Matched

by Angela Graham

  I stand carefully, grab a pair of dry pajama shorts and an oversized tank top, and get dressed as quickly as my soreness will allow, ignoring the camera on the wall. I’m in the hall a minute later and heading to Callie and Oakley’s room, hoping he’s not there, when Nadia steps out from her room right in front of me, purposely blocking my path.

  “Vell, that vas something.”

  “Move.” I go left, and so does she. I try right, and she’s there too. “Seriously, Nadia, I’m not in the mood. How ’bout you store up all the bitchiness and unleash on me tomorrow?”

  She laughs and steps back into her room. “Just playing vith you. So sensitive.”

  “Bitch,” I snivel, stalking past her. I stop outside the door to Uranus, which is partially cracked. One peek inside reveals Oakley on his bed, hugging Callie. Nope, I can’t do it. I need that fresh air now.

  I hurry down the hall, feeling my anger renew—but not at the sight of Nadia, or even from jealousy at seeing Callie and Oakley. It’s purely confusion and exhaustion; I’m unsure how to process it all.

  I’m soon down the stairs and out the back door, regretting it the moment I spot Court and Sophie in front of a pissed-off Emma.

  “Nothin’s going on here, darlin’,” Court’s telling Emma.

  “Then why was she all up on you all damn day?”

  Sophie moves toward Emma, but Court grabs her arm to stop her. “I’ve known Court most my life. I can be all up on him anytime I want!”

  “I asked you to please have a drink and wait inside,” Court pleads with her.

  Emma launches a patronizing grin her way. “Yeah, go wait inside like a good little girl.”

  “You seriously like her?” Sophie yells. “She’s mean, Court!”

  “I sure am. Especially when ex-girlfriends can’t take a hint and keep their hands to themselves.”

  Sophie’s speechless.

  “You had him but obviously couldn’t hold onto him, so stay the hell off his lap!”

  “How dare you!” Sophie screeches.

  Okay, apparently I missed something. And even though the last thing I want to witness is another fight, I can’t leave Emma out here alone.

  “Sophie, please, I’m askin’ politely one last time before I lay your shit on national television about why exactly we split up. Don’t think your mama would be too happy about it.”

  “You promised!”

  “And I’ll keep it as long as you walk away without another word.”

  She doesn’t make peep, the look of defeat on her face almost pitiful as she finally listens and walks away.

  Court takes a breath, and his hands are skimming across his chin when Emma opens her mouth again.

  “Nothin’ happened, Em!” he exclaims before she has a chance to speak. “Christ, woman. One minute you want nothin’ to do with me, and the next you’re ready to claw out her eyes ’cause she sat next to me?”

  “Not next to—she was on you!” Emma yells, and that’s when I notice her stance wobble. Her face turns ashen as her voice rises. “Did you blow him in the bathroom too?” she yells at Sophie’s back. “He really likes that!”

  “Emma, God damn it.” Court steps right into her and grasps her shoulders. “I’m crazy about you, woman. I screwed up and I’m sorrier than I’ve ever been about anything in my life, but you’re either gonna forgive me or you’re not. I can’t force you. I’ve tried to prove to you how much you mean to me, but this angry thing you got goin’ on…it’s not you.”

  “You don’t know me!” Emma pushes away but he doesn’t let go, claiming her head in his hands.

  “Darlin’, I know more than you think.” His voice softens. “I know you eat oatmeal every mornin’ with a big ol’ glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice. I know you hate pickles, and get grossed out at the sight of dead fish.” His finger reaches out and traces down the length of her nose. “I know the way you scrunch up your sweet lil’ face when somethin’s amiss, or you think someone’s lyin’.” His thumb rubs her forehead. “The tiny lines that form here when you do it.”

  Emma’s body straightens with the large gulp of air she inhales.

  “I know your laugh—how cute it is when you’re excited, with that adorable shriek at the end.” His hand roams down her arm, sneaking to her side, and she squirms. “I know you’re ticklish here,” he says with a smile, “but you try to hide it from me.”

