“How did you—”
“Just drink it.”
I unscrewed the lid and took a swig, the bubbles washing the dryness from my mouth. “How did you know I was here?”
“Yeah, funny story. This Robert Redford look-alike knocks on our door with a giant bodyguard a couple of hours ago. Turns out he’s the ranking member of the Senate Armed Services Committee, and he’s looking for his son…Prescott. Don’t give me that look—I watch CSPAN. Anyway, I’m thinking he’s off his rocker until he says Donovan’s name. Then I’m thinking maybe he’s not so crazy, and maybe I’m not the only one in the house who doesn’t like to flay open his past. Since you didn’t answer any texts, I found Morgan’s number, and here I am.”
I slipped my phone from my pocket and cursed at the dead battery. “Fuck. I’m sorry…for all of it.”
He motioned to the backpack. “Don’t worry about the phone, I brought you an extra charger. As for the rest, you don’t owe me an explanation.” Carter scoffed, and Grayson glared. “And you certainly don’t owe second-choice Carter one.”
Carter mumbled something that sounded like, “Go fuck yourself,” and walked over to where everyone else huddled near the doorway.
“How is she?”
I twisted the cap on and off. “I don’t know. They’re trying to stabilize her. They haven’t given us an update for about an hour or so.”
“Shit day.”
I dropped my head into my hands. The condensation dripped off the bottom of the cold soda bottle, leaving wet splotches on my pants. “What am I going to do if she doesn’t…if they can’t…”
“Don’t.” Grayson clasped my shoulder and gave it an awkward pat. “You open that door and it’s all you’ll think about. Focus on something else, anything but that.”
“I can’t.” I tried to suck deep breaths in, fighting the urge to hurl as my vision hazed over. Existing without Paisley was a physical impossibility, like imagining a world without oxygen.
He reached in front of me, unzipped the small pocket of the backpack, and thrust a yellow 5&9 booklet at my face. “Then quiz me.”
“What?” I sat up.
“We have a test tomorrow, remember? Quiz me.” He shook the study guide, and I momentarily debated hitting him with it, but I took it instead.
Where was that focus that always pulled me through the worst shit? I would fly that fucking helicopter because that’s what had gotten me this far. Block everything else out. You’re good at that. But her name was all that came to mind as I quizzed Grayson for the next two hours. Photographic memory or not, my brain just didn’t tune in.
At some point Morgan and Will took over the seats across from us. Morgan quickly fell asleep on Will’s shoulder, and Morgan’s mom kept the Donovans stocked in coffee. Six hours and seven minutes after we brought her in, the door swung open, and I stuttered over the last question I asked Grayson as the doctor addressed the Donovans across the room.
Mrs. Donovan’s knuckles turned white against the dark fabric at the waist of her husband’s blazer. They both nodded, but there were no tears. That had to be a good sign. I found my legs and stood, only to be given the universal wait symbol by General Donovan. They disappeared down the hallway, and every one of my nerve endings fired, desperate to crawl out of my own skin to get to her.
Morgan’s mom woke her up. “Let’s go, honey. She’s stabilized for now in the ICU, but they’re not going to let anyone but family in tonight. Let’s get you home.”
Stabilized. The knot in my throat loosened slightly.
Morgan blinked the sleep out of her eyes and nodded. “You okay?” she asked Carter.
“Yeah. If she’s stable, I’ll head home.” He looked over at me. “Bateman?”
“I’m staying.”
“They’re not going to let you in tonight.”
“I’m not leaving this hospital until they let me see her.” I sank a little deeper into the hard plastic chair.
“We have to be on the flight line at seven thirty a.m., and there’s a huge test in the afternoon. How are you planning on swinging that with no rest?”
“I’ll be there, and I’ll still be able to outfly you.”
“Yeah, because this is adequate crew rest. Masters, talk some sense into him.” He followed Morgan and her mom out.
Grayson motioned to the backpack. “I figured you wouldn’t leave, so there’s a clean change of clothes, a flight suit, shaving kit, and a shit ton of caffeine. You’re going to need it.” He was halfway out the door before he turned around. “Oh, and I left your boots under your truck since the door was locked. Just pray no one steals them.”
It was another half hour before the Donovans came out. Mrs. Donovan’s eyes were bloodshot, but she had a faint smile on her face. “She’s asking for you,” she said softly but crystal clear across the empty waiting room.
“Room 728,” General Donovan called after me as I sprinted through the swinging doors. I slowed to a walk when I got a death glare from a nurse whose last name was probably Ratched.
I nearly stumbled when I caught sight of her. Her skin gave the sheets competition in the pale department, and her hair was piled limply on top of her head. An oxygen tube lay under her nose, and wires trailed out of her neckline. A monitor beeped in rhythm with her heart, and an IV dripped steadily. Her eyes were closed, her breathing deep.
The chair made no noise as I pulled it toward her bed, sitting close enough to her to ghost my fingers across her upturned palm. Her eyes flickered open, the normally crystal green a hazy moss color, and I took my first full breath since she’d stopped her own.
