by Taylor Dean
A sudden change of temperature tells me we’ve entered the parking garage in the basement. The strange echo of tires rolling against the pavement hits my ears.
More jostling, this time rougher as Zane begins to run to Ryker’s car. I want to cry out, but I can barely remain conscious, much less utter a single word.
But I’m in Zane’s arms. He’s taking care of me. I’m leaving it up to him to get me the help I need.
When the manhandling stops, and the slamming of car doors stops bouncing through my head, I peek at the world around me. I’m still in Zane’s arms, nestled against his chest, sitting on his lap. A seatbelt is awkwardly wrapped around us, cutting into my skin in various places. The tires are screeching as Ryker drives like a wild man to get me to the hospital.
Zane is holding me tightly, so tight I hardly sway with the motion of the car. He’s looking down on me with fierce eyes.
“Everything will be all right,” he says, his voice gritty. He presses his lips to my forehead.
I appreciate his words. I do. So much. But I know the truth. It’s staring me in the face.
My days as a professional pianist are over.
And there’s nothing anyone can say or do to change that fact.
chapter twenty-seven
~
WHEN I NEXT awaken, I’m lying in a hospital bed, my mind foggy. I’m dizzy and my mouth feels like cotton.
As I attempt to open my eyes and keep them open, I find Ryker and Zane sitting in my room. Zane looks ravaged with emotion and Ryker looks sheepish. A new look for him.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Zane says softly.
Ryker winces, like Zane’s words disturb him.
I bring my hands up to my face and that’s when all my memories come rushing back.
I stare at my heavily bandaged hand for several tense moments, my heart sinking in my chest with each passing second. I can’t stop the tears that roll down my cheeks. “My hand. My hand,” I say, over and over, as though they’re the only words I know.
“It’ll be okay, Mila. It’s going to be all right,” Zane soothes.
“Don’t say that. Nothing is good or okay or all right,” I moan. I shouldn’t talk that way to Zane. He’s only trying to console me. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
He smirks. “Hey, you’re right. This sucks.”
There’s the Zane I know and love. “Thank you,” I say quietly, feeling validated. I don’t want to hear a bunch of consoling words that have no meaning or truth in them.
“Give it to me straight.” I’m still groggy, but I need to know. Right now. “I want to know everything. Don’t sugarcoat it.”
“You had surgery,” Zane says, stroking my arm. “The brunt of the force hit your knuckles. It broke a few bones in your hand that are now held together with wires and pins. The bones should heal without a problem. But you also ruptured a tendon and that’s what the doctor is most worried about. When a tendon is involved it takes longer to return to full hand function. Worst case scenario, full finger movement never returns. That’s probably not the case here, but you should know it’s a possibility. The doctor is hopeful that extensive physical therapy will result in a full recovery.”
“A recovery that means I can function like a normal person or a recovery that means I can play the piano professionally again?”
I can see the sorrow in Zane’s eyes, telling me what he can’t put into words. “It’s too soon to say, Mila. It’s not a yes, and it’s not a no. Time will tell.”
I press my lips together. With sheer will power, I stop my tears and pull myself together. I’m not going to break down with an audience. Not again. The lingering anesthesia and the pain meds are messing with my ability to think clearly. Controlling my emotions is tough.
“Thank you for telling me the truth,” I say, my voice trembling.
Zane reaches out, running his fingertips over my cheek. I love his quiet reassurance.
“I’m so sorry, Mila,” Ryker says, subdued. “I had no idea you were still there. I thought you’d left. I didn’t look before I slammed the door. I didn’t know your hand was there. I didn’t mean for this to happen and I can’t apologize enough. I never wanted anything like this to happen, I swear. It was an accident, a terrible accident. I would never . . . I would never . . . do that to you.”
Ryker sounds more like himself again, the spin-doctor politician who can smooth talk his way out of anything. I much prefer this side of him to the cruel-humored slayer of dreams.
Ryker might be a lot of things, but I know he wouldn’t physically harm me on purpose. It’s not how he operates.
