A Long Time Coming

by Heather Van Fleet

  Where was she? He had to find her. Hold her…be with her. Kiss her. Take her in his arms and shelter her away from the bad. Dammit. Why her…why them? Hadn’t he been punished enough already in life? What the fuck had he done to deserve the constant shithole punishment he was always dealt? If something happened to her…if something stole her away, if death took its nasty hands and even came close to her, there’s no telling what he’d do.

  “I’m David Anderson,” he snarled at the receptionist, “my fiancée was hit by a car this morning down at Johanna’s Beauty School. Abigail Zane. A–B–I–G–A–I–L…Z–A–N–E.” With a roar, he pounded his fist against her desk, sending papers flying and a rattling explosion of anger throughout the small reception area. The lady eyed him with disdain above her glasses, brows knit together in the middle, looking bitchy and rude and uncaring that his fucking girl—his fucking baby too—were somewhere in that hospital, needing him that very second. He backed away, running his hands through his hair, pulling, praying, and begging—silently pleading with God himself…

  “David, calm down, Son,” his father’s hand was on his arm again, and he swatted it away, wishing everyone would stop saying that. How could he calm down? How? It wasn’t possible. A car ran into his girlfriend, the love of his life. There was no way he could stay calm. No. Fucking. Way. Being calm and in control, were not emotions he’d ever be able to obtain again. Rage, terrified, ready to murder anyone who stopped him, yes—everything else was so far gone off his scale that it wasn’t even registering.

  “I won’t calm down until I see her.” He growled, eyes narrowed, teeth gritted, heart beating against his temples.

  “She’s in the ICU unit now. And I’m afraid she’s got the maximum number of people by her side that she’s allowed to have.” He growled again as this dipshit of a woman so nonchalantly spouted off the details with the flick of her fingers.

  Slapping his palms flat against the wood of her desk again, he yelled his question, not caring what everyone around him thought. Not caring that he had drawn a crowd. He needed answers. He needed to see her. And nobody was helping him! “Who’s in there with her? Nobody matters but me! I’m her fucking family here!”

  “I think I’m gonna be sick,” Harley moaned from behind, dashing away towards the bathroom, Mason in tow, cursing under his breath.

  “Come on…we can wait in the waiting room.” Pulling at his hair, willing for it to fall out, to stop annoying him, to be in control of something for once, David darted away from his too calm to be for real parents, and headed towards the elevator, limping as fast as the prosthetic would allow today.

  Simply pushing the buttons to go up wasn’t working, so he pounded the panel with his fists, slamming his knuckle so hard into the metal that his fingers began to grow numb. “It’s not going to help her if you act this way, Son.” There was his dad again, all calm and fucking collected. Screw him.

  “How else am I supposed to act? My girlfriend could be dying up there and I can’t see her! I can’t calm down. I can’t! Not till I see her face. Not till I know she’s going to be okay.” His forehead throbbed harder and he pressed his hands against his temples, begging his skull to stay pain free for just this once. The dizziness needed to stay away too—needed to take a step back, take second to his aching heart for once. He wasn’t thinking clearly as it was, and if a migraine started up again, then he’d be screwed.

  “Come on, let’s go. She needs you.” Taking his elbow with her hand, his mother pulled her to him—her chin high, tears in her eyes as she led him into the now open elevator.

  “I’ll wait for Harley and Mason. You two go ahead.” Kissing his mom’s head, and nodding once at him, his father disappeared beyond the doors as they shut.

  Anger brewed in his mother’s eyes as she turned to face him. Her lips looked white from being pursed together and her cheeks took on the appearance of stone as she gave him the death stare–down.

  “Now, listen up, and listen good because this is what you need to do,” his mother hit the stop button on the elevator and a buzzing alarm sounded. For the briefest of seconds, she looked almost fiercer than he did. As she took on that role of the provider she was known for—the fighter he knew she always was—David wanted nothing more than to crumble, right into the wall, and then onto the floor. But he couldn’t let himself feel anything beyond the anger, because if he let the other emotions slip in, then he wouldn’t be able to come back from them.

