by Autumn Grey
“Who are they?” he asks.
I shake my head, return my focus to the picture and flip it around to scan for clues.
The words ‘Cora and Joce Holloway. Six years old’ are scribbled on the back in Nor’s handwriting.
I feel as if someone thrust a sharp object in my chest.
Nor and Josh have children? And why the hell did she see fit to shove that fact in my face? As if marrying my brother wasn’t enough.
That thought sends pain spreading through my body. Throwing the card and picture on the counter, I grip the counter, my sight blurring with rage.
Knowing that Nor—the girl I’d loved and lost—and my brother have children is like having my heart broken all over again. They moved on with their lives, while I spent the last nine years of mine living in stasis.
Simon touches my arm again. I spin around to glare at him.
“Satisfied?” I spit out, jabbing a finger at the photo. “Fuck, Simon. This is the reason I never wanted to open those letters.”
He’s holding one of the letters in his hands, his eyes wide. He tries to say something but stops and drags a hand through his hair.
“Oh, man. The girls. . .Cora and Joce are your daughters. Nor and you. Not Josh,” he says.
The words punch me in the gut, and I stumble back on impact.
No.
He couldn’t have said what I think he did. My eyes are playing tricks on me. “What did you just say?”
He slides the card I’d tossed on the counter seconds ago toward me. With my heart racing in my chest, I stare down, confusion then disbelief sweeping through me as my eyes catch the words on the card.
Hi Cole,
Cora and Joce celebrated their sixth birthday on Saturday. Cora reminds me so much of you. I want them to know their real father. I want them to call you ‘Daddy’ but how can they do that if you won’t even reply back to my letters? I beg you to think about this, please.
Love, Nor.
How is that even possible?
I shake my head, forcing my mind to calculate the years we’ve been apart. The last time Nor and I were together.
Exactly nine years.
Jesus.
I’ve been a father all this time. I missed most of their childhood.
A lump forms in my throat and my muscles quiver as anguish and anger course through me.
Do they know about me?
I snatch the blue envelope it came in and scan for the mailing date. The black stamp indicates it was mailed three years ago. Suddenly I can’t seem to catch my breath fast enough as I scatter the letters on the counter with shaking fingers, searching for the letter with the oldest date on it. Simon seems to read my mind and he rounds the counter to joins me in the search. It feels as if we’ve been searching forever when he holds a pink envelope out toward me. I reach for it and zero in on the stamp. This was sent nine years ago. I rip the top open and a color photo falls out on the counter. My gaze scanning the words on the letter while taking in every single word.
Dear Cole,
I hope to God you will read this letter because I have so much I want to tell you. I can’t even start to tell you how sorry I am about what happened when you got released and came home six months ago. I’ve gone over so many ways of how I could have done things better, but every single one of them ends up with either you fatally wounded, something I know I wouldn’t survive, or back in prison.
The reason I am writing to you is to let you know that, oh God. I should be telling you this face to face. I’m pregnant. This is what I was trying to tell you when you walked into St. Christopher’s. I wish I tried harder, fought you harder through your anger. I wish I had been strong enough to disobey my dad and not marry your brother. My father had already hurt you so many times. I knew he had the ability to do worse. He warned me that if I disobeyed him you’d get hurt and I took him very seriously. I was going to save you, even if it meant making a decision that would not only alter the course of our lives, but, break my heart knowing I was breaking yours.
I know what it feels like to feel like you’re dead. Numb and cold. And then I met you and I’d never felt more alive. More wanted. I felt that I belonged somewhere, with someone amazing. If obeying my dad was going to save you and keep my heart beating, I’d take that chance and I took it. Please don’t blame Josh. He was doing what he thought was best for you to save you from my father.
Cole, please. Please get in touch with me. I want our children to know who their father is and I want you to know them.
Love,
Nor
I clutch the image of the babies to my chest. My brain tries to process everything I’ve learned the last few minutes. I shut my eyes tight, the memory of all the letters lying before me as well as the first one I ripped to pieces, flash inside my head.
Jesus. What have I done?
I’ve spent the past nine years hating two of the most important people in my life, Nor and my brother. I have two daughters and I’ve missed every moment of their lives.
And her father. There was no love lost between us, but forcing his daughter to marry Josh? That’s some twisted shit.
My thoughts automatically wander back to the day I last saw Nor. She had tried to tell me something, but I was blinded by my anger and the weight of betrayal so I didn’t stop to listen.
Simon appears in my line of vision. Wiping my wet cheeks, I raise my head to meet his gaze. His eyes widen, probably shocked to see the tears on my face.
I never cried when I lost Nor. I never cried when I left home. The pain of losing her was more than I could bare. I knew if I broke down and accepted that I had lost her, it would completely destroy me.
But this. . .everything is happening too fast. Every single emotion I’ve held onto these past nine years is trying to break free.
Simon hands me back the letters. “I’ll wrap things up here. I will be down there in five days tops. But right now, I have a woman who needs my attention.” He straightens and waggles his eyebrows then steps forward and gives me a one-armed hug before moving away from me. “Have you told Tate yet?”
“I was just about to text him when you walked in.”