I want to lash out and blame him—and I almost do. It’s on the tip of my tongue. I’d like to tear into him and destroy him. But it won’t change anything. What’s done is done. My chest heaves with a long sigh. “I know it was an accident.” I don’t sound very forgiving, but the words have left my lips. They weren’t easy to formulate.
“I’ll cover all of your medical expenses and you’ll have the best physical therapist money can buy,” Ryker says. “You’ll play again, Mila. I know you will. I know it’s your dream, the only thing that truly matters to you.”
The room is dead silent for several beats.
“No, it’s not,” Zane says quietly.
My eyes lock with Zane’s. He knows me, even after the short time we’ve had together.
Ryker flinches like he’s been hit. “You don’t know her like I do.” He can’t help but sound churlish when he speaks to his brother.
“Not now, Ryker,” Zane says firmly.
I close my eyes. I can’t deal with this. It’s too much.
Zane leans in close to me. His hand caresses my forehead, moving the hair out of my eyes. I love the comfort. There are so many things we need to talk about. His silence during Ryker’s accusations spooked me. I know it’s just his way, and I don’t believe anything Ryker said, but I’m still consumed with uncertainty about our relationship and I don’t like it one bit. This is too much.
“She wants more in life. So much more. The piano is not her only dream,” Zane says almost inaudibly, and I wonder if Ryker heard.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Zane. You never do.”
Oh, he heard. Even in this tender situation, he can’t stop poking at Zane. Irritation stirs within me, a gathering storm. Too much. I can’t do this.
On the other hand, Zane is reminding me that I have always wanted more in life, that the piano was not my only dream.
He understands me. He’s right. I do have another dream. Love, marriage, children. Having that dream come true revolves around him. It’s ours for the taking. And I want it.
But it doesn’t take away the devastation of losing everything I’ve worked for, though. Not even close.
Zane runs his fingers through my hair, smoothing it out. I’m grateful he’s at my side. I love his touch, the way he expresses his love through his ministrations.
“Leave her alone, Zane. Let the poor girl get some rest.”
But I can’t deal with Ryker’s constant barrage. Can’t he let it go for the moment? My life is a disaster and he doesn’t have the decency to cool it.
This is too much.
Zane and I need time alone. I need him to explain his silence earlier today. Or was that yesterday? I don’t even know what time it is, much less what day it is. I need to think things through. I can’t do it with a fuzzy head.
“I called your parents,” Zane says, his voice soft. “They’ll arrive this evening, only two days earlier than planned. Your brother’s coming too.”
Thank goodness. I need them. “Thank you.”
The pity in Zane’s eyes overwhelms me. He knows, like I do, that this is probably a career-ending injury, the closing of a chapter in my life.
I can’t do this. My hand is throbbing, but not as much as my heart. It’s aching in a way I’ve never felt before.
I turn onto my side, my back to Ryker and Zane, and burst into bone-wrenching
sobs, the kind that physically hurt, the kind that involve every muscle in my body. I don’t want to break down, but I don’t seem to be able to control myself. I blame the drugs, even though I know the current circumstances are really at fault. My entire body shakes with the force of my sobs. I cry so hard I can barely catch my breath.
Zane rubs my back, a show of comfort that I desperately need. Even though I feel and appreciate his comfort, I can’t stop weeping.
I. Can’t. Stop.
When my convulsing cries don’t end, when it’s clear I can’t control my emotions, I hear Zane say to Ryker, “Call the nurse.”
The nurse rushes in, slightly alarmed by my mental state.
I am too. I’m overwhelmed with waves of anguish that are washing over me as regularly as the waves hit the shore.
She puts something in my IV. I feel it hit my veins as it trails up my arm in an icy path. It brings me the relief I need. The world around me disappears and fades away, giving me a blessed respite.
~
I’m awakened by my mother’s sweet voice.
“Hello, you must be Zane. I can’t tell you how happy I am to meet you. I wish it was under different circumstances, though.”
I open my eyes to see Zane engulfed in a motherly bear hug. I’m presented with my mother’s sweatsuit-covered backside. Zane is facing me, looking like a man who won a gold medal, but can’t believe it’s true.
