“Did you intentionally crash?”
“Of course not, Ms.—”
“Were you also in the accident, or was she alone in the vehicle?”
“Why are you asking me this stuff?” Gesturing to his wheelchair and his various injuries, he exclaimed, “Clearly, I was in the car.”
Ms. Vida maintained her calm demeanor. “Were you trying to kill yourself and failed?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Then stop mourning your miracle. Somehow, you lived and she did not. Neither of those things were under your control. Her death could have been a blessing for her just as your living is one for you. Those answers are not for you to know.”
Micah understood the point Ms. Vida was trying to make. He didn’t know if he agreed with all of it, but he could see where she was going. “I’m being ungrateful. It just really sunk in when I saw those papers. She was really young, Ms. Vida. Who knows what kind of woman she could have been? I have no memory of her. She could have been an engineer, a nurse, or an architect like me. I hate to think that my actions shortchanged her.”
“Somehow, you must find a way to forgive yourself. I cannot tell you how to do that, but I trust that in time you will figure it out.”
“I’ll have to take your word for it. I cannot remember a time I felt this low.”
“I do not doubt that, but you must move forward. Live. If nothing else, you should have a greater appreciation for the fragility of life. Enjoy the time you have, Micah.”
“What am I going to do without you, Ms. Vida? I wish I could take you with me to rehab.”
Ms. Vida lowered her glasses and winked at Micah. “I am not going anywhere, Micah. Do not worry about that.”
“I don’t understand. Do you moonlight at the rehab facility or something?” Micah questioned jokingly.
“I am officially retired.”
Micah leaned back in his chair, genuinely surprised. “Really? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I had planned to do so, but I was waiting.”
“Waiting for what?”
“For this moment. I loved being a nurse, and I do not regret one minute I spent on the job,” Ms. Vida offered, looking around the room until she rested her eyes again on Micah. “But I think I finally found something that I may love a little more.”
“Ah ha! Ms. Vida, I knew you loved me!” Micah stated playfully. “I love you, too. I am glad I won’t have to say goodbye to you. I am tired of losing people I love. Let’s do this, Ms. Vida!”
Ms. Vida smiled, flashing her perfect pearls. “Let us do this.”
Knock, knock, knock.
Dr. Ramvi, the physician in charge of Micah’s care, strolled into the room. Closing the door gently behind him, he turned to face Ms. Vida and Micah, tucking his large hands into the pockets of his white coat. “Ms. Vida, I heard you’re leaving us?” Ms. Vida nodded. “Do I have you, Micah, to blame for losing this jewel?”’
“It was news to me as well, but I’m grateful.”
“As you should be. Not every day that happens.”
“I am fortunate.”
“I suppose it is fitting, all things considered. I came by just to recap and check on you before transport arrives.”
“I am feeling better. I am see-sawing emotionally, but physically I feel okay. I guess. Soreness, hurts to breathe a little.”
Dr. Ramvi furrowed his brow, unifying his thick eyebrows, creating one long line across the bottom of his forehead. Placing a fist under his chin, Dr. Ramvi gave Micah his undivided attention, supplying a range of um-hmm’s, and I see’s while he spoke.
“Micah, the next phase of your recovery will not be easy. Your injuries were pretty significant, but I have seen much worse. You were still very fortunate. I reviewed your most recent CT scans, and the swelling from your TBI has gone down considerably. You were unconscious for several hours, suffered memory loss around the event and likely time extending beyond those few days, but without any family, it was just too difficult for us to verify that. The soreness in your chest area will fade as the lung puncture heals. Fortunately, you didn’t suffer any broken bones, but you will experience some weakness in your limbs, primarily the lower part of your right leg where you had some significant tissue damage. I propose that a few weeks of physical therapy will fix that. Do you have any questions for me?”
“I know you removed a rib. I’m still not sure what I should expect from that.”
