I mutter, “I think God’s a kid who likes to sprinkle salt on snails.”
The conversation moves to other topics. Coop updates me on the progress Hillrise is making on the Buttercup, which is impressive. If the weather cooperates, they’re on schedule to have all the work done in late January. Just in time for me to open the B&B for Valentine’s Day.
The fucking irony.
I try my best to make a dent in the pile of food on my plate, but only manage to get a few bites down. They stay for another hour, then we pack up the leftovers and throw out the trash. When Suzanne goes to the restroom, Coop unexpectedly pulls me into a hug.
In a low voice, he says, “What’re you gonna do?”
I know what he means without having to ask. “Wait,” I say, my voice breaking. “No matter how long it takes.”
He pulls away and gazes at me with so much pain in his eyes, it’s awful. “And what if this is as good as it gets?” He gestures to Theo lying unmoving and unresponsive on the bed. “What, then?”
“I’m not giving up hope,” I say with quiet vehemence. “Not now, not ever. If I have to grow old in this fucking hospital room, that’s what I’ll do. If he wakes up and has the IQ of a cup of coffee and needs to be dressed and bathed and hand-fed for the rest of his life, that’s what I’ll do. I love him, Coop. No matter what. I’ll love this man and take care of him until the day I die.”
My throat closes, so my next words are strangled. “And even then, I’ll keep loving him. I’ll love him till the end of time.”
Coop hugs me hard, his breath hitching, then walks out abruptly so I don’t see him cry.
Suzanne comes back from the bathroom and we say our goodbyes, then I’m so tired, I settle into the chair beside Theo’s bed and close my eyes, intending to nap for only a few minutes. But when I open my eyes again, it’s dark outside and Ana is standing over me, whispering my name.
“Megan. Mija, wake up.”
I blink up at her and scrub a hand over my face. My back is stiff and my left leg has fallen asleep. The pins and needles are painful. “What time is it?”
“Just after midnight.”
“Is everything okay?”
When she hesitates, my heart takes off like a rocket. I jump to my feet and knock her out of my way in my hurry to grab Theo’s hand. I search his face in panic for any signs of distress, but he seems to be in the exact same condition he was in when I fell asleep.
“Honey, he’s fine,” she says, touching my shoulder. “It’s, ah…it’s you, actually.”
I turn and stare at her. “Me? What do you mean?”
She glances at Theo. Then, her usually expressive brown eyes revealing nothing, she jerks her chin toward the door. “Let’s go talk over there.”
Oh my God. There’s something terribly wrong with me. It’s cancer. It’s a rare, infectious disease. It’s the Zika virus. It’s Ebola. It’s the fucking plague!
When I continue to stare at her with my mouth open, terror tightening my stomach to a fist, Ana gently takes my arm and steers me toward the door. She stops in the doorway and keeps her voice barely above a whisper.
Which must be why I can’t understand what she says.
“You’re pregnant.”
I blink, then squint at her. “Excuse me? What did you say?”
“I said you’re pregnant, honey. Congratulations.”
I wait for the punch line. When one isn’t forthcoming and Ana simply stares at me with a small, soft smile, I realize she’s not joking.
“Ana, that’s not possible. I can’t get pregnant.”
She lifts her shoulders. “According to your blood test, you can.”
That hipster idiot, Tommy. He switched my test results with someone else’s! Some poor pregnant woman is going to be told her morning sickness is only anemia!
I say flatly, “No, Ana, I can’t. I’m telling you—it’s impossible. It would be a miracle.”
Her entire face lights up with a smile. “Well, God is in the miracle business, honey, so maybe you should thank him.”
There’s a noise in my head like a thousand wolves howling at a full moon. I can hardly hear myself think over it. Incredulous, I whisper, “I’m…I’m pregnant? How?”
She lifts her brows, an expression of humor on her face. “Oh, did you miss that day at school? See, there’s this thing called a sperm—”
I grab her arms and shout into her face, “I’M PREGNANT? WITH A BABY?”