Everything I wanted to tell her, to ask her, sprinted across my brain. Every demand for information about her condition. Every condemnation for not telling me. Every whisper of thanks for what she brought to my life. Every hope and fear that consumed me, because I already knew she was my only possible future. Instead, I lowered the side railing of her bed and laid my head next to her hip so I could still see her as she struggled to open her eyes. “I love you. You’re my entire world.”
A weak smile floated across her face as she feathered her hand into my hair. “Thank goodness, because you’re my universe.” Her words slurred, and her eyelids drooped. “I love you, Jagger. Don’t leave? Stay with me?” Her voice trailed off as she lost the battle with sleep, her breath evening out.
“Always.” I glanced at the clock, knowing I needed to go—this week was going to be a bitch with tests and final check rides—and knowing I wouldn’t. I couldn’t take leave right now, not without failing primary, so I’d have to deal with the sleep deprivation.
It was six forty-five a.m. when I pulled myself away from her. I’d spent the night in and out of her room, leaving at intervals forced by Nurse Ratched. Grayson had nailed the hospital kit, so I got ready in her bathroom and headed out, kissing her forehead. Thankfully, no one had stolen my boots, so I made it to the flight line on time, but I was off my game, even with an energy shot. Not enough to crash us, but enough for my IP to shake his head. Carter tried to cover for me when I missed more than half the answers. But I made it through the morning, even with Paisley consuming nearly every thought.
By the afternoon, my mind was fuzzy, and I’d had enough caffeine to jump-start a racehorse. I tapped my pencil on the desk, mentally counting down the minutes until I could get back to the hospital.
Then I took out Paisley’s bucket list and read over some of the boxes we hadn’t checked off yet, trying to think of ways to make them happen for her. Some of them were so unlike her that I had to wonder how well I really thought I knew her. Go surfing—when she could barely swim?
“How are you doing?” Carter asked. I wanted to punch him a little less today. Either he was growing on me, or I was too exhausted for hate.
“Thanks. Surviving.”
“It’s a lot to take in.” His eyes dropped to the paper. “Her list?”
“Yeah. Some of it just…I don’t know. They’re all amazing, wild thing
s to do, but it’s like she tried to pick the craziest, most dangerous things, and honestly, I don’t think she’d enjoy doing half this shit. And get a belly-button ring is marked off, but I know she doesn’t have one.”
“Belly-button ring?” He reached for the list, but paused, looking at me for permission.
I nodded and handed it over. “Make a name for herself at West Point? What the hell is that even supposed to mean? I know she’s hell-bent on getting all these done, but it doesn’t even feel like her.”
Carter’s face drained of color as he scanned down the paper. “Why didn’t I see it? Why didn’t she tell me? God, Paisley. She never meant for this.”
Chills erupted on my arms.
“All right, boys and girls, it’s test time,” our instructor said, closing the door behind him and passing stacks of tests down the aisles.
“What do you mean?” I asked Carter.
“It’s not her list—not her handwriting, and those green marks? You’re right, she didn’t do those. The belly-button ring, the skinny-dipping, the mechanical bull…I was there for all of it that summer, but…not with her. I never even knew she’d made something like this.” He dropped the paper on my desk like it had burned him. “Paisley’s finishing Peyton’s list—the one that got her killed.”
The test hit my desk as my stomach hit the floor.
Chapter Thirty
Paisley
19. Think of someone else’s needs first.
Mama flipped the page of her Southern Living magazine and sighed for the twentieth time in the last hour. When I didn’t respond, she tried another tactic. “What are you reading?”
“Not much.” Everything. When I’d first Googled “Jagger Bateman,” nothing had come up but hockey scores and highlights. But when I entered “Prescott Mansfield”? A whole world opened up.
I needed to keep my mind off Will’s phone call. The one that told me to be kind to Jagger because he’d bombed his flight today and scored a zero on the test this afternoon. He’d failed. Because of me. I’d become the one thing he’d tried to avoid—the worst kind of distraction. He’d be able to bounce back, I was sure of it. But not when I was dragging him down.
“Well, it must be interesting. You’ve had your head in that thing all day, and that’s saying something seeing as it’s going on supper time.” She flipped another page.
“Why don’t you head home? There’s nothing you can do here, Mama.” I finished another story, this one speculation on where Prescott and Anna Mansfield really were, directly questioning Senator Mansfield’s request for privacy so his children could live free of the public eye.
She peered over at me with a look that withered lesser women. “Oh, no. I’m sitting right here. There’s no chance I’m headed home to that sea of piranhas.”
I gave up, powering off the tablet. My left thumb hovered over the little pain clicker, and I wished it made my mother disappear as easily as the pain in my ribs from the break. “I’m sure it’s perfectly fine. No one is out to eat you up.”
“Oh, no? You are well aware that Sue Ellen Watts has told everyone, and there will be dozens of messages to return. She never could resist a good piece of gossip.” She flicked another page. “Besides, I’m not about to let you sit here all alone.”