  She bites her lip as his hand moves further around, grazing over her stomach and up under her chest. “And how you light up when I touch you here.”

  “Court…” she hums.

  “And I know I hurt you.” He takes her hands in his, eyes pleading with hers. “It kills me a little more every day that you don’t forgive me and that I can’t make it disappear, but I can’t. It happened, and I’ll always hate myself for the hurt and anger I created in my beautiful, sweet girl. I see you—all of you. I know how hard it is for you to be around me because I ruined the chance for us to have the perfect start, but darlin’, I’m beggin’ you for a second chance. I swear I’ll never let you down again.”

  “What the hell’s going on?” Cruz asks from behind me.

  I inhale sharply as the cool icepack presses softly against the tender flesh on my back. He holds it there, watching the scene in front of us.

  “Court…I—” Emma stops short, grasping at Court’s shirt as her body sways.

  “Emma!” Cruz runs over and I’m right behind him, but it’s too late.

  “I…” Emma’s eyes roll back, her body going slack and falling forward as her knees buckle.

  Court catches her in his arms. “Get help!” he begs in the most terrified, agonized voice I’ve ever heard, his expression pained and frightened. “GET HELP NOW!”

  Confessional: Oakley Abrams

  “There’s so many things going on in this house at once I need to list and analyze them out loud or I’ll go nuts.

  “Obviously, most important is little Emma. She just collapsed, and there’s plenty of people swarming around her. I’d just be in the way, but I’m praying she’s okay. I’ve never seen her drink, so it’s not from that, which is even more worrisome. Between her brother and Court, though, I know she’s in good hands.

  “Callie’s fine; no real damage, just shaken up. I finally got her to sleep. That friend of Jensen’s better be praising the Lord he got kicked out so quick, or I’d have taught him the lesson of a lifetime. You think a woman wants to ‘play,’ you ask her! You do not grab her and force her into a tub with two drunk dicks hanging out! Fucker better not even enter the same town I’m in. And Jensen…if he’s allowed to stay, he better grovel or steer clear.

  “And then there’s Harlow. I’m not upset she slapped me. I’m upset that we somehow got to the point where she would slap me, or I’d say things that’d drive her to it. God, when we were younger, we were so perfect. I hate that she still had to finish high school when I left for college. I hate that she needed to stay for college when I was drafted by the Ravens. And I hate that we may have ruined a friendship by trying to salvage a love we outgrew.

  “I’ll talk to her when I calm down. Because in the end, she’s a helluva girl, and I’ll never not care about her.”

  Chapter 24

  It’s impossible to get a good look at what’s going on with all the paramedics crowding Emma. Cruz is at her side and Court’s standing next to them, watching as she’s loaded onto a gurney and whisked past me. Her eyes are open but they look distant and dazed, squashing what little relief I was starting to feel.

  “Find Adam!” Cruz shouts, running beside them and disappearing around the side of the house.

  “I don’t fuckin’ care!” I hear Court yelling at someone, and turn to see he’s talking to the few crewmembers scattered around. “Either take me to the hospital, or I’ll find my own way. You can’t keep us here!”

  “You have to wait to talk to Adam before—” The cameraman tries to calm him down, but Court lunges forward, taking the guy’s shirt in his
fists and lifting him off his feet, eyes gleaming dangerously.

  “I am goin’ to my Emma, so you best make that happen!” He throws him back and starts toward one of the others. “Where’s Adam?”

  The intern cowers. “I…uh…there’s a small cottage in the back, between here and the guest house. He stays there.”

  I place my hand on Court’s shoulder, and his head jerks my way. “We saw it the other day,” I say as gently as I can muster. “I’ll go with you.”

  He only nods, then pushes his way back into the house. The exes have worn out their welcome—and from the looks of those still hanging around, it’s obvious they agree.

  “Everyone find a bed or couch and get some sleep,” someone from the crew directs. “Everything’s fine.”

  “Like hell it is!” Court disagrees viscerally, stalking out the front door, my legs striving to keep up.

