by Angel Payne
I wanted that man back. Every audacious, courageous, messed-up, morose, crazy, intense inch of him.
Tolly threw herself against my chest again. I circled both arms around her, wishing I could unzip my skin and haul her all the way inside me. I needed her near. Having her close was having him close in some ways. In so many ways…
“I know. I’m scared, too.” I whispered it into her hair, not sure if she even heard me. Maybe if I didn’t say it too loudly to the universe, the fucker wouldn’t acknowledge it—and I could hold up a bit longer.
For her…
…and for myself.
Chapter Five
Talia
Wake up.
Wake up!
Wake! Up!
I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes, willing it to happen. I had to just do it. I had to just wake up. Then this nightmare would be over. I’d be back in our big bed in our beautiful bedroom at the condo, tangled in silken sheets with the dual lovers I owed everything to. They’d warm me. Secure me. Dare me to face my day with all the fearlessness their love had given me.
But I opened my eyes to the same dull hospital walls. The same antiseptic smell, attempting and failing to cover the stench of tragedy.
The same harrowing nightmare, now unfolding as the reality of my life.
How had this happened? How had we gotten here?
It’s all my fault.
It was my natural fallback position, often driven by ludicrous logic—only this time, it made complete sense This horror…I’d brought it here. To Fletcher, who was alone in a blackness I couldn’t comprehend. To Drake, who’d held me as if his life depended on it, and let me cling to him with the same terrified desperation.
It was all my fault.
All of it.
The things my parents had drilled into my head, every day of my childhood…they were all true.
‘You reap what you sow.’
‘Karma takes no prisoners.’
‘Fate will find a way.’
‘Rain falls into every life.’
And a million other ditties, carrying similar tunes. They collided through my brain, a philharmonic concert of grief.
And they were all true.
Fletcher had left the house this morning angry—too angry to even say goodbye. At himself, yes, but also at us. I’d sensed it when we’d gotten home from his parents’ party. Things would be easier with his family—not perfect, but easier—if Drake and I weren’t the ones his heart wanted. That likely explained why I had thrown myself at him in bed like that, leading to a result that had only brought him more conflict and spiraled him into that dark funk.
I’d ruined everything.
My heart shrieked it, though my head fought back with the obvious logic. There’d been three people in that bed last night. Three consenting adults. But every time I looked up at Drake’s face, I yanked the entire burden back on myself. As worried as I was, he was clearly twenty times worse. I’d never seen him racked with so many emotions at the same time. His face was gaunt. His eyes were bloodshot. His normal healthy color had vanished, leaving a pallor betraying his stark fear of losing his best friend.
His brother.
I lifted an urgent hand to his jaw. It was like a boulder beneath my touch. “Hey.” I curled my fingers in, compelling him to focus on me—to see I was here and would take care of him. “Hey. We’re going to get through this, okay?”
With hesitant jabs, he nodded. “Okay.”
“Let’s find out what we can right now, and go from there.”
“Yeah.” More lost nods. “Okay.”
A few feet away, Killian Stone paced like a monarch, cutting a zigzag swath across the hall, cell phone at his ear. Thirty minutes ago, he’d barged into my meeting with a solemn look on his face, motioning without words for me to follow him. I’d barely issued apologies before running after him—literally jogging to keep up with his long strides—out of the building and into a waiting town car.
As soon as the vehicle had pulled away, I’d been full of nonstop questions. Killian hadn’t answered any of them. Instead, after a reassuring squeeze of my hand, he’d started punching numbers into the cell he held in the other. I’d pieced together my own conclusions based on the facts I could gather. The grim lines of Killian’s jaw. The white ends of his fingers as he pinched the bridge of his nose. And most significantly, the words he’d finally bit out to the person he’d called. Somebody named ‘Mac’—though from his tone, I surmised he had a few other choice nicknames stored for the man.
‘He’s like my brother, damn it.’