  Abigail was hurt… He couldn’t live without her. He couldn’t lose her. He shook his head, over and over, praying this was a nightmare, praying he could just wake up and she’d be there in his arms. He shouldn’t have let her go home last night. He wouldn’t have let her go to school this morning and she would still be in his bed, in his arms. They would have skipped today—together—spending the day making love, creating more memories; enjoying the newness of their brand new relationship. She wasn’t meant to be here, wasn’t meant to be lying in some hospital bed, dammit. Nothing about this was fair! She was his; she couldn’t be taken from him. Not yet, not when they had so much more time together. A lifetime of forever, it was theirs to hold on to, nobody could steal it from them. Nobody.

  The buzz of the stop button continued to sound. He clenched his fingers against his waist, wanting to press his palms over his ears to keep the noise away, wanting to rock back and forth like a crazy person in a mental ward with white walls and no sound. But he was growing numb all over instead, not just in his hands, but in his stomach, his head, his entire being. No, hell no…numbness wasn’t good. Numbness made way for pain. He wasn’t ready to feel pain. He was ready to fight.

  “Now, you go up there, you act like a damn man, you support the love of your life, good or bad news. You love her. You hold her hand if she needs you, and you back away when she demands you to leave. Because I’m telling you right now that she will, dammit. If it’s bad, she will.” Swallowing became impossible, but he did it, painfully, just as his mother pointed a finger into his chest. “She’s going to live though this, she’s going to make it, and you are not going to walk away, just like she didn’t walk away from you.”

  “God Mom, I’d never leave her. I would never walk away.” His face was steeled. His armor was up. Damn right he was ready to fight. He’d always fight for her. How could his mother think otherwise? “She will always have me, no matter if she wants me or not.”

  “Are you sure? Because you have no idea what you’re about to face up there.”

  Did she not have faith in him at all anymore? Had he really screwed up so much these past few years to make her think so lowly of him? The question was too, did he not deserve to be counted on anymore? The answer was beyond clear to him: Hell yeah he did. He deserved to be there for Abigail. He deserved the happiness she provided, and even the crap that went along with the happiness. He was the one who she needed too, nobody else, only him. They needed to make their halves whole again, they needed to come together. It was the only way they knew how to work. It was the only way they could survive.

  “Mom, let go of the button…”

  “Not until I have a promise from you—”

  “Mom, seriously, let go of the fucking button!”

  Eyes narrowing, she shook her head, leaning back against the panel, crossing her arms as she did. She was really going to make him promise, right here, right now? He blew out a breath, anger leaving for a second to make room for acceptance. “Fine, there’s no point in denying the fact that I won’t screw up somewhere, but I can guarantee I won’t give up. Ever. She’s it for me. I love her.”

  Nodding in what appeared to be satisfaction she turned around and finally let go of the button. Her back ramrod, her chin held high—you’d never think she had little time to live by the looks of her. His mother was feisty, fierce, and he loved the fuck out of her, even if she got under his skin.

  “That’s all I needed to hear, David. Now, let’s go see your girl.” Reaching for her hand, nodding at her
in complete respect, he tucked her fist back into the crook of his arm, needing her there with him.

  The doors swung open on the fifth floor, leading him to the place where his lifeline lay in the hands of doctors, nurses, and probably God himself. But God had another think coming if he thought he was going to take her from him. The big guy would have to get through David first. And sharing was no longer in his vocabulary when it came to this girl. Abigail was his—nobody’s else’s.

  Chapter Twenty–Eight

  The end of the beginning…

  There comes a time in life where you have to let go. You have to open your hands, let the bad fall from your soul, only to embrace what you have left, leaving what you can’t have behind.

