Bare Hearts

by Youngblood, Devon

  Bare Hearts

  Book Two of the Coming Back to You Series

  By Devon Youngblood

  Copyright 2013 @ Devon Youngblood

  All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be reproduced or transferred in any form without the prior written consent of the author, except for brief quotes for review purposes.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, dates, incidents, and places, or any resemblances to persons living or deceased, is purely coincidental and a product of the author’s imagination

  Dedication

  This is dedicated to all my author friends and devoted readers! Most of all this is dedicated to my husband, you are my rock, forever & always.

  Acknowledgements

  I’d like to thank my beta readers, Brittainy, Vicki, Regina, Catherine, Francesca and Isabella! I honestly don’t know what I would do without you ladies in my life! Your encouragement and friendship has meant the world to me. I also want to thank Abby from Abby’s Book Blog for making the Bare Hearts book trailer. Also want to thank my lovely editor/friend Genevieve Scholl, as well as Erika for being a second pair of eyes. And I want to thank the bloggers that took the time to read and review this book. I want to especially thank those that have stood by me from the very beginning.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  LILY

  Have you ever wondered what it’s like to receive that dreaded phone call? The one about someone you care about being in the hospital? Well, it is the worst thing you can hear. Today started out as any normal day. I woke up to the blaring sound of my alarm. Waiting until the last minute to get up, I rush to get showered and ready for work. Looking in the mirror, I pull my long thick dark auburn hair into a ponytail and put some makeup on, just enough so my face is not bare. I race quickly to the kitchen, pouring my morning coffee into my mug. Grabbing my lunch bag, I open the freezer to grab a frozen dinner to throw inside.

  I’m almost out the door when my phone rings. I hesitate to answer it because I’m already late. I glance at the phone, but didn’t recognize the number.

  “Hello?” I say into the receiver.

  “Hi, I’m calling for Lily De Luca?” a female voice asks.

  “This is she,” I say nervously.

  “This is Memorial Hospital. I’m calling to inform you that your mom has been in an accident. You need to come down here right away.”

  My heart sinks as I listen to those words. How can this be? I just talked to my mom last night, she was perfectly fine. My heart beats rapidly. I race around looking for my car keys, where did I last see them? I think to myself. Finally, I see them on the table by the door, grab my purse and head out quickly. Inside the car, my hands are shaky as I insert the key in the ignition. I get the key in and barely have it in drive before I am on the road racing toward the hospital. On the way, I am plagued by the thoughts of my mom and how serious this could be. Maybe she only has a broken arm or leg or something. “Please don’t let it be any worse, please, please, please.” I plead out loud.

  After weaving in and out of traffic for ten minutes I pull into the hospital emergency parking lot, pulling into the closest parking spot I can find. In a rush, I throw the car into park, grab my purse, and run inside.

  Looking around quickly I spot the front desk with a gray haired woman behind it. Her eyes meet mine as she lifts her head and she nods in greeting. “Hi, I was told my mom is here. Can you tell me where she is? She’s been in an accident,” I say, rushing out the words.

  “Slow down. What is her name?” The gray haired woman asks me, trying to calm me.

  “Her name is Cynthia, Cynthia De Luca. Please hurry; I need to know where she is.”

  The woman types my mom’s name into the computer system and directs me down the hall to the left. My legs carry me quickly toward the direction the woman sent me. I make a last minute plea that my mom is okay, and approach the emergency room to see a woman behind a glass window. Other people are waiting in the room; some waiting to be admitted, and others look like they are waiting to hear news about their loved one. I approach the glass window, informing her that I was called about my mom being admitted.

  “She was in an accident. Her name is Cynthia De Luca,” I wait impatiently while she looks up the information, it seems like I’m waiting forever.

  “Ma’am, you can take a seat in the waiting room. A nurse will be out shortly to talk with you,” she replies and slides the window shut.

  I tap on the window until she reopen is and I plead. “Can you at least tell me if my mom is okay?”

  “Please take a seat, a nurse will be out shortly.”

  Letting out a sigh, I sit in the nearest chair, located in the center of the room. I’m so sick with worry that my heart has not slowed its rapid pace. I shake my foot against the floor a million miles a minute as I wait. I just can’t sit still.

  I glance to my right and spot a guy around my age, maybe in his early or middle twenties. He has dark, almost black hair and the lightest blue eyes I have ever seen. His face is somber, with his elbow resting on the arm of the chair and his hand holding his head cocked to the side. His eyes meet mine, but we don’t speak. What do you say to someone in a waiting room? Glancing at my left, I see an elderly woman holding her wrist as her face expresses the pain she’s likely feeling, as a young woman sits next to her, trying to comfort her until they can be seen by the doctor.

  My stomach rumbles and I’m not sure if it’s the nerves or if I am actually hungry. I haven’t eaten yet today so it’s more likely the latter. About ten minutes pass before a nurse enters the room. “Lily De Luca?” The nurse glances around the room. I stand to walk toward her. She leads me out in the hall for privacy.

  “Lily? Hi. I’m Nurse Anne and I have some information on your mother.”