‘He needs the best. You’re the best.’
‘The car was totaled.’
‘They’re prepping him now.’
‘Then don’t do it in the name of family. Do it in the name of money. How much do you want?’
Killian had ended the call when we’d arrived and immediately made another. Now, tension defined every molecule of the air, resonant with beeping monitors, squeaky-wheeled carts, ringing phones and Killian’s continued pacing.
As soon as he ended the call, Killian motioned to Andy. The nurse rushed over, attention defining his demeanor. Clearly, he’d added two and two by now and realized his newest intake was best friends with the CEO of Stone Global Corporation standing before him.
“My cousin, Dr. Maclain Stone. The surgeon. You know him?”
Andy nodded at once. “Who doesn’t?”
“Good.” Killian dipped a short executive nod. “He’ll be here in fifteen minutes and he’ll be taking over Mr. Ford’s case.”
Andy shifted from foot to foot. “Uhhhmm…”
“Yes?” Killian prompted.
“I just…didn’t receive word of the attending switching.” The poor guy looked ten kinds of torn and twice that in uncomfortable. He likely sensed Killian wasn’t used to being questioned, but took his duties as a nurse seriously.
“Well, it’s happening.” Killian all but yanked out a scepter to seal the decree. “He’s the best there is and my best friend needs him. So, change the paperwork, the orders, whatever. Maclain Stone is in charge of this—even if he isn’t happy about it.”
I wasn’t sure whether to be happy or anxious about the new development. Killian had just ensured Fletcher would have the best care there was, but between the man’s comments in the car and his sinister grin now, he’d obviously strong-armed—or paid a king’s ransom to—Dr. Stone for doing this. Pissing the guy off gave Killian the supreme jollies. Was that going to help or hurt Fletcher in the end? I admired Killian for his uncanny business sense, as well as his unfaltering love for my friend Claire, but if he’d bullied Mac Stone into doing this and Fletcher paid the ultimate price, I’d break Killian’s neck with my bare hands.
So, gathering the girl balls for my next words was really a no-brainer. “Killian—thank you—but is it really a good idea to have someone caring for Fletcher who doesn’t really want to be doing it?”
Yep. I’d really gone there. Andy’s eyes widened, conveying a mixture of fear and admiration, but it was only Killian’s countenance concerning me now.
The man turned fully to me, dark eyes softening. “It’s not Fletcher he doesn’t want to help, Talia. It’s me. But he’s literally the best neurosurgeon this side of the Rockies and he owes me. Big time.” He extended a reassuring squeeze to my shoulder. “My little cousin will do the right thing. Don’t worry.”
Drake stepped back in, wrapping me close once more. I sank into his warm, solid chest, wanting to forget all of this already. But we were barely off the starting blocks. This mess was just beginning.
“Just before you both got here, Andy was going to run through what they know so far about Fletcher’s condition.” Drake’s statement was a comforting baritone in my skull, since my cheek still rested on his chest. “There’s a private room right over here. We can all sit down for a few minutes and hear what he has to say.”
Drake circled around to let me walk with him, still tucked
into the crook of his arm. As soon as we entered the room and sat down, he locked his hand against mine.
The area was as Drake said. We had privacy, but at the cost of space. The room was really tiny, even feeling cramped with Drake and Killian looming. They occupied the seats closest to the door, while Andy and I were squished between the wall and the table.
“Christ,” Andy muttered while rearranging his notes and files. “It’s really hot in here.” He flushed, fanned himself with a manila folder, then croaked, “Is anyone else warm?”
Before I could stop it, a giggle bubbled up and out of my mouth. At once, I slapped a hand over my lips. It was strange and funny, watching the effect of these two alpha guys on an unsuspecting third party. Apparently, I was so used to how Killian and Drake commanded every room they entered, it was just a part of my existence. Poor Andy. Another soft titter erupted from me. I was almost feeling sorry for the cute ginger.