It hits me that he’s never experienced motherly love. Not that he can remember, anyway.
Awkwardly, he lifts his hands from his sides and wraps his arms around my mother, returning her overexuberant hug. Perhaps I should’ve warned him. If he’s with me, my family will accept him wholeheartedly and love him as though he’s one of us. I don’t know if he’s ready for so much love and acceptance.
No need for him to remain silent here. This is a safe zone.
Ryker’s nowhere to be seen. I’m relieved he finally left.
My eyes are so swollen, they hurt, and my throat is scratchy. The muscles in my neck are strained from crying so hard and my head is pounding. I think the loss of a dream deserves a little pout. I’m allowed.
I’m the next one to be embraced by my mother, followed by my father, and Martin, my brother. They surround my bed and cry with me.
Mom runs her hand over my forehead. “You’ll play again, Mila. I know you will. Nothing can stop my baby girl when she’s determined to do something.”
“Are you kidding? Remember that summer she wanted a treehouse? Our Mila hounded me until we built it together. It took us days, but she never gave up or said she was too tired. When she wants something, she works until she gets it. If she’s told it’s impossible, my girl will find a way.” Dad holds my good hand, patting it softly.
“Seriously. A whole lotta babysitting hours went into that baby grand of hers. I still can’t believe she saved up enough to purchase it.” Martin rubs my arm. “You got this, Mila.”
I smile through my tears that I still can’t seem to control. I didn’t let Zane encourage me earlier. But I let my family lay it on thick. I soak it all in, knowing it could all be false hope. But I don’t care. Somehow, I’ll tap into that determination inside me. Right now, it feels elusive.
I glance at Zane. He’s standing back, watching the scene before him with serious eyes.
“Zane, get over here. You’re practically part of the family now,” Mom says. “Our Mila can hardly stop talking about you. You’ve made our girl so happy. If Mila loves you, then so do we. That’s how it works.”
He moves forward with reluctance, taking the seat next to Mom. She puts her arm around him, holding him close.
Zane had his father while growing up, but a family circle is foreign to him, and it shows in his subdued expression.
“You picked a handsome one, Mila.” Mom sends me a thumbs up. “This guy’s a stud. You two will have beautiful children.”
My cheeks grow hot.
“Mom, don’t embarrass Mila,” Martin warns.
Dad pats Zane on the back. “She’s just trying to make me jealous. Keeps our marriage alive.” He laughs heartily at his own joke.
While my family volleys lighthearted jokes back and forth, I find myself observing Zane unnoticed.
He doesn’t laugh or even crack a smile. The look in his eyes can only be described as haunted.
Finally, our eyes meet. We stare at each other, our faces somber. His eyes burn into mine. I’m surprised I don’t catch on fire from the heat of his stare.
The simple truth hits me hard. Something is terribly wrong.
Has Ryker caused a rift between us? Exactly what I swore he couldn’t do.
No, I don’t believe any of Ryker’s accusations against Zane. Of course, Zane doesn’t know that. Does he realize I know Ryker is a master at twisting the truth?
Zane has not confirmed or denied a single thing. But we haven’t had a moment to ourselves to talk, either.
For the first time, I begin to wonder if I could be wrong about Zane Martel.
Maybe he’s not who I think he is.
The thought enters my heart like a painful sliver.
chapter twenty-eight
~
Two weeks later
I STARE AT the vases of flowers crowding my dining room table, almost all sent to me by my symphony cohorts. Most were accompanied by a card, filled with get well wishes. Many reminded me I’ll be back in no time at all.
Hope can be so deceiving. Especially when faced with reality.
I constantly remind myself I’m not alone. I have a huge support system. Yet, here I am feeling lonely, trying to convince myself I’m fine.
I’m not.
Mom, Dad, and Martin were here with me for about a week and a half. Mom and Dad had planned to stay longer, several weeks to a month, if needed. But Mom became ill with the flu. Dad thought it was best to take her home to let her rest. Now he’s coming down with it too.
