Entangle

by Veronica Larsen

  “Leo.” She places a hand on my chest and it prompts me to meet her eyes. Her words are kind and heartfelt when she speaks. “Your family’s money might have fallen on your lap when you were born, but just because you take what is given to you doesn’t mean that you have to let it define you. What you choose to do with it is what defines you. You can do amazing things with it; that can be your way of earning it. Because it’s there whether you choose to acknowledge it or not.”

  I don’t know why, but her words shift something into place inside of me, in just the right away. Things I’ve told myself but needed to hear from someone else to believe them.

  “That’s why I wanted to be an engineer. It felt like redemption, somehow. To build things in other countries, communities, places for people to live. But I ended up getting sucked into the family business. It was supposed to be temporary, part of a deal from my father. He paid for our college and we worked for the business for three years. I worked there through college and ended up staying six years after.”

  “Was it so bad?”

  I shake my head. “Not at all, I was really good at my job. And I worked my way up the old-fashioned way. No one could say I was riding on my name.” I pause and realize with a pang of embarrassment how long I’ve been talking. She keeps asking me questions and avoiding mine. “What about you? Any daddy issues?”

  “I don’t see you ever riding on your name.”

  “Why do you keep doing that?” I ask her.

  She crinkles her eyebrows. “Doing what?”

  “Avoiding my questions. I asked you about your daddy issues.”

  She presses her body against mine and I feel her scent stir my cock awake.

  “I don't have any. He wasn't around,” she says, bringing the surface of her lips to mine.

  “And your mother?”

  “Do you really want to talk about my mother right now?” She starts kissing me and just like that I’m hard again. She rolls onto of me and starts kissing my neck.

  “I don’t.” I say, “But—”

  She breaks away. “Shhh. I’m trying to distract you.”

  Her kisses start trailing down my neck and toward my chest.

  I hear a cell phone buzzing repeatedly.

  “It’s my phone,” Alexis says into my chest, though she makes no attempt to reach it.

  Her phone gives off a single buzz. Someone left a voicemail. I think of the guy I saw her with at the pizzeria. Then I push his fucking face out of my head.

  “Must be important,” she muses. But she sounds unconcerned as her tongue traces circles in my lower abdomen. “They left a message.”

  “Go look.”

  She shakes her head.

  I open my mouth to speak, only to shut it again. I shouldn’t harp on the subject, but I can’t help it. “Do you remember the new terms of our agreement?”

  “You mean the terms you extorted out of me?”

  She grabs my cock in her hands and I take in a sharp breath.

  “I don’t think extortion via schlong will hold up in a court of law.”

  “Neither would the agreement.”

  I resist the urge to blink and go very still instead.

  She seems to know what I’m thinking because she quickly says, “That’s not what I’m saying. I really don’t want to sleep with anyone else. What I mean is, you didn’t screw that choice out of me. I made that choice myself, the very first time we slept together.”

  “Oh?”

  I’m not sure what else I can say. Because I’m not sure what she is saying. And I’m not sure what I want her to be saying.

  “I’ve just never wanted someone the way I want you.” She begins to lick me in a slow and deliberate way. “I thought one time would be enough to get rid of that itch, but the itch moved somewhere else. And I realize now there is no getting rid of it, there’s only scratching it.”

  “That’s a beautiful metaphor,” I say. My voice is suddenly icy and I’m not sure why. “I’m glad I can be your back scratcher.”

  She props her head up and maybe she notices something in my eyes because her own eyes begin to narrow. Whatever she is about to say is interrupted by the sound of her phone buzzing again.

  “Jesus, who in the world…” She leans over and grabs her phone. When her eyes fall on the screen, her eyebrows furrow and she whispers to herself, “Giles?”

  I really hope Giles is a brother she forgot to mention because she brightens up into a smile and quickly answers the phone.

  “Giles! Is it time—” she cuts off abruptly and her smile slowly falls away as she listens. All I hear is a man’s voice speaking in jumbled words. She goes sheet white and the phone nearly slips from her hand. I sit up, watching her. Her voice trembles slightly, “Wait, Giles, slow down. Is she—” Giles must interrupt her again because she falls quiet and shuts her eyes. “Hey, everything is going to be alright. That’s the best hospital in the county. Yes. Yes, of course. I’ll be right there. Yeah, no—don’t worry, I’ll figure it out. Just stay with her. And, Giles? Thank you. For calling me.”

  She hangs up and holds the phone to her chest, staring into space for a few seconds.

  “Alexis, what is it?”

  She blinks at me, remembering where she is. Something snaps into place within her because she jumps off the bed and rushes into the bathroom to get her clothes. She returns seconds later, getting dressed as she speaks. “I’ve got to go. My best friend gave birth.” She looks away and I know she doesn’t want me to see her expression. “That was her husband...He says there were some complications.”

  “Let’s go, I’ll drive,” I say, getting up from the bed.

  “No, please. Leo, you really don’t have to.”

  I hold her gaze and something keeps her eyes fixed on mine.

  “Alexis. I’m coming with you.”