“It’s different for everyone. Mobility will be limited during recovery, but that isn’t out of the ordinary. Patients have reported some discomfort when that space where the rib was is touched, but I don’t expect anything beyond that. The facility knows to contact me immediately if a complication should arise. We will proceed accordingly, and that goes for your leg as well.”
“I suppose we are hoping nothing goes wrong.”
“Unfortunately, the uniqueness of our bodies prohibits any guarantees, but optimism is a key component in healing. Hope heals too.”
Micah stole a glance at Ms. Vida, feeling more confident in his ability to invest productively into his future. It was something he had not felt since he first took on the 508 Park Avenue Project. After several phone calls, he was no closer to recovering the time he was missing than he had been before them.
“How long before my memory returns? I contacted my employer—my ex-employer, that is—and I was informed that I had tendered my resignation almost two months ago. I have no recollection of doing that. My girlfriend has not contacted me, and her number is no longer in service. I don’t remember anything happening there, either.”
“Micah, these things vary. To be frank, your memory may not return at all. Results vary. Your condition is very rare, Micah. The fact that you are able to speak in such a concise manner, your cognitive ability at this stage is phenomenal, even with the memory loss. You should consider yourself very lucky.”
“I do. I just . . . I do.”
“Don’t worry. You will have an excellent team of therapists around you and one of the best nurses that I have ever had the pleasure to work with. You, my man, are in great hands.”
Chapter 35
Michelle caught a glimpse of Armand standing in the kitchen as soon as she stepped inside the house. Damn it. She had hoped to avoid him. His normal schedule had him elsewhere.
“Michelle?”
Pausing in the doorway, Michelle contemplated doing her best Misty Copeland impersonation, pulling a half-pirouette and exiting back out the door. She was running low on clothes and had come by to widen her current selection. There was only so much she had been able squeeze into her duffle bag when she stopped by a few days after the incident, but this morning Grayson had graciously cleared a drawer for her. It was a gesture that prompted her to make this impromptu clothes snatch.
“MK?” Armand’s voice, with the whistle’s power, dizzied her senses, smacking her with the comfort of a mother’s kiss intermingled with the disappointment of a hard-fought loss.
Her mind shifted as her location sank in. Brianna had been on her left, ass up, bent over the table. Armand was behind her, fucking their future away. This was the spot where she had witnessed her life explode. Hurt attacked her brittle defenses, nearly sending her to her knees. Wobbling, she moved forward with a new mission: to get everything she could, fully intending to avoid ever having to come back.
“Michelle, can we talk?” Armand asked as vacated the kitchen, walking toward her.
“I have nothing to say to you.” I probably could have come in through the back door, gotten my things, and managed to leave undetected, she thought. Hindsight was fucking stupid.
“Michelle, please, I am only asking for a minute.”
An avalanche of pain descended upon Michelle, freezing her limbs. Under its weight, she struggled to keep her shaky legs beneath her. She stared at the carpet, avoiding the brokenness etched in his eyes. Regret strained his voice, twisting his sound like a wet towel, wringing it out, leaving it ragged wit
h tears. His rasp tugged at her will, prodding her to open up to him, but Michelle could not. She was unable to tear the love from the hurt; the promise from the betrayal. They were intimately linked in her mind, and she didn’t want to hear from him.
“Go away.” Making use of her legs again, Michelle trudged toward the hall.
Stepping in front of her, Armand temporarily blocked her path. “I have been trying to reach you for nearly two weeks.”
Pushing Armand to the side, Michelle stormed past him, heading for the bedroom. Each word he spoke felt like a direct hit to her heart, like he’d taken his fist and punched her with all his might. His sound, the inflection, the love in his tone that she’d learned to depend on—a tune so familiar that she could pick his cough out of a crowd—now replayed as a twisted part of her worst nightmare come true. His moans filled her ears. She couldn’t hear anything else, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could stand to hear him speak.
“I can’t talk to you. Just leave me alone.”
Armand, following closely behind her, persisted. “Michelle, tell me what to do.”