  We make it to Adam’s cottage within a few minutes, and Court breaks into a sprint the moment it comes into view. Not bothering to knock, he flings open the door and rushes inside.

  “What the hell?” Adam’s standing in the tiny kitchen, a glass of brown liquor in his hand when I finally enter, out of breath.

  “It’s Emma,” is all Court says, and Adam’s across the room.

  “Talk.”

  Court explains quickly. I watch a protective concern gloss over Adam’s eyes, the veins in his corded neck threatening to pulse right through the collar of his button-down.

  “I need to get to her,” Court says. “If I have to walk—”

  “That won’t be necessary.” Adam grabs his shoes and sits on the sofa to slip them on. “I have a jeep in the back.” Court’s entire body eases with his monumental exhale.

  With his shoes on, Adam stands and glances at a closed door behind us, then to me.

  “Is Jasmine in there?” I ask, wanting to go check but knowing Emma needs me more. Exactly how Adam feels.

  He nods. “Miranda,” he decrees, “needs to sleep it off. Give me a minute, and we’ll go.”

  Court’s shuffling from foot to foot. He looks out the door, then around the small cottage, anxious to get to Emma. Adam grabs a notepad from the counter, scribbles something on it, then tears off the page and sticks it to the fridge. A note to Jasmine—er, Miranda, I figure.

  “Let’s go!”

  Adam’s out the door and we’re right behind him, waiting as he locks up then leads us to the black jeep parked in the back. “Gonna want to buckle up,” he warns me. The second I have the seatbelt clicked, he floors the gas and we take off, flying down the muddy trail.

  “Please tell me there’s an actual hospital on this island,” I hope out loud, holding onto the bar overhead.

  “There is,” Adam answers.

  “One you trust?” Court questions. Adam turns his head toward him, no longer watching where we’re going.

  “With Emma’s life? No.” He veers quickly to the right, my entire body following as we hit the main road.

  “How far away is it?” I gulp, wishing I had on a three-point harness.

  Adam looks at me in the rearview mirror. “About twenty miles…so ten minutes.”

  I do the math in my head, curse under my breath, and grab the bar quickly—with both hands.

  We pull into the parking lot, and I notice only a few lampposts light the area. The “hospital” more resembles an upscale Motel 6 than a medical center, or even a clinic.

  Court’s out of the jeep first and running toward the entrance. Adam’s quick to catch up as I climb out, thankful to touch ground safely.

  The guys are already walking back out of the building before I get there, accompanied by a woman who’s leading them through a large grassy courtyard toward a row of rooms. I pick up the pace, reaching them just as the woman knocks on door 2A of a building that’s two stories tall, with all the doors facing out…exactly like a motel.

  Seriously? I look around, and am mentally questioning the legitimacy of this place’s medicinal when a doctor steps out.

  Within a few words, it’s obvious the native man is highly intelligent and sincerely kind. A small glimmer of reassurance rises inside me. Adam is escorted into the room when he gives his name, while Court and I wait outside.

  “I need to see her,” Court pleads, but it’s too late—the door’s shut. “Damn it!”

  My body jolts at the slam of his fist into the wall, startling me from my scrutiny of the layout. There’s no actual waiting room—just a hall, right out in the open.

  “Breaking your hand won’t help,” I tell him, trying to take a look at it.

  “It’s fine!” He jerks away. “I can’t stand this.”

  “I know. But she’s in the right place,” I say, despite my skepticism. “They’ll take care of her.” Cruz will make sure of it, I resist adding.

  Court slowly takes a seat on the sidewalk, his head falling back against the stucco wall. “I knew somethin’ was wrong.”

  I slide down beside him and draw my knees up to my chin. “Yeah.”

  What more is there to say? Emma’s tiny, almost fragile—and no matter how beautiful she is, there’s no denying the ever-present paleness in her complexion.

  We sit in silent vigil outside her door for what seems like hours but is probably closer to thirty minutes before Adam emerges.

  Court’s up first. “How is she?”

  Adam glances my way as I stand, then answers hesitantly, his voice hollow. “She’s dehydrated.”