“Call me as soon as you get there,” he signs.
I nod and follow him to the door. If I’m going back to the place I left nine years ago and swore never to return to, I need to man up. I need to face this.
The moment Simon leaves, I return to the living room and quickly type a text to Tate. I grab my bag and scoop Sirius up from his spot where he’s snuggled on the sofa and put him back in his carrier.
After gathering all the letters on the counter, I tuck them in the bag and zip it up. I lock up the house and head out. Once Sirius is settled in the back seat and the bag is in the trunk, I slide onto my seat, grip the wheel and stare out my window. I learned a long time ago that life is an unpredictable bitch. Constant one second, and utterly chaotic the next instant.
Several things I learned when I was locked away:
Keep your head down and carry on.
Set your priorities and stick to them.
When you get out, run the fuck away from that place and make sure never to return.
I’d set my priorities straight. I’ve known what I wanted and wasted no time getting it. I knew where I wanted my life to go and I’ve worked hard to get there.
Until now.
Until the letters.
My life is unraveling fast. I’m about to meet the girl who had promised her heart to me, then turned around and gave it to my brother. The girl I forced myself to forget. The girl who still holds my heart in her damn hands.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
I reel in my anger, focusing my rage on the one person I blame for this mess that doomed my future with Nor from the moment she and I met. Stephen, Nor’s father. And now, according to the letter from Nor, he was also responsible for her and Josh getting married.
Fucking son of a bitch.
AFTER DROPPING SIRIUS AT THE hotel I had
booked during my short break at the motel last night, I drive to St. James Memorial and park the truck in the underground parking garage. My body aches from driving for hours. I woke up earlier this morning, restless. My head was cramped with visions of Josh lying in the hospital and the revelations in the letters Simon had been collecting. I was torn between texting my parents to ask them for Nor’s address and driving straight to the hospital to see Josh. My need to see Josh, Cora and Joce clouded any rational thought and I found myself breaking a couple of traffic laws to get home faster, until I realized that ending up dead wouldn’t help anyone.
Another thought entered my mind.
Was I ready to face them after years of ignoring their letters?
I shake my head, pushing aside those thoughts for now, and focus on Josh. How can someone as sturdy as my brother die? He always ate right and exercised. Whatever this is, I’m sure the doctors will find a way to sort it out. To save him.
I pull out the picture of Joce and Cora from my shirt pocket and then turn the overheard light on and study the two identical faces, committing every feature to memory. A sense of completion fills me, even though I haven’t met them yet. Cora’s mouth is quirked up on one side, a smile very similar to mine, with a dimple to complete that mischievous look. Joce, on the other hand, seems unprepared for the shot. She’s wearing a cute little frown on her face, glaring at her sister. I’d imagine that’s how I look when I frown.
My girls.
Putting the picture back in my pocket, I step out of the truck and head for the elevators. I have no idea where or which room Josh is in. I sent a text to my mother earlier today but I haven’t heard from her. The elevator stops on the ground floor and I alight and shuffle to the nurses’ station, counting on being lucky.
A nurse with black hair sprinkled with gray on her temple and crown, simultaneously speaks on the phone and types on her computer. I’m partly relieved. I still have time to get my head straight before I see Josh. I glance around the waiting room, trying to distract myself. Not that I succeed in any way. Seems like everywhere I look is filled with people pacing impatiently or agitated, others gathered in small groups in the waiting area.
Someone touches my arm. I turn around, startled.
“Can I help you?” the nurse asks, blinking at me behind black-rimmed glasses.
“I’m looking for Josh Holloway.”
She eyes me with a little frown marring her features, a look similar to the one I notice on people when they first meet and talk to me. I’ve been told I have an unusual voice. I wouldn’t know, though. I have no idea what my voice sounds like since I lost my hearing when I was five-years-old.
Her gaze drifts away from my face, following the tattoos peeking out from my T-shirt at the neck and then traveling down to my arms. Her lips tighten in disapproval. I really don’t give a fuck what she thinks about me and my tattoos. People can be judgmental assholes.
I hold her gaze with my cold one, until she lowers hers to the computer screen and her fingers fly on the keyboard as a red flush fills her cheeks. Her lips move, but I can’t read them given the angle of her face. She looks up when I don’t answer her back, her mouth pressed into a thin line.
“Sorry. I didn’t catch what you said.” I gesture to my ears with my fingers. Her eyes widen, understanding flooding her face.
“Oh. I’m sorry for that. We have an interpreter--”
I hold up my hand and shake my head. “I can read lips.” She nods and glances down at her fidgety fingers on the keyboard.
Great. I made her uncomfortable. “What were you saying before?” I ask, eager to move away from this awkwardness.
Her head comes up and she smiles. “Oh. Right. Are you family?”
I swallow around the lump in my throat. “I’m his brother.”
She nods, types on her computer then looks up at me with something close to sympathy in her eyes. “Third floor. Oncology. Room 305.”
My world comes to an abrupt stop.
My head is buzzing. The only word ringing through it is ‘Oncology.’
A hand gently touches my arm again, tugging slightly. The nurse is staring at me, concern on her face. I think she asks me if I’m okay.