Snatching open the nearest drawer, Michelle grabbed a fistful of clothes and threw them in the bag. She kept most of her grooming items atop the dresser. In one sweeping motion, she pushed everything into the duffle bag she held in a shaky hand.
“Please, just tell me how to fix this. Fix us, please!”
Tears clouded her vision as she lost her composure to the fury that had been building since she turned her key in the front door. Mindlessly grabbing clothes out of various drawers and chucking them into the bag, Michelle hadn’t even noticed that she was on Armand’s side of the dresser they shared. The clothes were his.
“That’s my shit. What are you doing? Wait!” Armand yelled, reaching his hand to stop her.
Swiping his hand, pushing him back on his heels, Michelle ignored him. “Leave me alone!” she spouted in between breaths, desperate for this exchange to end.
“MK! Stop! Damn it! I am fuckin’ sorry!” Armand hollered.
Michelle pulled open the next drawer, throwing those clothes in the duffle, too. “I hate you.” She wished he would go away and let her get her things in peace. Being in his presence brought everything back—the love she couldn’t release and the pain of his betrayal. It was like being given your favorite dessert along with electric shock, over and over again.
“No, you don’t.”
Halting her efforts, she dropped her duffle as she turned to address her ex-fiancé. “Don’t tell me how I feel! You fucked my sister!”
“Michelle . . . I . . .”
“My fuckin’ sister! My sister! Twin sister! Out of all the bitches available to you, bitches I have seen you with . . . you chose my twin?”
“It’s not that simple, Michelle! It . . . wasn’t like that. It’s not what you think. Just . . . wait!”
“I cannot un-see it! It’s like a fuckin’ tattoo on my eyes, Armand! I can’t run! Everywhere I look, I see my heart breaking over and over again!”
“Just let me explain.”
“Explain what? Explain how you are going to return the last two years of my life you stole from me? Explain how this ring I accepted belongs at the bottom of a Cracker Jack box? Explain what? What, Armand?”
“Michelle Kaye . . . just . . . please, I love you.”
“I fuckin’ hate you! The both of you are dead to me!” Michelle fumed.
He moved closer to her, filling her lungs with his signature Polo Double Black cologne. “It was messed up what we did. What I did. It was a mistake. A mistake, Michelle,” Armand insisted, reaching out for her hand.
“Don’t touch me! Don’t you ever fuckin’ touch me! Just go away, Armand!” Michelle shrieked, shrinking away from his grasp. Her body shook so badly she felt a migraine coming on. Her hands vibrated before her eyes. The room began to spin around her.
“I love you, MK. I love you. Let me fix it. Let me try, please.”
Tears continuously streamed down her face. She couldn’t do this with him. Every second she stood there increased her hurt. Her head felt heavy, her chest tightening like someone was winding it. This was too much. Her thoughts traveled as Armand continued rattling a flimsy defense of his actions. His lips were moving for several minutes, but Michelle was no longer listening. Deciding to leave, she abruptly tuned back into him.
“I put Brianna out. She isn’t here anymore. Come home.”
Disgust framed her face. “Putting my sister out in the street is supposed to make me feel better? Is that it? The fuck is wrong with you?”
Armand narrowed his eyes, clenching his teeth as he exploded. “Fuck this shit! You mad when I bring her in, mad when I put her out. I can’t win you with you!” Shaking a finger at her, he continued, “I can’t ever fuckin’ do shit right!”
Michelle’s body shook as she absorbed his words.
“Tell me what to fuckin’ do, Michelle! What the fuck do you want from me?”
Matching his intensity, Michelle shouted back, “Die! Just fuckin’ die! Take that fuckin’ gun and blow your muthafuckin’ brains out!” Blistering tears coated her cheeks.
The request zapped whatever air was left out of the room. Armand shrank into the hurt he couldn’t hide. Her words had wounded him. That hurt, too.