  He starts to walk away, but Court grabs his shoulder. “Tell me what’s happenin’!”

  Adam glares down at the fearless hand, but Court doesn’t sway. “Please,” Court begs him. “I need to be with her.”

  Adam looks to me again, then bows his head with a sigh. Court’s hand falls away in defeat as the nurse slips out of Emma’s room and starts to breeze past. Adam hesitates, then stops her.

  “This is Court Callahan. Tell Emma he’s here.” Court’s entire body lightens noticeably and Adam continues, staring pointedly at him. “He can visit with her—if she allows him to.”

  The nurse nods, making her way back through Emma’s door.

  “Thank you,” Court rushes out in one grateful breath.

  It only takes a minute before the nurse cracks open the door and waves Court in. Adam now grabs him, a desperate plea in his eyes. “She needs to go home. Make her realize that.”

  Court nods quickly, then disappears behind the door.

  I’m immune to the hard, ominous expressions of Adam’s face, but when he looks at me this time with lost eyes, shoving his hands deep into his pockets, I know things are serious.

  “The chapel,” is all he says before crossing the courtyard and turning a corner.

  Scanning the area for any sign of a chapel, I don’t have to question what he means when I spot the wooden cross perched atop a tiny white shack on the side of the building. My feet take off instantly to lead me straight there, blood whooshing louder in my ears with each step. Fear, apprehension, and heartbreak are all part of the rush of emotions that comes to a head when I open the door and see Cruz on his knees, his forehead resting against the altar.

  I race forward and fall down around him with my arms wide open, holding him not even a conscious decision. He doesn’t say a word or even move, remaining absolutely still as my arms tighten around him. My fingers stroke through his soft, dark hair, and my other hand is firm against his back, splayed out to attempt an offer of soothing support.

  He doesn’t cry—at least, I don’t hear or feel him do so. We sit until his breathing spikes, becoming erratic as he finally yanks himself up, his eyes glossy and frenzied. But there’s no sadness when he looks at me—only pure rage.

  He clears his throat, looking away and back multiple times. I stand, allowing him all the time he needs. His mouth opens only to slam shut and his fists pump torturously at his sides, the vein in his neck pulsing more wildly with each sweep he makes across the room.

  Seconds trickle into minutes
, silence stifling the air surrounding us. With slow, gradual movements, I take a seat on the front pew and wait as he paces, his body wound impossibly tight and frown deepening with every glance in my direction.

  “Alport,” he finally grits through clenched teeth.

  I want to understand and follow what he’s saying, but I’m at a loss and unsure whether I should ask or let him get out whatever he needs to unleash. When he stops in the corner of the room, his stare penetrates mine and he repeats, more clearly, “Alport syndrome.”

  My jaw goes slack, and my brain searches for any recognition but comes up blank. I tilt my head in pained compassion, and he starts back across the room.

  “Yeah, it’s rare,” he explains, his back-and-forth stride gaining momentum. “Genetic. Not a fucking thing you can do to stop it.” His hands tug at his hair. “My grandma had it, my father…they all…”

  I see the absolute fear darkening his already agonized eyes.

  “My father died when I was eight. My mom lost her shit…went crazy…and his brother, my Uncle Jack, stepped in to help out.”

  A warm tear bubbles up and slips down my cheek, and he sees it before I can wipe it away. His brows knit together and he’s in front of me in two long strides, staring for a long moment as another unstoppable tear escapes down my cheek. I can’t help it. The thought of Emma and him growing up without a father and watching their mother fall apart, not to mention knowing there’s more to this story, is shattering my heart.

  He sits on the pew next to me, and I turn my body to face him.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers.

  I inhale a rapid stream of air, stunned by his unexpected words. The pad of his thumb brushes across my cheek, wiping the tears away. I watch, completely mesmerized, when he brings it to his lips and sucks.

  My head drops at my confusion. I want him to talk to me—no distractions. “Tell me about Alport syndrome,” I murmur, bravely taking his hand in mine.