Dissolving into laughter, she says, “No, with a piñata. Of course with a baby!”
A loud, frantic beeping emits from one of the machines hooked up to Theo.
We both freeze, then Ana reacts first. She hustles over to his bed, peers at a black box with some green flashing numbers, then turns around and runs past me, shouting for a doctor.
“Ana!” I scream after her, panicked. “What’s happening!”
She’s headed for the nurses’ station down the hall, yelling over her shoulder as she goes. “His heartbeat is skyrocketing!” She disappears around a corner.
I whirl around and run to Theo’s bedside, so frantic, I catch my foot on the leg of a chair and almost fall. I grab his hand and collapse onto the bed, panting, terrified at all the flashing I see on the machines. It’s not only the heartbeat monitor that’s going mad—several other devices screech with alarms.
This is it. He’s dying.
I start to sob uncontrollably. “Don’t you dare leave me, Theo! Don’t you dare! I love you! I need you! I’ll never forgive you if you leave me alone!”
Pressure on my hand, so faint I almost can’t feel it, cuts off my hysterical screams as if someone pulled a plug. I freeze, looking down at Theo’s hand clasped in mine…his hand that’s weakly squeezing.
Time slows to a crawl. Every beat of my heart is a boom of thunder in my ears. I look up at his face and watch in utter astonishment and joy as the second miracle of the night occurs.
Theo slowly opens his eyes and looks at me.
His gaze is hazy at first but gains focus after several moments. Then we stare at each other for an endless span of silence as I wait without breathing to see if he recognizes me.
Is he even in there at all?
Squeezing his hand hard, I lean over his chest and plead, “Theo? Theo, can you hear me? Can you speak?” When he doesn’t respond, tears begin to flow down my cheeks again. I feel my face crumbling, and the last of my hope unravels at the blankness I see in his dark, dark eyes.
Sobbing, I beg, “Please, if you can hear me, please say something!”
Finally, after what feels like forever, the corners of his lips curve to a ghost of a smile.
In a weak, scratchy voice, the words halting and almost unintelligible, he whispers, “It wasn’t enough.”
“What? What do you mean?” I can barely speak, I’m crying so hard. My entire body is racked with sobs. When his lips move but no words come out, I lean closer, putting my ear near his mouth and begging him to say it again.
On the faintest of exhalations, he does.
“One lifetime wasn’t enough to love you.”
I fall to my knees as a team of doctors and nurses bursts into the room.
Epilogue
Theo
Two months later
Fucking yellow balloons.
It’s the dumbest thing to be scared of, right? Right. So imagine my surprise when I woke up in the hospital after my accident—my first accident, that is—saw a kid carrying a yellow balloon down the hallway, and got so scared, it felt like I was having a heart attack.
That was the first clue something strange was going on.
At first, I assumed it was the brain injury. Getting your head rammed by a steel rocket doing eighty miles per hour isn’t good for the old noggin, we can all agree on that. But then the voices started. Faint little whispers at my ear. One female, one male. The male was a pain in my ass, to be honest. Always going on about lightning strikes and football stats and B&Bs. Made no sense whatsoever
.
The female voice, though. Hearing her was like hearing an angel.
She had this amazing laugh, as silky smooth as flowing water. That laugh was sexy as fuck. It rang in my ears like music.
Yeah, I had a thing for the imaginary voice in my head. Don’t judge me.
And don’t get me started about how my own voice had changed and now sounded exactly like the other whispering voice in my head—the irritating male.
If things weren’t looking fucked enough, I had all these memories that didn’t fit. Things I hadn’t done, places I’d never been, people I’d never met before.
Then the dreams started.
Nightmares, technically, because they were so scary. It wasn’t so much the dreams themselves that were scary, but how vivid they were. It was like I was there, in them.
Like I was living someone else’s life at night.
Then there were all these new habits and desires I suddenly had. Bear claws for breakfast every day? Sure, why not. French wine that costs two hundred bucks a bottle? Yeah, gotta have me some of that.