  The words were there, written clearly in his journal in black. But did he believe them? He wanted to… He wanted to accept the bad, take the good… But when something you love is taken from you, it’s almost impossible to accept that.

  He propped his black pen over his ear and leaned back in his chair folding his arms. Staring down at the face of his sleeping love was all he needed today. She hadn’t stopped crying for two weeks straight. Fourteen days, three hundred and thirty–six hours of non–stop tears…and all he could physically do, was let her. He held her when she begged to be held. He stayed back when she screamed for him to leave. But did he ever actually leave? No. Abso–fucking–lutely not. He’d made a promise, and he didn’t go back on his promises. He would stay with Abigail, unless she begged him to go. Even then, he’d be right there outside the door of her room, sitting against the wall, waiting for her to cry out for him again. She’d never push him away fully, no matter how hard she tried.

  She was broken, like him now, not as permanently, but temporarily, yes. With a broken left arm, a broken collar bone, and a concussion that added to the bruises covering her entire face, Abigail looked exactly like a girl who was on the verge of death. But luckily, that bitch had taken the hint and stayed the fuck away.

  Still, she looked just as beautiful as ever. No broken bones, scars, or bruises would ever deter him from loving this girl. But he knew all the tears she’d shed weren’t from the obvious pain she’d gone through of the physical sense. And he knew she wasn’t crying over the fact that her perfect skin had been flawed by ugly marks from that car. His beautiful Abigail Zane was crying over the loss of their child.

  The baby they would never know.

  The one stolen by Death after all…

  He shook his head at the thought, pressing his face into his palms to keep his shuddering breaths from falling out. He hadn’t let himself think past Abigail, hadn’t had time. But every second longer he waited for her to come back to him, the picture of a kid he would never know popped into his head. And he didn’t think he could hold it together much longer.

  He stood, and pulled the covers over her waist, tucking them under her chin. She moaned a bit in her dreamy state, and he wanted to kiss her—settle his mouth over her temple—but he was so scared to wake her up that he didn’t do it. She needed her sleep. She hadn’t done so for days now. She was exhausted, physically as much as mentally, and he was scared to death she was going to give up. He’d been there, he knew how easy it was to grab onto the grief and hang onto it. It was easier to just be sad, even if it did hurt more in the long run.

  Stepping into the hallway, he let out a sigh as her door clicked shut behind him. But instead of the darkness, he was bombarded by the face of Abigail’s father instead. He nodded, reaching out to shake his hand. The man hadn’t left since she’d come home, taking shifts with David and her mom, sitting by her side when David was almost forced to leave by his own parents. If he had a choice in the matter, he never would have left. But according to his mom, a person had to shower and eat. Where in the hell was the justice in that anyways?

  “How is she this morning?”

  David shrugged, “Better maybe? I don’t really know. She isn’t talking, other than a hi or a bye, or a can I get something to drink.” Nodding once, her father slipped beside him, grabbing the handle to let himself in. David knew the guy harbored a lot of guilt for lying to her all these years, but if ever there was a man who proved himself to be a father, it was this one—biological or not.

  David moved on towards the steps, but was jolted to a stop by the man’s hoarse voice behind him. “You are good for her. She loves you and needs you more than any of us. Take care of her, please.” He didn’t turn around, but the words cut him all the same. A person needed all the love they could get when suffering through a tragedy, not just his. David, of all people, knew that for a fact.

  But he couldn’t find the strength to speak. He didn’t know really how to put his feelings into words anyways. Although he did know a thank you was in order. Just not in the way a person would think.

  “Mr. Zane?” He was still there he hadn’t gone into her room yet. The floorboards creaked under his feet as he moved, that’s how he could tell. “Thank you, for being there for her. Abigail couldn’t have been raised by a better man than you.” And before he could listen to a response, he made his way to the stairs, letting a few random tears fall for a second before pushing them away with the sleeve of his shirt.

  He’d only allowed himself to cry once, and that was when Harley had gone in to see her the day after the accident. His brown–eyed, emotional mess of a sister cried so hard, and when she cried, he wasn’t afraid to anymore.

