“You need to relax. After a head injury and major surgery, your body needs to heal,” says the doctor. “Stress is only going to set you back.” He turns to Preston and Daddy. “There’ll be time later to get more details about the attack. Right now, she needs to rest. Recuperate.” He pats my hand and slides the chart back into the plastic holder on the door and follows the two nurses out.
Daddy walks over and kisses me, saying he’s going to the cafeteria for a cup of coffee and will be back later. After the door closes behind him, Preston once again sits on the edge of my bed. “You need to sleep so you can get stronger. So you can see the baby. But, maybe this will bring you sweet dreams.” He leans forward, holding his phone out toward me. There on the screen is a baby, so small, so perfect. I know he’s mine, because the first thing I see is Gage’s nose. I’m crying again and not just because I haven’t held him yet. It’s because I miss him. I miss Gage, and seeing his baby, his flesh and blood, every day without being able to share that with him is going to kill me.
“Sleep now.” Preston brushes my hair to the sides and kisses my forehead. “I’ll be here when you wake up.” And with his words, I let go and fade into blackness, my escape from reality.
An hour or so later, the new nurse comes in at shift change, writing her name and contact information on the whiteboard by the door. It’s not quite nighttime yet, probably around four o’clock because faint remnants of sunlight are still streaming through the big double windows overlooking the parking lot. I take it all in through one slitted eye, not letting anyone know I’m awake. It’s easier than having to talk about everything.
She carries in a large brown bag and hands it to Preston. “These are her personal effects. Clothes, shoes. Her jewelry and anything in her pockets was put into the plastic bag on top,” she says.
“Thank you, ma’am.” He takes the bag and places it on the rolling bedside table as the nurse walks out. He glances in, then rifles through and pulls out a tattered note I’ve carried with me religiously for the past eight months. I can’t bear watching him with Mama’s last words to me, her reassurances that Gage’s and my love was real. True. Lasting. Preston’s reading it, knowing it’d been on me when I was at the sonogram, will destroy him. He doesn’t deserve that. He deserves someone who can give him her whole heart, because he’s wonderful. Now he knows for sure that’s not me, because I’m still living in a dream world where Gage loves, wants, and needs me.
He turns the paper over and something falls to the linoleum with a metallic tinkle. “What’s this?” he mumbles as he bends down and retrieves the small, pewter “67” charm, flipping it over and over in his fingers before looking at me. He sighs loudly and pries up a corner of the tape, which held the charm, and secures it once again to the note. Sliding his cell phone from the pocket of his jeans, he slips out the door into the hallway.
Chapter 52
Gage
O
ne thing I’ve discovered in my time with the Harrington family is that Grandpa and Nana are all about traditions. Holidays, family dinners, even football tailgating. One such event—the annual post-Thanksgiving barbecue held the weekend after the turkey extravaganza—is a sort of farewell to Fall and Grandpa’s whole-hog smoker that’ll lie dormant for Charleston’s standard six weeks of mild winter.
I drove in last night, as did Taryn from her dorm at USC, to spend the night with them and help get everything organized. A large group is coming, an eclectic mix of Nana’s gardening club members and Grandpa’s old Army buddies. Taryn and I’d spent much of last night working side by side, polishing Nana’s silver, which she insisted on using for barbecue, and rubbing the water spots off the iced tea goblets. Only Nana can make a backyard barbecue the stuff of social elegance.
Taryn broached the subject of Rayne several times, but I always diverted the topic to something about her semester finals or when she’d hear back on her medical school applications. But she’s not the type to give in.
It’s evident this morning I’m in for round two when Farrah walks in, making a beeline to the table where Taryn and I are tasked with emptying potato chips into an assortment of crystal bowls. Farrah, giddy as always, can’t wait to tell me that Clara Jean is coming this afternoon, and “Oh yeah, she’s kinda in love with you.”
