I move my gaze to her face, studying the details that peek out from the mask. “You love her.”
“Yes. I’m not letting her go.”
I pull my attention back to him, and wince at the resolve on his features. “You fall in love easily, Paul. You don’t know what— ”
“You don’t know me anymore, Stewart. You don’t have the right to tell me how I love. I’m not the nineteen-year-old kid you walked out on.”
No, he isn’t. I feel lost, like I have no footing in this room and am questioning every word that comes out of my mouth while he—he is so secure. Strong. Like this is his relationship, and I’m an intruder in it, instead of the other way around. “She was mine first, Paul. I had her. I told her to find someone to keep her entertained.”
I met his gaze. “Entertained, Paul. That was it. I was always the primary in this relationship. You were the secondary.”
“Your work is the primary. Everything else in your life comes secondary.” His voice rises, and he jabs his finger toward me. “Tell me that isn’t true. Tell me you didn’t put her to the side while you slaved away for your job. Tell me she wasn’t an afterthought to your business and deals.”
I can’t. I cover her hand with mine, wanting to get on my knees and beg for forgiveness. I hate him for being here right now when all I want is to be alone with her. I need to tell her how I feel, tell her the mistakes I’ve made, and apologize for any and every time I’ve put her second in my life.
I clear my throat. “I can’t fix what I’ve done. I can only change going forward.”
“Bullshit. You aren’t going to step in as a Monday-morning quarterback. I gave her my heart almost two years ago, and have spent every day of that time being there for her. This is the woman I wake up next to every morning. I breathe and live for her. She’s mine, despite whatever you think.”
There is a soft cough behind me, and I turn to see Dana in the doorway. She crosses her arms and shoots us both a look. “I don’t hear either one of you thinking about her. She doesn’t belong to either of you. You’re both acting like you hold any decision-making rights in her life, like you can fistfight your way to a victory. Who would she pick, if she was awake right now?”
I look away from Dana and down at Madison, focusing on the fragile rise and fall of her chest.
I am absolutely terrified of that answer.
46
DANA
I don’t know what to make of my brothers and the men they have become. They snarl and snap over her silent body like she is the last scrap of meat, and they are starving. They’re both desperate in their love and both terrified of losing her. Both reckless in their announcement of happily ever after. But they’re forgetting the most important thing in this clusterfuck: they don’t have much of a choice. If she does wake up, this will be her choice to make.
I’m torn over this woman and my feelings for her. I’ve spent the last two months hating her as I secretly tried to figure out her motives and evil plan. And now, it appears she has no plan at all. Stewart was the executor of this insane figure eight. Madison is just the center of it, the place where the two halves come together and meet.
This entire situation is a disaster, and it’s at this terrible moment that the slow beeping that has been the heartbeat of this horror show slows, the change in tempo catching all of our attention. Lights that I never noticed begin to flash, alarms begin to sound, and all I can focus on is the beeping has stopped.
Stopped.
Flatline.
Both men rush forward as the door slams open and white coats swarm.
47
MADISON
I cannot speak for others who have died. Their experiences might have been different. They might have been met at glittery gates by Morgan Freeman and cute little cherubs with cheeks of sparkles. I only know that it felt like being pulled. Not forward in a vacuum of suck, but pulled apart, each arm and limb yanked slowly, an excruciating pain as cracks formed in bones, tissues and muscles popped and ripped. My chest attempted to pump as ventricles broke loose and cavities collapsed. My heart struggled to pick a side as my body broke in half, tearing down the middle in an unclean division of all the things that made my body whole. Its pieces were stubborn, sewn into ribcages and sternums, and finally yanked into two separate pieces, my soul screaming in protest as I was released to the heavens.
48
PAUL
There is shouting, unintelligible words, a blur of coats and we are pushed aside, the small room suddenly full, my back hitting the sharp edge of a machine. I struggle to see her face, my panicked eyes meeting Stewart’s, despair in his blue eyes. Our gaze holds for a moment, and in that moment, everything is forgiven. We need only one thing, and I return my gaze to her body, which is so still, the monitor still showing a flat line, buzzing and alarms echoing throughout the room. I choke back a sob and press a fist against my mouth as promises spill out of me. I promise things I will never be able to deliver, promise to let her go, to let her be with him. I promise to lead a perfect life, to devote myself to good, anything, everything, just to have her live. I need her life. I cannot, will not, make it without her. I don’t have to have her as mine, but I need her to live.
This world cannot lose her. I cannot exist if she is not alive.
49
STEWART
Six voicemails.
The fact that it crosses my mind in this moment is sickening, and something I will never admit to anyone. I push it out of my mind the moment it creeps in, desperate to bury it with emotions, love, grief, anything.
I don’t deserve her. I don’t deserve anything but my empty office, stacked with deadlines and trades, dotted lines and P&Ls. I don’t deserve the sunny smile flirting with me while snow dots her face, her giggle when I awaken her at four AM, her hand tugging me to my feet while she drops to her knees. I try to catch sight of her, try to see past the flash of metal, white cloth, and gloves. I try to see her face. I try to send her a silent apology for every piece of the man that I am not. I step backward, against the wall, and pray for forgiveness.