  This time was different though. Now he shed tears of frustration, sadness, and grief. He wanted Abigail to be better. He wanted things to be good again, like they were before. But as long as she was alive, that’s all he could ask for.

  His dad was parked along the driveway, waiting for him. Even from the distance and through the glass of the windshield, he could see the wariness and exhaustion on his face. His mom had finally decided to go through with the chemo after all, saying she was doing it to prove a point. The point being that she said she wouldn’t walk away from them without a fight—something similar to the conversation they’d had in the elevator at the hospital.

  Unfortunately, like they’d expected, it had been rough. The sickness that went along with her chemo had really taken its toll. Some nights he could hear her crying from his room, when he wasn’t staying with Abigail. His mom was scared, and with his dad, she let it all go, only to put on a front in the morning with him. He accepted her tears this time—and a lot of the time he wanted to cry right along with her. But again, he had a duty to stay strong. He’d been the weak one for long enough.

  Harley had gone back to California a few days after her first treatment. Mason had convinced her that she needed to finish up the semester like planned, and then go from there. As of two days ago, she called, announcing the decision he had already expected. She’d decided not to take the job in Chicago. She’d claimed it was because she didn’t want to leave everyone, and part of that was true. But he also knew his twin—she was too much in love with Mason to let Chicago steal that away from her.

  “Hey Dad,” he groaned as he sunk into the leather, bucket seat.

  “How’s it going today?”

  “It’s going, I guess. She was sleeping when I left, so that’s something.” Pressing his head against the cool glass of the window, he shut his eyes. He was tired too—maybe he could get a twenty minute nap in before he had to be at work.

  Adam had finally gotten out of the hospital, but he still needed someone to drive him to therapy and stay with him during the afternoons when his mom worked and his grandma wasn’t around to help out. He liked spending time with the kid, took his mind off everything, so he’d agreed to be a glorified babysitter for the time being. Really though, who would have thought that being with an eleven–year–old, three nights a week, would be sort of a highlight in his week?

  “Good. She needs it.”

  “Yeah, she does…”

  Awkwardness settled between the two of them, and David chose to take the easy way out, settling into the nap he apparently n
eeded. He and his dad hadn’t spoken much since that night in the car after he told him about his mother. But they had a silent understanding between the two of them that didn’t need many words. They were guys—there was never a need to get mushy to know that they loved each other. And together, the two of them were stronger because of what they’d dealt with in life. If he needed to talk, he’d talk to his mom or his sister. If he needed silence, and just another body to keep him from falling over emotionally, he’d find his dad. That was how it worked in his family and he couldn’t have asked for any better people to fill the positions.

  * * *

  She wasn’t asleep, but he needed to leave, and the only way she knew how to get him to go was by acting the part. David was the only reason she hadn’t given up though. He still needed her, and now, they were going to need each other.

  “Hi Dad,” she turned her head, smiling up at him, feeling anything but happy. She was hurting—everywhere. But the emotional pain in her heart was the worst pain of all. She had life virtually stolen from her…how could she move on?

  “Hey pumpkin, I thought you were asleep?”

  Turning away from his questioning glance, she pointed her gaze towards the window. Eye contact was hard with anyone anymore. She couldn’t stand to see the pity there. She didn’t want to be pitied. She knew she was battered something fierce, and she knew that would heal, but it was the looks she received when it came down to the loss of her little bean.

  But she was still there. Alive. Breathing. Even if it hurt like hell to do even that some days now.

  “No, I wasn’t. But David needed to go. He needs to keep working. He needs normalcy.” It was on the tip of her tongue to say not me, but what good would that do? She knew David was in it for the long haul. And as much as she wanted to tell him to leave, to say she needed her space from everyone to heal, she’d never be able to do that. She loved David. Truthfully, he was the one thing in her life now that kept her from falling completely off course.