Taryn shoots Farrah a look that could melt glaciers, but Farrah shrugs and continues. Apparently, I’m all Clara Jean can talk about and she thinks we’d be great together. She rattles off the rest of her gossip then saunters off to find Nana, completely unaware of the swing she just took at my messed-up heart or the fact that Taryn may now be plotting to kill her or sew her lips shut.
Taryn’s eyes burn into me, and I glance over at her, biting her lip, ready to plunge in again for the umpteenth time. “Gage, I think we should talk about—”
“Nope. Not interested. Thanks.” I crumple up the chip bag and toss it in the garbage, then head into the house away from Taryn and all her uncomfortable questions.
My empty plate sits on the picnic table, faint smears of leftover sauce around the edges. I lean back in my chair and take a pull on my beer. Farrah skips up to the table, Taryn hot on her heels.
“Oh, Ga-age,” she sing-songs. “Clara Jean is looking for you.”
“He doesn’t care about Clara Jean like that!” Taryn fumes and jerks Farrah around by the arm. “Drop it!”
I snort. How can either of them know what I want or need? Hell, I don’t even know. What I do know is I’m sick of everybody in my life always making decisions that affect me without me being a part of it.
“How do you know how I feel about anyone or anything?” My words shoot out like a spear, and from the way Taryn pivots in my direction, it’s obviously a direct hit. She’s got a story as well. A secret heartbreak that’s still eating at her.
“If you’d ever sit down and talk to me about it, then maybe you’d realize I totally get it. I’ve been in your shoes!”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Oh really, Gage? You’re still not over your ex. I know this. You know this.” She takes a wide stance, her fingers gripping her hips. “Clara Jean is our friend, and she likes you. But you can’t lead her on. That’s not fair to either of you. You barely talk to me, only give me cryptic tidbits here and there. You won’t let me in, and I’m smart enough to know what that means. You’re still in love with her, that girl from the picture. Slow down and give it time.”
What the hell is time going to do? Make me want her more? Drive me a little crazier every day? “Time? You have no idea about the time I’ve spent hoping and praying we’d find our way back, and for what? To find out she’s moved on.”
“You said yourself you knew that was a possibility when you left.”
I stand up and slam my bottle down on the wooden table and stomp toward the porch where no one’s standing and can overhear our argument. How dare she insinuate Rayne’s moving on should be laid at my doorstep. Heap the blame on me like everyone else in my life always has. She has no idea the things that’ve happened. “Fine. Blame me. It’s all my fault.”
Taryn grabs my arm, but I shirk her touch. The fire in her eyes dwindles, replaced with sadness. Pity. “I’m not blaming anyone, Gage. I see the pain in your eyes. I just want you to talk, get it all out.”
“I don’t want to talk. I want to forget. Move on. Like she did.”
She stomps her foot on the concrete pad. “Dammit! Why aren’t you listening when I—”
“Take all your opinions and go to hell, Taryn. You don’t even know me.” The words sour on my tongue before they even make it into the air. I’ve always heard to be careful what you say. Once words are said, they can never be unsaid. And as much as I hate hurting Taryn, I just need everyone to butt out. Leave me alone.
Her bottom lip trembles, the tears flowing in buckets, as she rips away from Farrah and runs into the house. Through the window, I watch her dart up to her room. Farrah’s behin
d her.
Damn.
A voice behind me makes me jump. “What was that about?”
Clara Jean walks up on the porch beside me, her brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, exposing the slope of her long neck as it runs into the black silk blouse.
I sigh and shove my hands in my pockets, leaning back onto the porch rail. “Taryn thinking she’s the god of everything.”
“Okay?” She beckons me to continue with a wave of her fingers.
“She says I’m not ready to move on yet. That I’m still not over my ex. But I say I’m ready to try.” The words—the lies—fall out of my mouth with such ease. How do you move on from your soulmate? How exactly does that work? Rayne did it. Hell, she’s having a baby with him, and here I am having to force myself to talk to a girl who’s looking at me like her own personal bowl of chocolate. But I’m so not interested.
Maybe I can make myself interested. Maybe if I just get it over with, then whatever damn wall is around my heart will break.