50
DANA
There are too many people in the room, all with a purpose or a deep-ingrained love that will not allow their feet to move. I’m the only one who doesn’t belong. I’m the outsider, watching the train wreck with a morbid fascination.
I can’t help them. This is something they have to figure out amongst themselves. I don’t envy Madison when she wakes up. Survival of death should be a celebration, but instead, it will be a tense, who-will-you-choose, tug of war. She will wake to expectant eyes, competing affections, and pregnant pauses. I need to protect her. I need to keep their competition at bay and allow her to heal. I am suddenly struck with the irony of those thoughts. For months, I have been worried about protecting them from her. And now, now that I am actually in the discussion, I’ve crawled over the fence and now guard the opposite side.
As the flatline stretches out, her body jerks with electricity from the paddles, and I realize I may not even have a fence to protect.
51
MADISON
I am brought back to life at 4:08 PM. It is with a jarring impact, my back slamming against the bed with a hard thunk. My eyes flip open to bright white light, shining intensely down on me, heads breaking the line of white, hands everywhere, touching, lifting, squeezing my skin. I briefly hear Paul’s voice, then my eyes close, and I sink back into darkness.
I am so, so, tired.
I feel a squeeze then a release. A squeeze and then a release. A hum of sounds, a familiar cadence that my brain recognizes as speech—the words unintelligible. I struggle, the grip on my hand tightening as I try to move. I open my eyes, crust sticking my lashes together, and I blink to clear them.
An unfamiliar face peers into mine—the man’s features studied, his eyes sharp, looking carefully into mine. I frown, trying to place him, trying to place the white tile ceiling behind his head. Where am I? There’s a roar in my head, spots
appearing in my vision, and I wince, closing my eyes briefly, the peace instantly returning, and I relax against the pillow, grateful for the reprieve.
The hand squeezes again, and the voices return, incessant and irritating. I try to pull my hand away, try to roll to my side and block out the voices. I want to sleep, and this party of people are putting a cramp in that style.
It won’t stop, and now a second hand has joined in, squeezing my other hand. I groan, opening my eyes again, the white glare doing the tango in stilettos on my head, shooting needles straight into my temples. I try and focus, try to move my mouth and tell these persistent assholes to go to hell. I can’t move my head, can’t do anything but stare up into the light, and I wonder where the stranger went, if he is still here, if he is one of the damn people squeezing my hands to death. A new face enters my vision, and I relax slightly. Paul.
He leans forward, speaking so loudly that someone two blocks away could hear, the angle of his approach revealing that he is one of the hand squeezers. “Madd, can you hear me?”
I blink at him and try to speak. Swallow and try again, the words coming out as a whisper. “I’m not deaf. Please… shut up and let me sleep.”
He grins. The damn man grins, a smile that stretches across his face as if he has just won the Mavericks Invitational. “Yes, baby,” he whispers, and I would swear that a tear leaks from his eyes.
“Thank you,” I grumble, my voice coming out hoarse, my eyes closing against the still-brutal light. “And please have someone turn that damn light off.”
“Anything else, babe?” His voice is close to my ear but at a normal decibel level, and I can feel the warm tickle of breath against my eardrum.
“Yeah.” I sigh, the glare against the darks of my eyelids gone, some angel having found the fry light, turning it off. “Stop strangling my hands.”
If he responds, I don’t hear it. Darkness is once again my new best friend.
52
DANA
I find Stewart in one of the lobby chairs, his fingers busy on his phone. He looks up at my approach. “Hey sis.”
“She’s asleep but stable. You didn’t want to stay in the room?”
He shakes his head, and I can see the defeat in every line of his posture.
I sit next to him and run my hand over his shoulder, picking a bit of lint off of the material. “It’s okay that she didn’t see you when she woke up. She’ll know you were here. Chances are, she won’t even remember it.”
He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. The point wasn’t for her to see me. I’m just glad I saw it.” He lets out a breath of air. “God, when her eyes opened, when I heard her voice… it was a weight off my shoulders. I’ve never been so scared, Dana. I mean, with Jennifer, there was never an unknown period. We were just told what happened and had to deal with it in any way we could. With Madison and the unknown, the waiting…” He turns to look at me. “I was terrified.”
His shoulders sag, as if there’s no strength in his bones, his body drained of any energy or hope. And in his eyes, there’s disappointment. I don’t understand it. “You should go in there. She might wake back up.”
His expression darkens. “No. I want Paul… God, I don’t know.” He leans forward in his chair and rests his forearms on his knees, staring down at his shoes. “I don’t think…” he says carefully, and every word is measured in preciosity, “that I deserve her.”
“In what way?”
He rubs his lips with the tip of his fingers. “I don’t think I can do it, D.” He looks back at me. “And I wouldn’t tell another soul but you this. The work—the job—I don’t know that I can walk from it or cut back my hours to a level she would expect. Deserve.” He sighs, and I hate the self-loathing in his eyes. “Fuck, I can’t even sit in a hospital room while she struggles for life and not think about work.” He looks away. “Paul, he doesn’t struggle with that. She’s all he’s thinking about. If I told him to walk away from surfing tomorrow to be with her, you know what?” He raises his hand in frustration. “He’d do it. Wouldn’t hesitate a second.” He looks at me. “Am I right?”