So, here I sit. Alone. I never realized how excruciatingly slow time passes. Sixty seconds make up a minute. Sixty minutes make up an hour. The cast has to stay on my hand for six weeks. Four more weeks to go. Twenty-eight more days. Six-hundred and seventy-two more hours.
Might as well be forever.
My phone rings, startling me out of my stupor.
“Mom? Hi, how are you feeling?”
“Not so good, sweetheart.” She breaks into a coughing fit, hardly able to speak.
“How are you, Mila?” Mom croaks. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, Mom, really. Don’t worry about me. Just get better.” Such a lie.
“No sign of coming down with the flu?”
“None at all. All the antibiotics they pumped into me must’ve strengthened my immune system and helped me fight it off.”
“I’m so glad. You don’t need any more on your plate.” Mom holds the phone away as another coughing fit overcomes her. “I wish you would’ve come home with us, but I’m glad you have Zane. It’s a relief to know you won’t be alone, sweetie. Is he back yet?”
“Not yet. Any day now, I’m sure.”
Do I have Zane? I don’t know for sure. I hate my doubt, but it’s there, creeping around my soul. I don’t express my feelings to my mom. She’d just worry.
“Get some rest, Mom. No more talking, it’s making you cough. Take it easy. I hope you’ll be feeling better very soon.”
We hang up, and I let out a heavy sigh. The last two weeks have felt like two years. That’s how it goes when I have nothing to do but heal.
I’ve been taking lots of walks through the streets of San Francisco to help stave off depression. I take a new route every day to keep things interesting.
If I don’t get outside right now, I’m going to plummet. I grab a hat, sweater, and sunglasses and head out the door.
I manage at least five miles, pushing myself hard. My blood is pumping through my body and my heart is beating steadily. The sun on my skin somehow grants me peace. I’m trying to maintain a positiv
e frame of mind, but it isn’t easy.
It’s a daily struggle. The Great Big Dark, as I’ve nicknamed depression, takes over from time to time. But I’m giving him a fight. I won’t let him have me. It’s like we’re standing in a boxing ring, each in our respective corners. I’m determined to deliver the knock-out blow. So is he.
When I was released from the hospital, I didn’t return to Ryker’s penthouse. Instead, I went with my parents and brother to their hotel to convalesce until I was able to care for myself.
Living with only one working hand is harder than I imagined it would be. Simply getting dressed, feeding myself, and managing my personal hygiene presents a daunting challenge.
Mom left me with a freezer full of easy-to-make food. Thanks to her, I won’t starve or subsist on take-out. Since she left three days ago, she has called every morning to help keep the Great Big Dark away, but now that she’s getting worse, I can tell talking on the phone is tough. I hate that she’s so sick. I feel like she worked so hard taking care of me that she wore herself out, making her resistance low. It makes me feel guilty.
I try not to think about the piano. My fingers itch to play again, to fly over the keys, to produce the music of my soul.
The doctors are doubtful. I plan to prove them wrong. No, I will prove them wrong. I have to hang onto hope or I have nothing.
I round the corner and see a man standing on the doorstep of my apartment. My heart rate quickens, when I think it’s Zane.
It plummets when I realize it’s Ryker. I didn’t know he was still in town. I’m still angry with him for deliberately causing issues for Zane and me.
Amongst other things. Like the cast on my hand. Trying to let that one go, though. It’s not easy.
“Hello, Mila.”
He’s holding a shaking Arthur in his arms. Artie is the only reason I approach to talk to him. Otherwise, I’d turn and walk away. Artie’s dog bed sits on my doorstep, along with his food, water bowls, and a bag of dog food.
Artie starts to wiggle out of Ryker’s arms when he sees me, emitting a high-pitched cry. I rush forward and hold him, keeping my injured hand away from his excited movements. He licks my face, my hand, my arm, greeting me and letting me know he missed me. I’m just as happy to see him. It takes him several minutes to calm down and relax in my arms. He sniffs at my encased hand, curious about the cumbersome monstrosity.