Drake clutched my hand harder, ordering my eyes over to him. His gaze was like titanium, sharp and hard, not seeing humor in anything that was going on.
I cleared my throat. Pleaded an apology with my eyes. Refocused on Andy.
The nurse started to explain what they knew about the accident. I really wasn’t laughing anymore.
Fletcher’s car had been hit on the driver’s side by a delivery truck going full speed. That meant his body had taken a direct impact.
“Didn’t the airbags go off? That car has ridiculous safety features.” Drake was intense and direct as usual.
“There isn’t much that can help when tons of steel are barreling into you,” Andy explained. “The airbags did deploy, but they only help so much.”
Yeah. Not laughing.
“Is…is he going to die?” My voice was small and scared. I was surprised it had any volume at all. But I had to get the words out. I—we—needed to know the bottom line here.
Andy’s energy overflowed with empathy. “We have a good team, ma’am. They’re doing everything they can to help Mr. Ford. The addition of Dr. Stone is well in his favor.”
He gave a quick nod to Killian, as if personally thanking him for calling in his famous cousin for this. Killian responded by gritting the one word Andy had left off. “But…?”
“But there are some serious hours ahead of all of us,” Andy went on. “Right now, the primary injuries that occurred at the time of the accident are straightforward. There’s nothing the team can do to reverse those injuries, so instead the goal is preventing any further, or secondary, injuries to the brain.”
I gulped hard. Jerked my chair closer to Drake’s, entwining our arms from wrist to elbow. Brain injuries. How severe? And what exactly did that mean? Would Fletcher come back to us as he was before? I still couldn’t feel him. The chasm in my mind, once filled with his loving light, was a horrible abyss.
“Our main concern is keeping his blood pressure stable, and managing the brain swelling. Typically, when the brain is traumatized the way his has been, swelling occurs around the brain itself from displaced fluid from damaged vessels, and of course, neurons inside the organ itself.”
“Of course. Neurons.” Drake’s tone was dry.
I talk about brain neurons every day…not.
Andy wasn’t fazed. “Since the brain is inside the hard shell of the skull, we may have to open the skull to allow the brain to swell due to its injuries—then recede as it heals.” He made a motion with his hands, giving me the comparison of a giant football stadium with a retractable roof, opening and closing.
“How long will that go on for? How can you just have your skull popped open like that? Isn’t that dangerous?” This time, Killian asked the questions.
“There are risks involved, of course,” Andy replied, “as there are with any surgical procedure. But we maintain a sterile environment, and the surgeons usually use the operation as a last resort. We can try other methods of reducing the fluid before surgery.”
There was a loud pager-type sound from the direction of Andy’s pocket. “Please excuse me,” he said, pacing out of the door.
In his wake…silence.
Killian expelled a long breath. His face was stormy. Drake’s was just as dark. He propped his free elbow on the chair’s arm then jammed his chin on a raised hand.
I worked my fingers in and out of Drake’s grip. I was so restless.
I was so frightened.
This is all my fault.
Without a doubt, Drake would spank me if he knew what I was thinking. Or hell, maybe he’d agree. They’d had nice lives, once upon a time. They’d been young and rich and free to have all the wild, opulent adventures they desired. But since I’d come along, it seemed we battled one awful trial after another, and little else.
The only common factor in the last twelve months—was me.
Me.
“Stop.”
My eyes darted to Drake. Quickly to Killian, since I suddenly remembered he was still in the room, but then back to Drake.
“What?” I tried for nonchalant. Ha. His gaze, even harsher and darker, told me how ridiculous the idea was.
“Stop beating yourself up, Natalia.”
“I-I wasn’t—”
“You really going to try that?” He twisted, staring me down with bunched eyebrows and a determined jaw. “Because I know you as well as Fletch does, baby. In different ways—but just as thoroughly. I know what you’re doing to yourself inside that beautiful head of yours.”
