by Alexa Martin
I fucking love the Lady Mustangs. I nearly crack a smile for the first time in hours. But then I remember that my mom is here and that squashes it.
“Why are you still here?” I look down my nose, giving her my iciest glare.
“Lawyers, Brynn? This seems very unnecessary.” She adjusts her purse on her shoulder and does her best attempt at sounding bored, but I can still hear the tremble of fear beneath her words.
Good.
“I disagree.” I look at my unpolished nails like they’re the most interesting thing in the world. “Plus, they’re two of the top lawyers in the state, and it seems like a shame to ignore this opportunity to see them in action. Or you could”—I shrug my shoulders—“go back to doing whatever you were doing, wherever you were doing it, and forget about us like you did all those years ago.”
Color starts to rise up her porcelain cheeks, and I know I’m getting somewhere. “I was just worried about your father.” She purses her lips, and the wrinkles that point to a smoking habit she must’ve picked up become more pronounced. “Maybe you should spend less time acting like some desperate Mustang groupie and prioritize.”
If my mom was someone I had even an ounce of respect for, that might’ve stung. But considering she knows nothing about me or my life, her attempt at a dig doesn’t faze me. The same cannot be said for the people around me however.
Maxwell’s fingers flinch against my hip as his entire body tenses behind me, but it’s Poppy who really loses it.
“What did you just say?” She turns back to my mom with her phone still at her ear. “Because I know I must’ve misheard you, right?”
My mom, not a genius that one, doesn’t back down. She mistakes Poppy’s small size, bubbly smile, and growing baby bump for someone who’d be an easy target. “This is a family matter, honey, why don’t you move along.”
Poppy keeps her eyes glued to my mom as she talks into her phone. “Maybe bring another lawyer for me.” She touches her screen and drops her phone back into her oversized bag that I know for a fact has Tums, Sour Patch Kids, wet wipes, and ChapStick. “Here’s the thing, Molly.”
“Holly,” my mom corrects her.
“Like I said, Molly. You don’t know me, so you might not understand that I’m not the one. And you might also not understand that despite you being a shit mom and an overall terrible human being, Brynn turned out to be one of the strongest, smartest women I’ve ever had the pleasure of coming across.” She looks my mom up and down, letting her gaze linger. “I know you probably can’t recognize the look of a man who is head over heels for you, because you threw it away, but anybody with eyes can see that Maxwell is freaking crazy about her and you’re starting a fight you cannot win.”
Mom grits her teeth before turning her attention back to me. “You think you’re better than me? You’re just like me. Always have been and always will be.” She takes a menacing step toward me, but before she gets too close, Maxwell steps in front of me.
“I think it’s time you leave.” His deep voice sounds even deeper and the roughness that doesn’t often make an appearance is there.
“You think you’re special because you’ve made some money?” she asks, her voice laced with venom and bitterness that can only come from years of regret. “You aren’t. She’ll leave you too.”
Everything she’s said, I could brush off. Everything except that. Like some sideshow at a carnival, she does have some innate ability to single out my biggest insecurity.
I move to the side of Maxwell. “You don’t know me,” I say with false bravado.
“Tell yourself that all you want.” Her lip curls with the sick satisfaction of knowing she landed a direct hit. “You know I’m right. You act like Frank’s some victim here, but he knew who I was. He knew I didn’t want to be tied down but he still pushed and pushed for a family until I gave in. And you, you’re my daughter in every way. I can see it in your eyes, you know I’m right.”
Jesus.
I always knew she was a little bit crazy, but now I know she’s full-on loony tunes.
“What you see in my eyes isn’t me agreeing with you”—I move to her and take her hands in mine—“it’s pity. I’m not like you. I know you want that to be the truth, but it’s not.” I don’t even know that I mean it until the words are out of my mouth, but once they’re out and this boulder has been lifted off of my shoulders, I know how true it is. “If you were this miserable, leaving was probably the best thing you could’ve done for me and Dad.”
“You—” She tries to cut me off, but I keep going.
“You don’t know me anymore and if you did, you’d know I’m not the person you’ve painted. Look around you. Look at how these two people went to bat for me. Look at how close Dad and I are.” I wrap my arms around her, giving her a hug that I know she won’t return. “I learned from your mistakes. These relationships are earned, and I’m not going to do anything to jeopardize them.” I step away from her and I know in my heart that I will not be seeing her again. “I’m going to see Dad now. Take care of yourself.” I shift my attention to Poppy and Maxwell, and if this was any other time, I’d probably take a minute to bask in the glory of the way they are looking at me, but I can’t. “Thank you guys for coming. I’ll text you with updates.”
I hug Poppy once more and give Maxwell a quick kiss before I hurry through the ICU doors.
The lights in my dad’s room are on, and a nurse is checking his vitals with a smile on her face when I walk in.
“You’re back.” My dad’s weak voice pulls my attention away from the happy nurse. “Do you know how hard it was to fake being asleep for that long? Thanks for making her leave.”
I don’t even have a chance to fight back the tears before they’re streaming down my face. If I weren’t afraid it’d give him another heart attack, I’d totally yell at him. I cross the room as fast as my legs will carry me and try to hug him around all of the wires hooked up to him. “Don’t you ever do this to me again,” I choke out between hiccups.