Of course, he is. I can see his mind ticking, and his speech continues without waiting for my response.
“She’s all that he loves in life.” His shoulders sag. “Do I have the right to take that from him? And then fail her later?” He runs a hand through his hair, gripping the short strands before dropping his head. “So where does that leave me? A life alone, with nothing but my work? She’s…” his voice breaks. “She’s the only thing I have other than that.”
I grab his knee and squeeze it hard until he looks at me. “I know stepping away from her seems difficult. But if she is truly the woman for you, you wouldn’t have to try and cut back your hours. You wouldn’t struggle to balance your time. You wouldn’t be able to stay away from her. When that time comes, that’s when you’ll know that you have found the person you’re meant to be with. When your life is no longer your own, and you are pushing forward that sacrifice willingly.” I rub my right temple. “Though it won’t be a sacrifice then. If that makes any sense.”
He holds my gaze for a long moment before glancing towards the ICU doors. “So, you think that is how Paul feels? You think she is it for him?”
I follow his glance, flipping back through everything I’ve seen today. “I don’t know,” I say carefully. “I think you and I both still see Paul as he once was—emotional and tender-hearted. But he’s ten years older now. He’s not the teenager we once knew. And the only thing on his mind in there is her. He… he’s not like anything I would’ve expected. It terrifies me how singularly focused he is on her. It’s as if he thinks he can will and love her back to health.”
He groans. “God, you make me feel like shit, D.”
I lean against his shoulder and loop my arm through his. “You’re sacrificing a piece of your life for him. This is the proudest I’ve ever been of you.” I catch the slight curl of his mouth in my peripheral vision.
“I haven’t made a decision, Dana.”
“Yes, you have,” I say firmly. “Now go outside and make your calls. I’ll tell Paul.” I stand, brushing off my pants and reach for my purse.
He reaches out and stops me. “I love her.” The raw need in his eyes makes me pause, and a spike of pain hits my heart.
“I know,” I say softly. “But you also love him.”
His jaw tightens.
53
MADISON
Kisses. Soft brushes of lips against my cheeks, nose, and gently moving down my neck. I shift slightly, bending toward the contact, and slowly open my eyes. Everything is blurry, the room dark. The kisses find their way to my lips, and I smile, recognizing the soft way he cradles my head. “Hey baby.”
“Hey.” Paul kisses my forehead. “How do you feel?”
“Okay.” My head aches. “What time is it?”
“Almost ten. In about five minutes their most intimidating nurse is going to come in and try and kick me out. Just in case she succeeds, I wanted to say hi.” He presses a button and the lamp beside my bed comes on.
“Hi,” I say weakly, and he smiles. He looks bad, my Paul. It’s the way he looks when he comes back from a two-week stint in Australia—a little gaunt and underfed, desperate for my touch and starved for my company.
“What happened?” I glance around the room, and hiss at the blinding slice of pain that stabs my temple. I lift up my hand and gingerly touch my head. I’m shocked at the bare skin, a portion of my head shaved.
“You wiped out. The board came back and hit you on the head.”
“I’m in the hospital for that?” I find a bandage, and trace my fingers around the edge of it.
His face tightens. “You were without oxygen for a while. And with head trauma… for a while we didn’t think you’d make it.”
“We?”
His eyes hold mine. “The doctors … and also Stewart. He was here.”
My heart sinks in my chest. “Here?” With
you? A volley of unspoken thoughts screams through my mind.
“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “But don’t worry about that now. You need to rest.”
“Is he here now?”
“No. He left a few hours ago, once your condition stabilized.”
“And how long will you stay?” I wanted to grab his hand, to squeeze it, but every moment was making my head pain worse.
He gives me a rueful smile. “Until they drag me away.”
I close my eyes as another burst of pain lights every receptor in my brain. “My head hurts,” I mumble.
I hear him stand and his hand brushes over my bare head, placing a soft kiss on my forehead. “I’ll get the nurse,” he whispers.
I keep my eyes closed and wait for the pain to ease, the process not helped by my racing thoughts. Stewart was here. With Paul. In the same room. Speaking. Interacting. I’m almost grateful I was unconscious. What had been said? What conversations were had? Had there been a fight?
With a different man, I would wonder at his absence, and what it meant to our relationship, but this is Stewart. His work, no doubt, needed attention. I’m surprised he stayed until I gained consciousness.
I open my eyes and notice the flowers, big arrangements stacked along the opposite wall of the private room. I think of my relationships.
This is the moment. The collision of lives. Yet it’s so quiet. So peaceful. I’ve been steeling myself for this moment, expecting to have to choose which of my men I love the most. But maybe, with hours of unknown events having passed… maybe that choice has been taken from me. And in that light, Stewart’s absence seems more notable.
Undertow Page 13