No. I’m not. Everything is reeling around me, and the hope I’ve been holding on to since I left New York fades a little.
No
God.
No.
The nurse says something, but I’m already turning around, my feet propelling me forward in no particular direction. I want to see my brother, but I’m scared of what I will find in that room.
How the hell am I going to face him after everything that has happened?
Then I remember Nor’s words in that letter. He doesn’t have a lot of time left.
I thrust my hands inside my jeans pockets and walk toward the elevators to search for my brother.
The room is quiet when I step inside. The curtains have been drawn to keep the light out. A bed is positioned close to the window with a thin form lying on it.
The faint light filtering through the blinds casts shadows on Josh’s face, giving him an eerie look. His body has lost all its former football player physique. Sunken cheeks. Pale face.
Movement from the corner of my eye pulls me away from my brother. I look over my shoulder and suck in a breath.
Nor.
She’s sleeping in a cot a couple of feet away. I hadn’t seen it when I walked in, given the dimmed lighting. Her body is covered with a navy blanket. Pain drums inside my chest as I take her in. She looks so tiny and fragile, curled up with her hair splayed across the pillow. Her cheeks look hollow. Her eyebrows seem to have a permanent frown in them, a look that is both foreign and troubling.
Jesus Christ. She’s still beautiful, despite the changes in her body.
My breathing quickens, and fire spreads in my veins as the love that has been simmering under my skin flares to life. I should have known I could never hate her, no matter how hard I tried.
Careful not to wake them up, I reach for a chair and place it next to Josh’s bed. Once I’m seated, I pull out my phone and quickly type a text to Simon.
I’m here. It’s not good, man.
He replies seconds later. Where exactly?
Me: Oncology. St. James Memorial.
He takes a bit longer to reply this time. Fuck.
My thoughts exactly.
I shove the phone back inside the pocket of my pants and adjust my weight on the chair and offer a silent prayer to the Main Guy above, begging for some kind of miracle to cure Josh.
STARTLED OUT OF ANOTHER UNPLEASANT dream, I open my eyes and shift my stiff body on the cot, trying to get into a comfortable position. I’ve been having these dreams for a while now; nightmares of Josh dying. Dreams about Cole. Sometimes they play out differently, giving me a glimpse of what Cole and I could have had if we had ended up together. At times they are horrible dreams that jolt me awake, shivering and sobbing.
The past nine years haven’t been easy, but Josh, Cora and Joce made everything bearable. Everything worth living for.
And now Josh is dying, and there is nothing I can do to reverse that, and not enough words tell him how grateful I am for being there for me and the girls. For being my hero. For being an amazing dad and my best friend.
Josh’s mom and dad, and I have been alternating during the past few weeks, making sure someone is always with him here at the hospital. At times my sisters, Elise and Elon, would offer to stay with him too. His youngest brother, Nick, sleeps over when he doesn’t have a lot of classes the following day and mostly during the weekends. We have worked out a system that ensures one of us is always here at all times.
Finally, I sit up on the cot and grab my phone next to the pillow to check the time. Warmth radiates inside my chest when I’m met by the adorable faces of Cora and Joce, grinning at the camera. Since Elise doesn’t have classes until this afternoon, she gladly offered to stay with them last night.
Swinging my feet
off the bed, I climb to my feet and tug my dress down, fighting a yawn. I glance around the dim-lit room, my eyes narrowing in on the figure sitting on a chair next to Josh’s bed. My gaze travels from the beanie-covered head lowered on the bed, to the hunched broad shoulders stretching the gray T-shirt. I blink several times, my heart skipping quite a few beats. My vision sways and my breath comes out faster and faster.
Cole?
My body hums with the kind of effect only he could ever evoke in me, verifying that it is him.
I start to walk forward but my steps falter. I’m breathless and my legs are suddenly nothing more than two slabs of lead cemented on the white floor.
Oh, God. He’s here. He is really here.
I wipe the tears rolling down my cheeks. I’m worried that if I look away he might vanish into thin air. I continue to stare at the man I’d once loved, and still do, so much that my heart aches with the immensity of it all even nine-years later.
Cole lifts his head from the bed, and as if sensing me, he turns around.
I suck in a breath, and for just a few seconds, my heart stops its furious sprint in my chest. He straightens in his seat, his gaze searching my face with an intensity so raw, so fierce, so hot I’m wondering why I haven’t dissolved to ashes where I’m standing. His expression softens and he’s looking at me the way he used to, as though there’s nothing in this world which is important to him right now. Just me and him.
He takes off his beanie and unfolds his tall frame from the chair.
Oh.
God.
He is still handsome, just like I remember him: square jaw, deep set gray eyes, generous lips, sharp cheekbones.
Did you get all my letters, is what I want to ask him. Why didn’t you write back?
I don’t, though. I have so many questions, each one of them fighting for precedence. Unable to hold back anymore, I rush forward toward him, ignoring the tension crackling the air.
I just want to hold him and make sure he’s real.
His eyes widen right before I fling my body into his and wrap my arms around his waist, tucking my head into his chest.