  Before she can say anything else, I ask, “Is she alright? Can I see her?”

  “Your mom has been in a serious car accident. She is being prepped for surgery as we speak. She has suffered some serious trauma, and we need to get her stabilized before you can see her. I will keep you informed,” she says, leaving me in the hall and rushes down the corridor through the swinging double doors. My mom is just beyond those doors. She is probably frightened and there is no one there to hold her hand. I walk back into the waiting room and take a seat back in the chair I was previously sitting in.

  “Bad news?” the young man sitting next to me asks.

  “My mom was in a car accident. It’s pretty serious. She is being prepped for surgery now.”

  “I hope she makes it. I’m waiting on news about my dad. He was in a car accident as well and I am waiting to hear how he’s doing,” he says with a sorrowful look in his eyes.

  “Sucks,” is all I can muster out. My heart wrenches with hurt, my stomach continues to rumble and tumble. I remember seeing a vending machine outside in the hall, so I grab my purse and fumble inside, digging for change. Approaching the vending machine, I examine the contents inside. Glancing from top to bottom I notice that there is obviously nothing healthy inside, except a bag of pretzels. Continuing to dig through my purse for change, I find just enough to get the pretzels, insert the quarters in and press the button. The machine whirs and whines’ showing its age as it pushes the bag of pretzels to the forefront. Then they get stuck on the metal prong and don’t drop down for me to retrieve them.

  “Damn it!” I say aloud, hitting the machine that took the only change I had. Now I only have my ATM card and this old machine doesn’t take ATM cards like most do nowadays. I shake the machine as best as I can, but it doesn’t budge an ounce. I don’t have the strength to get them. Hearing footsteps behind me, I turn to meet the eyes of the man that was sitting next to me in the emergency waiting room.

  �
��Need some help with that?” He asks, standing beside me. He is quite tall and lean, I look up into his eyes; they are so light in contrast to his dark hair.

  “Yes, the pretzels are stuck in there,” I say, frustrated.

  He shakes the machine a few times and it budges easily as the pretzel bag falls to the bottom. He bends down to retrieve them for me. “Here you go,” he says as he hands them to me. I accidentally touch his hand as I receive them and a shock shoots through my fingers. Looking up, our eyes meet for what seems like an eternity, yet it’s merely seconds that pass before he glances away.

  It must be my nerves or the feeling of not eating that makes me feel this way. I mean how odd is it to connect with someone in a hospital, of all places. I shake the thoughts out of my head, feeling guilty, bringing my thoughts back to my mom and waiting to hear from the nurse. As I go back into the waiting room, a nurse approaches the young man and they talk in private.

  Sitting in the same seat as before, I open the pretzels to try and get something in my stomach. I glance upward at the T.V. and see the local news is on. As I listen to some mundane news story, the same young man takes his seat by me.

  “Bad news?” I ask, looking over at him

  He shuffles his position and runs his hands through his hair. “Yes. The nurse said my dad probably won’t make it through the night.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Me too.” He stands, about to exit, when he turns to say, “I hope your mom pulls through.”

  I nod, watching as he leaves to go see his father. Inside, I hope he is able to provide comfort for his father as he passes.

  Another two hours pass when the nurse steps inside the waiting room again. "Lily De Luca," she announces.

  Stepping out to the hall once more, I brace myself for the news. "Yes?"

  "I'm afraid your mom did not make it through the surgery. Her wounds were too severe to save her. I'm sorry, we did everything we could.” She places her hand on my arm for comfort.

  When the words escape her mouth, my knees buckle. I crumple right there in the hallway as the tears fill my eyes. My mom was my everything. She raised me as a single parent; we were so close, closer than just parent and child we were best friends.

  "Why don’t I take you somewhere else more private?" The nurse says with a somber tone. She helps me steady my legs as I stand to follow her.

  My emotions are raw and I can't stop the tears. I don't want to stop the tears. In my mind, I hope that she didn't suffer in any way. The nurse guides me into an examine room, so I can mourn in peace. I am in no shape to drive right now, so I gladly let her steer me to the room.

  "If you want, I can take you to her so you can say your goodbyes before we release her to the morgue." All I can do is shake my head up and down to nod yes. My heart feels like it has broken into tiny pieces, it’s completely shattered.

  Leading the way through the long corridor, we make it to the room where my mom lays and the nurse steps out to give me privacy. Holding myself steady, I reach for my mom's hand for comfort; comfort for both her and me. The tears fall more steadily now as I see my mom is gone. This is real; this is not a nightmare, as I had long hoped for.

  I say goodbye to my mom and sit with her a little while longer. This cannot be real. A few hours later I manage to get myself home in one piece. I almost feel numb, and dread making the phone calls I need to make. I don't really have anyone in my life except for my Aunt Becca, my mom's sister. My dad left when I was young, and he hasn’t been in contact with me since I was about eight years old. My mom was always enough for me. Sitting on the chair, I grab the phone from my pocket, take a deep breath, and dial my Aunt's number.