  XXI

  Alexis

  Sterile floors, white walls, people in blue scrubs walking past us. My surroundings are a blur as we make our way to Giles. I find him where he told me he would be, sitting along a short set of gray chairs that line a portion of the hallway. His elbows are propped up on his knees and his head is in his hands. When he looks up at me, I notice dark shadows line the skin underneath his eyes as though he hasn’t slept in days. I rush to him and hug him without hesitation like it’s something we’ve done before, although it isn’t.

  “God, Giles, are you alright? Do you need anything?”

  I ask about him first, because I know he’s the last one anyone else is thinking of at the moment. He looks away from my critiquing gaze toward the nurses’ station, a crescent-shaped desk farther up the hallway.

  “I’m fine.” His voice is steady but he rubs his eyes, fighting away fatigue or perhaps something else. “She’s in surgery now.”

  I try to find other familiar faces around us, but don’t see any.

  “Where is everyone?”

  “Julia’s mother and the others are down in the main waiting area. I wanted to be here.” He nods toward a set of double doors that are marked ‘Authorized Personnel Only’ and says, “I want to see the doctors the second they step out to the hall.”

  “What happened?” I ask.

  Giles looks past me, narrows his eyes in confusion and I remember Leo is standing behind me.

  “Oh, sorry, Giles—this is Leo. Leo this is Giles.”

  They shake hands and Leo says, “I’m sorry to hear about your wife.”

  Giles nods at him distractedly and turns his attention back to me. “She went into preterm labor, which wasn’t a big deal because she was already thirty-seven weeks along. But something went wrong after she delivered, there was massive hemorrhaging. They couldn’t figure out what was causing it so they ended up taking her into surgery. They’ve been in there for an hour. The doctor said they might have to do a hysterectomy.” He clears his throat before continuing, but his voice is just as hoarse. “She won’t be happy. She wanted one more baby. We always said we’d have four.” He pauses a
nd looks down. I should say something. Anything. But I’m not good with words and everything I feel seems to press my lips closed. Giles doesn’t seem to notice and goes on, “She’s lost a lot of blood and there were other complications. The doctor is worried. He doesn’t say it, but I can tell. He can’t bring himself to tell me everything is going to be fine.”

  His tone is clinical and almost detached, but his physical reaction tells a different story. Looking at him weighs me down by the gut. In the pain etched into every line on his face, he reveals how much he loves Julia.

  I’ve always known that they love each other. But after three kids and seven years of marriage, you forget to see the romance and you start seeing the monotonous machine keeping things going.

  Tonight, Giles looks every bit a man on the brink of losing a part of himself. I want to look away from him; his eyes are bearing into mine now, looking for something to grab onto. I’ve got nothing to offer him and I hate myself for it. I’m disgusted at the discomfort I’m feeling in witnessing his pain.

  My voice shakes slightly when I ask, “And the baby?”

  Giles gives me a half-hearted smile, “Colton’s doing good. The labor part went perfect; he was born healthy. The hemorrhaging didn’t start until after.” He rubs his eyes again and adds, “But they’re keeping him under observation to make sure no issues come up. You want to see him?”

  I’m not sure why, but the question stuns me. Something about seeing Colton, a new life, while his mother—my best friend—fights for her own, feels like stepping into an icy bath. I swallow back my cowardice.

  “Of course I want to see him.”

  “He’s in the nursery, a few floors up. Come on, I’ll take you.”

  He starts walking down the hall in the opposite direction.

  I turn to Leo, who frowns down at me. “Do you want me to wait for you down here? In the waiting area?”

  I know I shouldn’t drag Leo around the hospital. I should tell him to go home, to get rest. He shouldn’t feel obligated to stay. It’s Thursday night, inching toward midnight. But something in his cool blue eyes envelops my fears inside of a cocoon. I realize if he leaves, I will feel everything in full force. And I don’t want to. These cold, sterile walls seem warmer when I feel him close to me.

  “Come with me?”

  “Of course,” he says, pulling his arm around my shoulder.

  When we get to the hospital nursery, Giles speaks to the nurse for a few minutes while Leo and I stand in front of a window partition. My eyes drift over a row of clear, plastic basinets that line the other side. The babies are positioned so that they are perfectly are visible to the onlookers behind the glass.

  There are blue and pink cards taped to the ends of the basinets, each with names written on them. I find Colton immediately. He’s the second to last baby in the row. The brown-haired, puffy-faced, little human is swaddled, like all the rest, in a white blanket of pink and blue stripes.

  The baby to his left lets out small whines while most of the others sleep. Colton is the only one with his eyes open, squinting at his surroundings like he’s not sure how he got there. He’s one of the smaller babies, and while he isn’t the only one fighting his swaddle, he is the only one that manages to break his arms free. His arms wail around in front of him, his hands balled up into tiny fists that pump into the air in an uncoordinated way. I point him out to Leo, who comes closer and glides an arm around my waist.

  I stare at Colton, not believing how tiny and defenseless he looks. Not believing it possible that hours before, he wasn’t part of this world. At the blink of an eye he’s here. An innocent. Perfect and miniature. With thoughts no one could guess and eyebrows furrowed as though lost within them. I wonder if, on some level, the connection from the womb is still intact and he can feel his mother’s struggle in the operating room.