“Drake. I—”
“Deny it.” He challenged it more by pressing closer, invading as much of my personal space as he could. “Go ahead. See what happens. Deny it.”
Killian rose to his feet. “I—uhhh—need to call Claire.” He looked impossibly tall and awkward in this remodeled broom closet. “I’ll give you two some privacy.”
Drake jabbed his chin in Killian’s direction but didn’t relent his attention on me by an inch. His looming size, along with the tight walls of the room and my churning stomach, crashed a wave of dizziness over me, even seated in this chair.
This chair. In this damn closet. In this hospital, filled with so many queasy smells and heartless sounds.
“Let’s talk,” Drake charged.
“Not yet,” I rasped.
“Natalia…”
“I-I need to get out of this room.” I shoved at him. “Can we please just get out of here? It’s like a dollhouse. Maybe even a dog house.” I wanted to laugh again but couldn’t. I stood up so fast, my chair teetered on its back legs. The thing would have clattered to the floor but thudded into the wall instead. The room was suddenly a cage.
Panic cinched my chest. Cut off my breaths. I needed air. Lots of it.
“M-maybe there’s a stairwell we can go out,” I stammered once we were back in the hall. I looked around, but nothing was marked as an alarm-free exit. The thought of going all the way back down to the hospital’s lobby…all my anxiety just got worse. New tears burned my eyes. I gasped in desperation. I couldn’t be the only person who felt trapped in a place like this—but that was a Styrofoam life ring in the middle of a damn tsunami. Worthless.
“Talia?” Drake. But so far away now. And fading more by the second. “Baby. Breathe or you’re going to faint. Fuck, you’re white as a ghost.”
Why was he so far away? And why couldn’t I breathe? No. I was breathing, as fast as I could, and it wasn’t helping.
Someone help…please.
“Sit her down before you have two head injuries to worry about.”
Who was talking? A man? A woman? I couldn’t tell. And who were they talking about? I twisted, trying to see, but my mind sank deeper into quicksand, denying my body movement.
I flailed up from the mire, springing open my eyes to find three expectant pairs overhead. What the hell?
My head throbbed as I bolted upright.
“Whoa, baby.” Drake’s luxurious baritone voice wrapped around me, a blanket of safety. I finally comprehended he was cradling me, and now tried to lay me back
on the floor. The hospital floor.
Ew.
“Wha’?” It was all that emerged for several moments, before all the proper switches in my head connected back to communication mode. “Drake…what the hell? Let me up. I need to see Fletcher. We were going to see him.”
“No,” he countered, his tone as calm but steely as his hold. “We were going to get some fresh air, then you freaked yourself out and fainted. Now, sit up slowly before you freak me the hell out again.”
“Yes, Sir.”
It popped out, also on autopilot—though the cement brick of his order left little room for any other options. As I took deep breaths, still supported by the cradle of his arms, I glanced up to see that the brick had been formed from the pulp of his own stress, fear and tension. Damn.
He’d aged at least five years in the last hour. I reached up to the rugged ridges of his face, resolved to ease some of them away.
As soon as I stroked my fingers down his jaw, a rough exhalation escaped him. Yeah, we were cuddled in the middle of the damn floor, in the center of a busy hospital ward, but for that singular moment, it all melted away. It was just us, still just as strong.
“Hey,” I finally uttered.
“Hey, there.” One side of his mouth kicked up. Damn. Why wasn’t the man’s face blown up twenty feet high on a billboard over Times Square? A mystery for the ages.
“Are you okay?”
“Am I okay?”
“Yeah.”
A sound chugged out him, carrying at least the ghost of a laugh with it. “You’re something else, woman.” He hugged me so tightly, I squeaked. “Sorry.” He eased off on the embrace but remained close enough to press his forehead to mine. “You scared me. Don’t do it again.”
“Okay.”
The edges of his cement block crumbled, giving room for his full smile. Only a moment’s worth, but I greedily accepted it.