Oil painting, though I’d never picked up a brush before and couldn’t draw a straight line to save my life?
Bring it on.
If all that wasn’t bad enough, I developed an obsession with this old, empty Victorian house on the coast. More than an obsession—a compulsion. I had to be near it. I couldn’t stay away from it for more than a day, at most. It was like the thing was a giant fucking magnet, a powerful black hole drawing me helplessly in. I spent hours wandering its rooms, wondering what the hell was happening to me.
The only logical conclusion was that I was going insane.
Oh—I forgot to mention the precognition.
I knew she’d be there, that night at Cal’s Diner. I knew it in my goddamn bones. By that time, I’d spent five years with her voice in my head and her face taking shape over and over on my canvases. Part of me hoped that by painting her, I’d get rid of her, like there was a finite amount of her that would eventually deplete, but the supply was apparently endless.
I loved her long before we met.
If that sounds ridiculous—it is. But it’s also true.
I ached for her the way the desert aches for rain. Longing was something I’d never felt before, but it inhabited me so completely, I almost couldn’t function. Then, one rainy night, she appeared. Boom—she’s at the counter at Cal’s ordering a Denver omelet with extra bacon and key lime pie.
Exactly like I knew she would.
The fear I felt in that moment put the sighting of the yellow balloon to shame.
Because it wasn’t possible. Any of it—all of it.
And what was I supposed to do anyway? Walk up to her and say, “Hi! You don’t know me, but I’ve painted you naked and had sex with you in my dreams and I’m pretty sure we were married before—it’s great to finally meet you!”
I don’t think it would’ve gone over.
So I got mad. I got mad and I tried my damndest to stay away. The more I tried, the more I fell apart, until I was hanging on by a thread so thin, you could see right through it. When Dr. Garner told me I was schizophrenic, it was such a relief.
I mean, I didn’t believe it, but it was a hell of a lot better than the alternative. It was something solid I could hang on to. It made sense. Taking the drugs to set my brain straight made sense. Everything made sense again until Megan brought up that goddamn yellow balloon and I couldn’t pretend anymore.
Cue the sound of squealing tires.
That fight-or-flight response is such a bitch. I chose flight, and ended up in an accident—again.
And Jesus, am I looking rough.
“Honey, stop.”
Her soft voice comes from behind me. I look away from the bathroom mirror as she winds her arms around my waist and rests her chin on my arm.
“Why couldn’t they at least have fixed my nose? I feel kinda bad for it, having to hang out on my face like that, all crooked and sad.”
Megan tightens her arms around me and tries to hide a smile. “Your nose is perfect.”
“My nose is tragic.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Yeah. Except it’s not.” I grab her and pull her around to face me so I can kiss her. I can’t get enough of that mouth.
She melts against me with one of those little sighs that makes my dick instantly hard, but pulls away with a playful laugh when I squeeze her ass.
“They’re waiting.”
“Let them wait,” I murmur, then take her mouth again. Kissing her deeply, I wrap my arms around her so she can’t get away.
She’s so sweet. So fucking sweet. I don’t think she has any idea how much I love her. How I can’t breathe when she’s not within eyesight. How I’d gladly die for her, kill for her, do anything big or small that she asked.
All the other bullshit aside, I fell for her the normal way too. Because of who she is. Because of her courage, her strength, her intelligence. Because of her kindness and that gooey soft center she hides underneath her tough outer shell. The fact that she’s a knockout didn’t hurt, I’ll be honest, but she would’ve been my dream woman even if she wasn’t literally my dream woman.
We had a long conversation about it where she told me the same thing. I’m not just a placeholder for her past. It’s hard to explain, but I know that when she looks at me, she sees me.
And when I look at her, I see my entire world.
“Theo,” Megan says breathlessly, looking up at me with those gorgeous eyes. They’re the color of the ocean, blue and green combined, shifting hue with the light. “Theo, if we don’t go down now, it’ll be an hour, and I’ll never hear the end of it from Suzanne.”