“I think you’d know best, right?” She giggles and brushes my hair from my forehead. “Taryn’s super protective of everyone in her life. She means well, but—”
“But what?”
“If you’re ready to move on, you should.” She takes a step closer to me, my back pinned to the porch post, the peaks and valleys of her body bumping into mine, her face mere inches away. “I know one person who’d be happy about it.”
“Who?” I know who. It’s pretty damn obvious she’s coming on to me, but panic sets in. My stomach clenches.
“Don’t act like you don’t know I’ve been crushing on you since we came to Virginia. But it was at our party—when you stood up for me—that won me over.” She pushes up on her tip-toes, whispering in my ear. “I think you’re ready to explore.”
“Exploring’s good?”
“I think so.” Her lips graze my cheek as she speaks.
“Me, too.”
She slams her lips to mine, her hands running up my neck. Her fingers curl into my hair. I squeeze my eyes closed and kiss her back but keep my hands shoved firmly in my pockets.
It’s nice. Pleasant.
But it’s not Rayne. It doesn’t have her fire, her heat. Our love.
Then again, I have to start somewhere, and this is as good a place as any.
Clara Jean leans back, her breathing heavy. “Let’s go somewhere private. I’ll meet you upstairs in your bedroom. The one beside Taryn’s, right?”
I nod, the words refusing to come out. Probably a good thing, because if I open my mouth right now, I’ll probably vomit on her shoes. Private? Bedroom? Oh God, no. The kiss was hard enough. I can’t put my hands on her. It’s impossible.
I dart in through the backdoor and head up the stairs, swearing to myself I’ll let this girl down easy. Broken hearts suck, and I don’t need more grief under my belt. I’m halfway up when an image pops in my mind, and my heart plummets to my toes.
Rayne kissing Preston. Her hands on him. His hands on her.
How could it be so easy for her? And why am I letting the memory of us stop me when she’s tossed it aside like yesterday’s garbage?
No. Hell no.
I grip the brass knob like it’s a life preserver. The door squeaks open. Clara Jean stands by the window, her hair loosened and falling over her shoulders, her blouse unbuttoned down the front just enough to reveal the rounded tops of her breasts.
I swallow hard and shut the door. As soon as it clicks in place, she charges toward me, grabs my shoulders and wrenches me down with her on the foot of the bed.
I want to give in to it. I want to let go and feel again. But there’s nothing. Her kisses feel warm, soft, and wet, like all kisses do. Rayne’s had always felt like flames that melted down to my core and stoked my own fires. I clamp my eyes shut harder and try to focus. To enjoy something. Anything.
She grabs my wrist, directing my hand toward her chest, but the muscles in my arm stiffen, and no matter how hard she pulls it toward her, it won’t budge. Like two magnets with the similar poles together, a bubble of resistance sits staunchly between us.
I rip my lips from hers and jump up, straightening my shirt. She gasps and stares up at me with wide, watery eyes.
Damn.
“I’m… I’m sorry,” I mumble. “I can’t…” Before she can speak, I run out, slamming the door behind me and sprint down the stairs, stopping on the bottom step to catch my breath. My arms and legs tremble.
A beautiful, smart girl is interested in me, and I run. Sure, she’s not Rayne, but no one else is either. No one ever will be. At some point, I have to quit running and give someone else a chance. Break the pattern before I keep repeating it.
I glance behind me. I should go back and apologize. Explain my hang-ups, why I can’t give away my whole heart. It hasn’t been whole in a while. Things can only get better if I’m honest, right?
I turn around and go back up. On the landing, my phone rings and I pull it from my pocket.
Preston’s number. I answer it on the third ring.
“Hello?”
“Gage, it’s Preston. I got your number from Dad. Don’t get mad.” Everything rambles out in one long run-on sentence. I’m fairly sure he didn’t even pause to take a breath. His voice is shaking and lacks its normal confidence, and he’s whispering like he doesn’t want someone to hear he’s on the phone. “Something’s happened and you need to come home.”