  A cold grip closes over the inside of my throat. His mother could die and he will never know what an amazing person she is. He will never know how badly she wanted a son or how long it took her to come up with the perfect name for him. Or that she spent weeks getting his nursery ready. He wouldn’t remember her voice, though I saw her speaking to him through her belly many times.

  And her face? He likely never laid eyes on her and she might die before she gets to see him. Her absence in his life will create a void, in which things he deserves to know and experience will never get a chance to settle.

  I turn away from the glass, slide out from Leo’s arm, and start walking away. I don’t know where I’m going and the sight before me is blurred by the small puddles that lap over onto my cheeks.

  “Alexis, wait.”

  I hear Leo coming after me, but I pick up my pace and turn the corner. A sort of panic comes over me now. The thought of him seeing me in this state compels me to break out into a jog as I reach the end of the short hall.

  Stupid.

  There’s nothing here, only the entrance to a maintenance closet off to the side and a small table in the corner.

  It’s a dead end.

  I back into the wall and grab hold of the rail that runs along it. I’m staring at the floor because I have nowhere else I can look. The air around me prickles my skin as he approaches me.

  “Hey,” he says. His hands rise to my cheeks but I keep my eyes cast downward. “Hey, come here.”

  I feel his body envelop mine. Not in the sensual way it usually does, but in a careful and endearing way that makes my breath hitch in my chest.

  Get it together, Lex.

  “It’s not fair.”

  The voice that speaks this is small and nearly broken, a voice that only vaguely resembles my own.

  “I know,” he says, hugging me tight. “But your friend is going to be fine. The baby looks strong and healthy and everything’s going to be okay.”

  I shake my head. He doesn’t know that.

  “I promise,” he says.

  He can’t promise that. But somehow, hearing him say it makes me consider his words could have the power to travel through space and change the strands of fate, weaving them into a better outcome. Because that’s the strength of his conviction when he speaks.

  We sit on the floor. No one tells us we can’t and we wouldn’t listen if they tried. There’s no activity at this end of the hall and I feel us slip into a bubble. Our bubble. I let him hold me and I don’t bother wiping away the tears that fall.

  I don’t cry. I never cry. Don’t cry.

  “Look at me,” he says in a soft voice.

  I shake my head.

  He puts a finger under my chin and prompts me to meet his eyes. When I do, a sort of sinkhole opens up in my chest. I’m terrified that he can see me, really see me. Because I’m not strong enough to hide from him right now.

  He says, “I want to show you something. Something that’s going to make you feel better.”

  Leaning in, he gives me a small, gentle kiss. Then says, “That wasn’t it. Sorry, I just couldn’t help it. Okay, hang on.”

  With a serious expression in his eyes, he cups my face in his hands again and presses his forehead against mine, lightly touching but not putting any weight behind it.

  I can’t resist a super close-up view of his magnetic eyes before his lids fall over them.

  “Close your eyes,” he says.

  My gaze darts to the corner of my eyes and I feel impatient and silly. We are sitting on the floor of the hospital, touching foreheads, and he wants me to close my eyes?

  “Please?” His plea elicits a soft tug at my stomach.

  “What is this?” I ask.

  His touch is disarming; his hands feel warm on my skin and his scent trails into my nostrils. Yet my heart rate quickens because I don’t know what to expect.

  “Just trust me.”

  I sigh, close my eyes, and wait.

  Nothing happens, not that I expect anything to. For a moment, we are just breathing together, the skin of our foreheads touching. After a few seconds, our breathing syncs and the sounds around us
begin to fade farther and farther away, slipping us deeper and deeper into the moment.

  Something does happen. A curious sensation rises from somewhere inside of me, a dense fog drifting upward and collecting right where our foreheads meet, a warmth spreading in that precise spot. The weight of it all seems to dissolve, leaving me feeling light and renewed. I let out a long breath and slowly open my eyes.

  “Oh…” I hear myself say.

  He smiles. “Did you feel that?”

  Did I feel that? I felt something, but I have no idea what just happened. No words can describe the lightness I feel in comparison to maybe a minute before. Was it closing my eyes and shutting out the world for a few seconds? Was it the comfort of him holding my face? Was it the calming effect of us breathing in sync?

  “What was that?”

  “When I was a kid, my mom used to do that with me whenever I was really upset. She used to say we’re all energy and when it gets out of hand, we need an anchor to settle it. Nuts, I know. But...it always worked.”

  A warmth rises in me, comfortable at first, but quickly dying away to a frigid fear that springs out of nowhere. This moment feels intimate. Too intimate.

  The ground underneath me feels unsteady, as though the floor tiles are slowly shifting to reveal a gaping hole I can plummet through. I have no idea how we got here. When did it become natural for him to put his hands on me? When did I lose the discomfort of gazing into his eyes? How did we end up talking about these things comfortably?

  I turn away because I can’t bear to look at him for a second longer. And I can’t bear to want to as badly as I do.

  “Your mother sounds like a good person,” I say.

  “She is.”