“Trust me.” His fingers attempt to sift through my knotted hair. “It wasn’t too fun for me either.”
“Well then.” I stand up straight and swipe my arm under my nose very attractively. “I think we have a few things to talk about.”
And the student becomes the teacher.
Thirty-seven
Thankfully for my dad, if you are going to have a heart attack, you want to do it near Saint Joseph’s.
The doctors, though not quite the Preston Burke or Derek Shepherd I was hoping to ogle throughout my dad’s stay in the hospital, are all very accomplished and good at their job—which I guess is equally as important.
After speaking with the doctors, we decide on the coronary artery bypass graft surgery. It sounds gory and horrific, but also like my dad’s best chance of not going through this again. In the room, I hold my head up high and keep my shoulders back. I don’t stutter as I ask the questions I’ve never wanted to ask. I don’t flinch, and I fight back the tears causing my sinuses to burn as my dad uses my hand as a stress ball. I talk him through his worries and fears and don’t throw a temper tantrum when he mentions his will or when he tells me he absolutely wants to be cremated and not put into an overpriced box and stuck in the ground to rot.
I hold on to his hand and give him a giant smile and a bogus thumbs-up that causes me to have such immense and utter hatred for myself. Then, the moment he’s out of his room and—hopefully—out of hearing range, I lose my ever-loving mind.
I crumple into the vinyl chair in the corner of his room and stare at his bed, willing, praying, hoping with every fiber of my being that he comes back. And knowing just as much that even though I’m a grown-ass woman, I still need my dad.
Nurses come to check on me, but they don’t say anything. They bring new boxes of tissues and put bottles of water beside me—and nudge them closer when I ignore the
m. I appreciate their gentle concern. I’m sure that working in the ICU, seeing meltdowns like mine are par for the course, but that doesn’t make me any less grateful. When your world is detonating around you, the last thing you want is to pretend you’re surrounded by fireworks instead of bombs.
It isn’t until the sun has set completely—the night sky still bright from falling snow—and the skin around my eyes has been rubbed raw that I decide to venture out of Dad’s hospital room. He will come back. He has to come back. And when he does, I’m not going to look like the disaster I know I do. No, I think of all the moments he’s been there for me, and I know that this is my moment to pay him back.
I walk in silence out of his room and past the nurses coming in and out of patient rooms until I reach the double doors leading in and out of the ICU. The doors are barely cracked when I hear the echo of familiar voices.
I follow the voices down the empty, fluorescent-lit hallway lined with mass-produced art prints until I see a break in the wall.
I turn the corner and when I see the scene in front of me, I burst into a fresh bout of tears. The room is packed to the brim. Vonnie and Justin. Charli and Shawn. Poppy and TK. Aviana and Crosby. Jacqueline and Peter. Paisley, Tanya, and Eloise.
Maxwell.
Everyone I care about in one small room. Well, almost everyone.
Maxwell, of course, notices me first and gets to me just in time to let me collapse into his warm and welcoming chest.
“You guys are here?” I cry, my unintelligible words muffled into his cotton tee.
Just before I’m mobbed by my well-intentioned, loving group of friends that, somehow, became my family without me noticing, Maxwell touches his lips to my forehead and whispers, “I’ll always be here.”
And even though I feel like my heart has been broken and scattered all over my dad’s hospital room, right here, being held tight and safe in Maxwell’s arms, a new piece falls into place.
* * *
—
“JUICE MAN IS here,” Maxwell announces as he walks into my dad’s hospital room. He holds up the 7-Eleven bag with the grandeur of Rafiki lifting up Simba.
“My man.” Dad pushes the button on the side of his bed to raise him into a sitting position. “Did you get a lemon-lime?”
“I got four,” Maxwell says, pride evident in his voice as my dad’s eyes light up.
Ugh.
Why do they have to be so damn cute together?
The inside of my brain has basically been a disaster since my dad was wheeled back into the room four days ago. Part of this could be because I haven’t gotten an actual good night’s sleep because the vinyl chair is actually a vinyl pullout. It’s so uncomfortable that my entire body is screaming at me. It could also be because I saw my train wreck of a mother, and through her insane rants she made me realize that beyond our looks we are nothing alike. And although it’s a huge relief, it’s also made me recount my entire adulthood and all the good guys I passed over. I missed out on a lot. I just know that I may not be able to rewind the clock, but I can make sure that, from here on, I invest myself fully into my relationship.
And luckily for me, I get to do it with Maxwell.
On that thought, Maxwell turns to me and holds up a separate bag.
I jump out of the vinyl monstrosity and snatch it from his hands before he can even say what he bought. “Taquitos!” I don’t even give him a hug or say thank-you before I pull one out and shove it in my mouth . . . you know, how you eat when you’re in a new relationship and keeping things sexy.
To be fair though, I’ve been living on kale salads and green juice (my body has fully rebelled against this, by the way). The cafeteria here has things like cheese fries, but I didn’t want to make this any harder for my dad than it already is. He hates kale. So it’s made his liquid diet more appealing.