Something’s happened is one of those phrases you never want to hear uttered over the phone. It usually means death, sickness, or accidents. My heart accelerates, thumping in my chest, as a million different horror scenes unfold in my imagination. “What is it?”
“It’s Rayne.” Oh dear God. No. “She was attacked—we don’t know all the details right now—but she’s in the hospital. They had to take the baby.”
The barbecue and beer I had earlier churn in my stomach. “How are they? How is… she?” My words stumble out, barely able to keep time with the racing thoughts. Attacked. By whom? Why? Is she… alive?
“The baby’s in the NICU. He’s tough. Rayne’s in and out of consciousness right now, but stable.”
Thank God they’re both alive. And one word sticks out from his report—a pronoun that makes it all the more real. “He?”
“Yeah, Rayne has a son. And she needs us—all of us—to pull through this. Please, Gage, come home.”
“I’ll be there.” I swallow hard and end the call, shoving my phone into my pocket.
I lean into the bannister, willing my knees to remain strong. Knowing she’s hurt, lying in a hospital bed, claws at my insides. If I could, I would trade places with her. Take away all of her pain.
Sitting at her bedside is where I have to be—to see her through, hold her hand, look into her eyes, and when she’s well, do the impossible and give that hand to Preston, smile and wish them well. Watch him hug, kiss, and love her.
The way I did.
The way I’d planned to forever.
But our forever didn’t come, and now I’ll pretend I’m happy for them.
For her sake and mine.
But I can’t do this alone. I need someone to stand beside me, hold my hand, be my strength. Give me hope when everything else has died. And now more than ever, I truly believe she can help me.
If I haven’t alienated her completely.
I steady my breathing and open the bedroom door. She sits on the edge of the bed playing with a strand of her brown hair, eyes still red-rimmed from earlier.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, the words straining through my broken voice. “Please forgive me for what happened. There’s been an emergency with my family and I have to go home right away, but I could use someone to talk to.”
She stands up, walks toward me, and grabs my hand, rubbing it between both of hers. “Talk to me, then, because I’m coming with you.”
Chapter 53
Rayne
G
age is on his way. I know because I heard Preston tell him to drive safely. He’d walked away for a while but is now sitting in the blue chair outside my door, staring off into space holding the note. When he finally gets up and opens the door to my room, I stir under the covers, moving my feet around, twitching my hands in a semi-stretch, as if just waking up.
“Hey, sleeping beauty,” he whispers, taking his normal place at my bedside and handing me the note. “I found this. Thought you might want it back.” Straight to the point. Even after all these moments of knowing he’s read it, I still have no idea what to say.
“Preston, I…”
“It’s okay, Rayne. I’m fine,” he nods, then continues. “I checked in on the baby. He’s doing great, wiggling, eating, and complaining he needs a name.” He stops and laughs. “Just kidding about that last one, but the doctor did say he can visit his mama tomorrow.”
I take a deep breath for what feels like the first time all day. So deep the incision pulls, and a twinge of pain travels up my side. “Tomorrow? Our baby’s really gonna be okay.”
“He’s not my baby, Rayne.” His tone is subdued. I raise my head, expecting to see a look of disappointment, but I don’t. It’s matter-of-fact. “Don’t get me wrong, the kid’s got me wrapped already, but Gage is his daddy. One look at his face, and I knew it.”
“But Preston, you’ve been…” I pause, thinking back over the last few months. Preston’s been everything to us—singer of stupid songs to my belly, fetcher of food cravings, shield against town gossip. All I’ve given him is more heartache.
“I called him.” He smiles at me and grabs my hand, squeezing tight. “I called Gage, and he’s on his way. Y’all need him. He needs y’all.”
The emotions today are like a roller coaster, surging hard one way before going 90 mph in the other direction. “I don’t know what to say.” I spread my arms wide, pulling Preston in to hug him tighter than ever before. It’d be so easy to pick him, but I can’t, and he gets that. He forgives me before I even ask. And I do love him.
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