“Pfft. You’ll never hear the end of it no matter what. She lives for drama.”
“C’mon, she’s worked really hard helping me put this party together!”
I caress her cheek, then bend and inhale against her neck. God, I love the smell of her skin. Warm vanilla and something sweet, like a cookie fresh from the oven. I wanna sink my teeth into her every time I get a whiff.
When I slide my hand up from her waist and gently squeeze one full breast, she warns, “Honey.”
I whisper, “I’ll be quick,” and use my hips to bump her back until she’s trapped between my crotch and the bathroom sink.
Her laugh is throaty. It sends a thrill of lust up my spine.
“No, honey.” She flaps her hands at me, trying to push me away.
Grinning, I grasp her wrists and wind her arms around her back. “Now what’re you gonna do?”
“Well, your balls are in the direct line of fire for a nasty jab from my knee,” she says sweetly, smiling. “I think that would do the trick.”
I pretend to glower. “Unfair.” Then I tickle her, because I love the way it makes her shriek.
“Stop! No! You asshole!” She squirms and wriggles in my arms, desperate to get away, but I’m too strong. I don’t relent until she’s helplessly laughing and has called me every curse word in the book.
Then I drop to my knees in front of her and rest my cheek on her belly. “Hey, little bean,” I whisper, framing the small swell of her stomach in my hands. “How you doing in there?”
Megan’s soft hands come to rest on my head. She combs her fingers through my hair, and I can feel how they tremble. “She’s doing great. She says she loves her daddy.”
I look up at her. Her eyes are soft and glimmer with tears, and are so full of love, it fucking kills me.
I say hoarsely, “I love her too. And her mommy.” My voice breaks. “So much.”
She presses her lips together and blinks really fast in that way she does when she’s trying hard not to cry.
From somewhere downstairs comes the sound of Suzanne’s aggravated holler. “Jesus Christ on a crutch, people, are you coming or what?”
I stand, give Megan a kiss against her laughing mouth, then grab her hand and lead her out of the bedroom. When we get downstairs, Suzanne, Coop, a
nd all the guys from Hillrise are in the main parlor, milling around with drinks in their hands. There’s a bar set up in the corner, and two uniformed servers stand off to one side, holding silver platters filled with those tiny bites of food they serve at parties that you have to eat about a hundred of before you get full.
Everyone turns when we come in.
“There you are! Come over here and say a few words before the guests start to arrive.”
Suzanne has on a red dress cut so low, it might be illegal in some states. Coop—staring down at her with a huge grin and his arm wound around her shoulders—is too busy appreciating the view to look up at us.
Megan and I walk near the fireplace. Through the parlor windows, I see the valet stand set up at the curb on the street outside. More than three hundred guests RSVP’d for the grand reopening of the Buttercup Inn, but we’ll probably get more. People love free drinks.
Megan squeezes my hand, looking at me expectantly, but I shake my head. I still don’t like to talk around other people. Old habits die hard, I guess.
She turns to all our friends with a smile. “Okay, so we just want to thank you guys, so much, for everything you’ve done to make the Buttercup so amazingly beautiful. Honestly, it’s better than I dreamed.” She pauses to press a hand over her heart. I sling an arm around her shoulders and draw her closer, knowing she’s gonna struggle today.
The word bittersweet was invented for times like this.
She takes a breath and continues. “Coop, Suzanne…you’re our best friends. We wouldn’t have made it through all this without you. We love you.”
Suzanne swipes at her eyes. Coop nods his big head, his grin growing wider. “Love you too, marshmallow.” His eyes meet mine. More quietly, he says, “And you, brother.”
My chest gets tight.
Maybe one day, I’ll talk to Coop about what happened. One day when we’re old and gray and all our grandkids are running around our rocking chairs out on the back porch. But for now, we both leave it alone. He can tell I’m still processing. I’m damn lucky to have such a good friend.
Midnight Valentine Page 27