“I need to go.” Not bothering to pick her bag up from the floor, she walked briskly out the back door leading to their private patio. Michelle, on the verge of completely falling apart, sprang into a full-blown sprint when she realized Armand was still following her. Reclaiming her days as a track star in the 200-meter dash, she hugged the curve, rounding the corner of her house toward her idling Audi.
Grayson, who had been waiting in the car, spotted her coming around the corner and quickly exited the car to help her. Michelle ran as fast as she could into Grayson’s open arms. He held her until her heart slowed down to a normal speed. Then Grayson, paying no attention to Armand, led Michelle the short distance to the car and placed her in the passenger seat.
Grayson tried to comfort her, but Michelle was inconsolable. Pain ripped through her body, her mind, her soul. She couldn’t think of what she had done to deserve to be betrayed by everyone she loved. Did any of them truly love her? Her words were indiscernible, sobs transforming her words into an infant’s attempt at communication.
Kissing her forehead, Grayson wiped her tears with the inside of his hand, offering her some assurance. Satisfied that she was calm for the moment, Grayson closed the door, rising to his feet, only to turn to find a seething Armand standing a few feet away.
Armand shifted his weight from one foot to the other, sizing him up. He didn’t know what to make of the situation other than what he saw in front of him. He didn’t like what he saw one bit. He continued to move in Grayson’s direction, intent on getting the answers to the questions in his head.
Grayson did not cower in fear or show any weakness at all, sensing his vibe shift into something else, something cold, steely. Michelle attempted to peer around him but could not. Grayson stood in front of her door. His frame blocked her view of Armand and prevented her from using that door to exit the vehicle. Her gut told her that by standing there, he intended to send a message to Armand. There was no reason for them to still be there. He could have put her in the car and driven away, but he didn’t. He took his time, kneeling before her, kissing her, offering her comfort, all while Armand watched.
She hadn’t told Grayson the specifics of everything, but he knew that Armand had been unfaithful to her, and his response to the news had not been pleasant. She would not be surprised if Grayson used the moment to taunt Armand. He spoke often about “teaching guys like him a lesson.” As much as she fancied the idea of her ex-fiancé being clobbered by the hands of a former Golden Gloves champion, she didn’t want Grayson getting into any trouble. Her hysterics were replaced with silent prayers for a peaceful end to the standoff as she looked on from the car.
Her apathy for Armand’s well-bein
g only worsened when he finally broke the silence.
“What the fuck are you lookin’ at?”
Michelle rolled her eyes, irritated with Armand’s antics. She wanted to leave, but as usual, he expected her to put her feelings aside and tend to his. She had no room in her life for his opinions on her business and could not care less about what Armand thought of her relationship with Grayson. She hadn’t so much as looked at another man in nearly three years. Grayson sprang from circumstance, but Armand had been casually screwing her sister for who knows how long—right under her nose, no less. He made all the right moves to save Brianna, but he was making all the wrong ones trying to save their relationship. She needed space, and he seemed hell-bent on not giving her any.
“Michelle is upset. She is my priority. Understand?” Grayson stated. “I don’t want any problems here.”
“You are not driving off with my fiancée,” Armand growled, flexing the muscles in his neck as he spoke.
Grayson reaffirmed his position. “I am leaving.” He lowered his voice a few registers. “She does not want to be here, and you cannot keep her here.”
Armand took a few steps toward Grayson. Grayson raised a hand to stop him.
“Now, I would like to do this peacefully. Michelle is under enough strain. This is unnecessary. Think about her. Consider her.”
Armand arrested his movement, pondering his next move. “Michelle, I just wanted to talk to you. That’s all. Two years cannot end like this.”
Michelle remained silent.
“Try another day, all right? She doesn’t want this today. If you love her, you won’t upset any more than you already have,” Grayson said.
“No offense to you, but this is between me and Michelle. This is not your business.”
“This is between you and me. You are talking to me.”
“Fuck you.”
Grayson laughed lightly. “That is the problem with dudes like you. No respect.”
“I don’t know you.”
“That’s right. You don’t know me, so do both of us a favor and step the fuck back.”
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