in her eye didn’t allow for argument.

  He was careful, getting into the bed, taking the time to gingerly move her to the edge before cautiously climbing in. The minute he got into place, he gathered her against him. “I just want to make sure you don’t fall off.”

  She didn’t respond, resting her head against his shoulder, and it was a good sign.

  He curled his arm around her and closed his eyes, desperate to tell her everything of the last nine months and yet, not ruin a second of this perfect moment. “Did you know…” he said slowly, “that a lawyer in Toronto once fell to his death from the twenty-fourth floor of a building while demonstrating that the building’s windows were unbreakable?”

  She turned her head, looking up to him. “I did.”

  “Oh.” He sighed, crestfallen.

  She gently poked at his chest. “You told me that.”

  “I did?” He frowned, his propensity to collect useless death stories a habit picked up after she fell into her coma.

  She curled against him, one weak leg wrapping over his, her arms stealing around his waist. “Can I ask you a favor?” she whispered.

  He swallowed a thick lump that rose in his throat. “Anything,” he said huskily.

  “Read to me.”

  He glanced over, their paperback in its normal spot on her bedside table, his dry-cleaning receipt holding their place. Careful not to jostle her, he reached over and picked up the worn novel, flipping back to the first chapter and clearing his throat. When he started on the first line, she stopped him.

  “No.” She ran her fingers over the spine, working open the book to the place where the receipt was. “Here.”

  “But you won’t understand it,” he protested.

  “I want to know the secret,” she whispered.

  The secret? He looked at the book dumbly, the new release still topping the bestseller charts. She couldn’t have read it before, wouldn’t know about a secret unless… hope, that evil and cruel mistress, sprang in his chest. “You know this book?” he asked carefully.

  She nodded, her eyes on his, the corners of her mouth tugging upward. She looked like a child on Christmas, one dying to open a present, their anticipation spilling out. “I heard you… reading it to me.”

  He thought of the story of the lawyer’s death, her declaration that he had told her the fact. Of course he had, months ago, in this same room, to her prostrate form.

  She had heard him. He blinked, trying to focus on her face, as all of the possibilities locked into place. His arms tightened on her and she wheezed in protest. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, planting a kiss on her head. “I just… do you remember?” He looked at her and her mouth widened into a slow and happy smile.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Everything.”

  “So, you know that I love you.” He felt shy saying the words, his mind tripping through all that he had said, all that he had confessed, during these months.

  “Not a big deal.” She lifted one shoulder in a weak shrug. “I’m easy to love.”

  He chuckled, pulling her head toward him and kissing the top of it. “Yes, Autumn, you are.”

  She dropped her head on his shoulder and nudged the book in his direction. He picked it back up, his mind ricocheting in every direction as he opened the paperback and tucked the bookmark into the back cover. Settling deeper into the bed, he found their place on the page and cleared his throat, preparing to read. She knew everything. The events of the last nine months. The project he’d finished with Nate. Paige’s missing tooth debacle. His dreams and hopes and love for her.

  “Wait.” She gripped his shirt and looked up at him. She tried to pull up higher on his chest, but was too weak to do so. He tilted down, toward her mouth, a question in his eyes. She nodded, and he gently pressed his lips to hers, his body trembling in an attempt to keep his feelings in check. It was a soft, sweet kiss, four or five mini-kisses in one, and when they parted, she smiled. “I love you, Declan Moss.”

  She loved him. Could she? Could her own feelings have developed at the same time his did? Maybe this was drugs—a cocktail of chemicals they were pumping into her IV to keep her brain in check. Would she remember this, or all of the last nine months, when she woke up tomorrow?

  He swallowed every fear and looked into her eyes. God, he’d missed those eyes. “I love you, too.” His voice broke a little on the words, and he swallowed, holding back every other thing he’d ever said to her. They had the rest of their lives for those confessions, and chances were, she’d already heard them from him a hundred times before. He pressed a soft kiss on her forehead and then brought her into his chest, relaxing back on the bed.

  Then, together, they discovered Jocelyn’s husband’s secret.

  Epilogue

  “I’m not putting a penis on a cake. I don’t care what sort of significance you think it has.” A very pregnant Ansley glared at me, a spatula in hand.

  “I’m not asking you to put the penis on the cake, I’m asking you to put the penis in the cake.” I turned from the counter and looked to Declan for moral support. “Tell her she has to put a penis in it.”

  He raised his hands in surrender. “I’m staying out of this. I have a strict policy against touching any penis that isn’t my own.”

  “Ew.” Ansley crinkled her nose.

  “I suppose you’d prefer that he touches other people’s penises?” I asked dryly.

  “Can you all stop saying that word? Please?” Roger stood in the doorway, a bag of party decorations in hand, and gave us a pained look.

  “I can say the word penis. I was in a coma,” I informed him primly, and everyone in the room groaned. “Whaaaat?” I glared at them.

  “You can’t pull out the coma card anymore.” Declan tugged at the back of my jeans, pulling me into his arms. “Remember? We all voted and agreed.”

  “I didn’t agree,” I reminded him. “Maybe you couldn’t see my weak little hand raised in the anti-vote, but it was up there. Hospital band on and everything.”

  He wrapped his arms around me and bent over, pressing a kiss against my collarbone. “Your vote didn’t count.”

  “That’s bull crap,” I said indignantly. “I—”

  He silenced me with a kiss, spinning me around and pressing his lips to mine in a fierce lip lock that sucked every relevant thought out of my head. Someone threw a party hat at us and Declan blocked it with one han
d, using the other to keep me tightly gripped to him. When we came up for air, I couldn’t remember my middle name, much less what we’d been discussing.

  “So, it’s decided,” Ansley said. “No penis in the cake my children are going to have pieces of.”

  I whirled around to speak and Declan clamped his hand over my mouth. “I have another place you can put a penis,” he whispered, his breath tickling the edge of my ear. “I’ll give you three guesses where.”

  “GROSS,” Ansley said. “WE CAN HEAR YOU, you know.”

  “The garbage disposal?” I guessed, painting my face into a mask of innocent inquiry.

  He winced, his hand moving to protect my favorite organ in the entire world. “Nevermind. I rescind the offer.”

  I grinned at him, and he straightened, his teeth sawing over his bottom lip as he eyed me. That’s all it took between us. One long look, and a playful smile could ignite into wet panties and stiff arousal. He tugged me to him and I ducked around his hold, jogging down the hall and laughing as he took up the chase.

  He caught up to me in the laundry room, and backed me up against the dryer, his hands hooking around my ass and pulling me into his kiss. “I love you.” His words slipped out between deep kisses, our heads angling for better positions, mouths frantic, hands groping and skating over every piece of each other we could access.

  “I love you too.” I had my hands in his hair, fisting the thick strands, when someone knocked on the door.

  “Auttie?” Paige’s plaintive voice rang out from the other side of the door. “Declan?”

  I yanked my shirt back into place. “Just a second!” I called out, giving Declan a quick zipper and bulge check before opening the door and offering my niece a breezy smile.