You really do sacrifice for the ones you love.
“If you think that’s good, what are you going to do when you find out there’s a Slurpee waiting for you in the car?” Maxwell winks.
“I’ll probably ask why it’s in your car and not in my hand,” I say after I finish chewing. I do have some manners.
“Nope,” Dad pipes in after he nearly drains his first glass of Gatorade. “You’re not sleeping here tonight. I’m kicking you out.”
“What?” I drop the taquitos on the tiny table by my chair. “I’m not leaving you alone.”
“You are,” he says, and I’m almost a little relieved to hear the full force of his dad voice, even if I’m annoyed by the actual words coming out of his mouth. “It will do us both some good. You won’t feel sore in the morning, and I’ll get a good night’s sleep without your snoring waking me up.”
My eyes bulge and my face catches fire. “Dad!” I turn to Maxwell. “I do not snore.”
“She does,” my dad says from his hospital bed.
Maxwell flashes his white teeth and pulls me into a hug. “You do.” He tightens his arms around me when I try to push away. “But it’s an adorable snore.”
“Jerks.” I glare at both of them. “You’re both jerks.” And I no longer think they’re cute together. I consider arguing with my dad a little more about staying overnight again, but the truth is my body is so pissed at me. My neck hurts, my back kills, and I desperately need a shower. “Fine,” I say like I’m doing them a favor and not the other way around. “But I’ll be back tomorrow and I’m calling right after shift change, so don’t ignore my call.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Dad salutes, a decision I know he regrets when his face screws up in pain from the fast movement.
I guess that’s what happens when you want to be a smart-ass.
“Later, Daddy-o.” I give him a quick and gentle hug, not wanting to add to his discomfort.
“Yeah, yeah,” he says. “Get out of here.”
I don’t make him say it again. My bed is calling my name and I wouldn’t want my Slurpee to melt.
* * *
—
I’VE GONE MUCH longer than a week without going to my condo, so I’m not sure why I feel such a stark relief wash over me as I push open the door and step inside.
It only takes me about two seconds to figure it out.
“What in the world?” I stand cemented to the entryway floor—that’s now donning a new rug—as I look around my once bare apartment that’s now bursting with personality.
“Vonnie,” Maxwell says, like that should explain everything. And it does.
I’ve never met a person who redecorates their home more frequently, and she’s the reason we’ve changed the barstools at HERS twice in the last seven months.
My white walls are the perfect shade of gray. My couch is overwhelmed with new throw pillows. My old frames are filled with pictures, and new frames are scattered along my walls and on tables. There are placemats on my dining table and brand-new dishes set on top of those. And the icing on the cake is the amazing glamorous, mod chandelier hanging in the middle of my living room.
“Dammit, Brynn. Do not cry again.” I close my eyes and try to fan away the tears with my hands and fail miserably. “How do I still even have tears?”
“Don’t worry,” Maxwell says. “Vonnie’ll love this, she was hoping for tears.”
I turn to look at him, and he’s got his phone aimed directly at me. I throw my hands in front of my face and lunge at him. “What are you doing?” I ask, even though it’s obvious that he’s recording me.
Since I’m using both hands to conceal my puffy, dark-circle-covered eyes, I use my feet and shoulders as weapons. And I fail miserably again. We both end up sprawled out on my couch, but the only reason Maxwell quits recording is because he’s laughing too hard to hold his phone.
I make a mental note to register for another self-defense class soon.
“Sorry, you know I can’t say no to Vonnie.” He tuck
s the phone into his sweatshirt pocket. “She scares me.”
“Touché.” She is terrifying when angry. Which reminds me . . . “I forgot to tell you, but my mom signed the papers!”
“Already?”
“Like you said, Vonnie is scary.” I shift into crisscross-applesauce position on the couch. “And Eloise went with her. I imagine both of them together as some kind of high-fashion, crime-fighting superhero duo.”
Now that I’m really thinking about it, I might need Aviana to pitch it to the CW.
“Speaking of your mom and Eloise though,” Maxwell says, changing the subject, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. “I know what happened with your mom in the hospital was hard and I’m sure doing it in front of a crowd was even harder. But I want to let you know how much it meant to me that I could be there for you. Obviously, you are aware that there is a lot of conflict between me and Theo. It’s deep and it’s ugly and it’s something that I’ve never really talked about before.” He laces his fingers with mine and lets out a deep breath. “I want to talk to you about it. Not tonight,” he adds in quickly. “I have to check in at the hotel soon and you need a decent night’s sleep, but soon . . . if you want.”
“No, I mean yes, I do want. I want to talk.” I trip over my words, but my dad had a heart attack and I haven’t slept in days, so I feel like I have a good excuse.
He leans in, touching his lips to mine. I think we both want more than that, but after the last few days, Maxwell knows that I’m too tired—physically and emotionally—to act on it.
“Wanna try and squeeze in a couple episodes of Parks and Rec before I leave?” he asks.
And I hate myself for it, but my eyes well with tears again.
A few days ago, I feared my life was splintering and would never be complete again. But now, sitting on a couch, watching a show, all I can envision is a full and beautiful future with this amazing fucking man by my side through it all.