  Chapter Two

  PARKER

  In the hospital room, I see my dad is in pretty bad shape from the accident. I rush over to his bedside as he comes too momentarily. Tears stream down my face and I realize this may be it for my dad. I just can’t handle the thought of losing him. He has his faults like drinking and medicating himself to oblivion, but he doesn’t deserve this; I don’t deserve this. I’m still young and he won’t see me accomplish the things I have yet to accomplish in life, like finding the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with, getting married, and giving him some grandbabies. What is life without your parents? I already had one taken away from me, how can God take away another? I pull up the chair so I can sit by his bedside and hold his hand for as long as I can for any kind of comfort. His hand feels so cold and feeble in mine.

  Through my tears I plead with the heavens not to take him away from me. I see my father come too. “I’m sorry,” he says weakly as he gives my hand a light squeeze.

  “You have nothing to be sorry for,” I tell him, petting his hand. He looks so much older now and so helpless.

  “Yes I do. I wasn’t the best father,” he whispers, the pain showing in his eyes.

  “You did the best you could. There is nothing to be sorry about.”

  “Tell her sorry for me,” he says barely edging the words out.

  “Who am I supposed to say sorry to?” I question. But his eyes close and his breathing becomes shallow. Finally, a nurse comes in telling me to say my goodbyes.

  How can I say goodbye? And who am I supposed to say sorry to? He can’t leave me now. I hold his hand as he takes his last breath and the machine beeps continuously until the nurse shuts it off.

  “I’ll give you a moment to say goodbye,” she says turning toward the door, shutting it behind her.

  I lean down to kiss him on his cheek. The tears continue to flow as I say my last goodbye to him. I can’t believe he was taken from me so early in life. How am I supposed to cope with this grief? A million memories flood my mind at once and I can’t slow them down to process. When I was little and my mom was still alive my dad used to take me to the local baseball games. I remember eating hotdogs and popcorn and drinking lots of soda. We would do all kinds of things like that when I was young. I will cherish those memories forever. I wish we could have spent more time together after mom died. We sort of went our own way when she passed and neither he nor I knew how to communicate to each other. We just didn’t know how to deal with her death. She was diagnosed with a severe case of breast cancer. It had progressed too far to save her.

  I have no other family around to help with anything. I mean my dad held a decent job and had a lot of poker friends and coworkers. But I don’t have any real family. Everyone is out of state or distant relatives who didn’t want to deal with my dad’s drinking or his self-medicating.

  The moment I turned eighteen I joined the Army. It was something I needed; stability, structure, and a long career if I wanted it. But now that my four years are up, I can either re-enlist or choose a different route. There is no one keeping me here since I no longer have family here. I only came home two weeks ago, hoping to mend the relationship I had with my dad.

  When I return to the house, it feels so empty and I feel so alone. Glancing at his favorite chair, it pains me. If you were looking for him he could always be found there while he watched T.V, unless he was working or with his poker buddies. Looking around the now empty house, I recall several happy memories, as well as shouting matches, I had with him. While he did say sorry to me, it comforts me to know he felt bad for the way things were between us. On the mantle I notice a picture from when I was younger, of me and my dad on our way to our first pro baseball game. A hard lump forms in my throat, making it hard to swallow.

  The day is still early, so I go ahead and call the funeral home to make my dad’s arrangements. The process of planning a funeral makes it so hard when you are the one that lost the parent. I’m not prepared to bury him in the ground. It was never a discussion if something would happen.

  Once I start talking to the funeral director, he informs me that my dad already had a plot paid for next to my mom. That makes sense, and I find a little comfort knowing they are reuniting and can be together again.

  The funeral is set for Monday
and I already informed most of his coworkers and poker buddies. Everyone I talked to is saddened by the sudden death of my father. I only wish I was more persistent in trying to get him some kind of help, to ease the grief of my mom’s death. Maybe he would still be alive if I hadn’t just ignored him and escaped to my own little world of my friends and escaping it altogether. Maybe I should have tried to communicate with him. Those are the things that I think about. If only. But I know it’s not good to think like that. I could play all kinds of what if scenarios. I am thankful I was there to hold his hand in his last moments, and I actually got to say goodbye.

  A lump forms in my throat as I try to keep the tears at bay. I still can’t believe my dad is gone, for good.

  I am completely exhausted from today.

  Chapter Three

  LILY

  As I anticipated, the conversation doesn't go so well with my Aunt. She has insisted she come here to Carlisle Springs from Virginia to help organize the funeral and everything, she will arrive tomorrow. I don't bother arguing with her since my energy is spent as it is. Honestly, it will be nice to have her here to help since she’s been through this before with her husband. I don’t think I could do this by myself. I slip in and out of sleep throughout the day and stay on the couch, because I can't bear to go upstairs where her things are. My chest hurts at the very thought of my mom being gone, for good, not coming back. My heart is officially broken in half. I feel like I am standing on the ledge, ready to free fall.

  The next morning I wake to the sound of my doorbell ringing. In a daze, I rub the sleep from my eyes and walk to the door and look through the glass to find my aunt standing there. Swinging the door open, she rushes in to embrace me. Her arms feel like home wrapped around my body, warmth, and comfort. She closes the door behind her as we both move to the couch. Her eyes are red from crying as well.