God, I wish she would. I shifted my legs in the sheets, stubble catching on the smooth fabric. I needed a good shower and a razor. I changed tactics as I adjusted my oxygen tube. “Mama, go home. Get some sleep. I won’t be alone. Jagger should be here any minute.” I’d been telling myself that every minute since the clock hit five p.m. It was going on six thirty now.
“Hmm. Yes, about that boy.” She looked over the pages of her magazine.
“Jagger is where I draw the line. Not a single word.”
“Don’t you mean Prescott?” The magazine landed in her lap, right with my patience. “I mean, really, Paisley. What kind of young man hides the fact that he’s a senator’s son? Maybe if we’d known that from the beginning, we wouldn’t have been so against you seeing him, seeing as he’s a Mansfield.”
“Mama, who he’s chosen to be is so much more than what he came from. I’d actually prefer not to have your approval of Jagger based on his father, and I’m not kidding. He’s not up for discussion.” I never wanted to hear that name again. He was Jagger Bateman, and that was all there was to it.
“Well, if that’s how you feel. I wouldn’t want to do anything to upset your heart…like bungee jumping or anything, before you get this pacemaker put in.” She kept her voice sweet and level.
“Those are matters you know nothing about.” Heart attack or no, there would be no pacemaker.
She stood, smoothing the lines of her slacks. “Hospital bed or not, don’t you dare sass me, Lee. How about I get you some ice?”
I swallowed the messy emotions I knew she wouldn’t want me to voice. “That’d be nice, thank you.”
“How about I escort you to the machine, Mrs. Donovan?” Daddy asked her from the doorway. He winked at me. “Hey, darling. I’m going to steal your mama away and give you a second with this gentleman I found wandering the halls.”
Jagger stepped around my father, dressed in faded jeans and a ringer tee just tight enough to make me want to peel it off him, if I was ever going to be allowed to have sex again. “Hey.” I smiled, my heart already breaking.
His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes as he leaned over and kissed me lightly. “How are you feeling?” Tension radiated from every line of his body.
“Better now.” I tugged the oxygen tube from under my nose.
“Hey, you need that.” Jagger looped it over my ears and pulled Mama’s chair closer so that he could hold my hand. “So what now?”
“Wow, right to it, huh?” I joked. “No ‘how was your day, dear?’”
“Where are my manners?” A corner of his mouth quirked up, but his usual grin didn’t appear. “How was your day, my dear?”
“Oh, you know, mostly spent it being lazy and getting waited on hand and foot.”
“Sounds like a dream.” There was the smile. “More of the same tomorrow?”
My smile fell. “I’m being transferred to Birmingham tomorrow, so it should include a glamorous three-hour ride.” My attempt at humor fell flat. “My cardiologist is there. I have to…make a choice now.”
“You’re getting a pacemaker, right?”
I jerked back reflexively. “What?”
“I spent some time on Google today.” His eyes shot to where my tablet lay next to my hand. “I’m guessing you did, too. Anyway, I did some research.”
“I thought you had a test.”
“Yep. I took the test, and I researched new pacemaker technology.”
My stomach turned, but I couldn’t be mad since I’d spent my day researching him, too. But how much had he learned? “I’m choosing septal myectomy. End of discussion.”
He paled. “You want them to shave down your heart?”
Apparently a lot. “It’s not as bad as it sounds.”
He sucked his breath through clenched teeth. “I need you to explain your thought process.”
Logic couldn’t keep my hackles from rising, and besides, wasn’t this what I wanted? “I know you deserve an explanation, but you’re going to have to watch your tone. Nothing gets me madder than someone bossing me around when it comes to my heart.”
The chair creaked as he shifted his weight. “Do you love me?”
“Yes,” I snapped.
“Do you want a future with me?” His eyes lit with the same fire that had drawn me to him in the first place.
“Yes.” Which I can never have.
“Then stop acting like you’re alone in this, and explain your choice. I’m not saying I’ll agree with you, and I don’t have to, but we’re at least discussing it.”
He wasn’t Will or my parents. He wouldn’t bully me against what I knew to be right. “I just have this feeling…and I don’t want to be here again. I want the septal myectomy,
because then it’s done. Other than monitoring, I’m not sentenced to a life of…this.” I gestured to the monitors. “It isn’t just a Band-Aid, it’s a fix.”
“It’s got a five percent mortality rate over six years, it’s only eighty-five percent effective, and it has a huge rate of bundle branch blocks afterward. The pacemaker is proven to regulate your heart and seems like the most logical first step before you ask them to crack your chest, especially since you have a family history of SCD. Septal myectomy isn’t guaranteed to keep you alive, the pacemaker is.”
Ugh, stupid photographic memory. “I don’t want a pacemaker.” I enunciated each word.
“Well, that’s a shitty reason.”
“Wait…you…you actually want me to have the pacemaker?” Heat flooded my cheeks and then my ears. “They fail!”
He pushed the chair as he stood. “Yeah, in 2 percent of cases, they do, in which case you get it replaced, no big deal. Those odds are a hell of a lot better than the other.”
“And you think you know best?” I sputtered. “I’ve been dealing with this for years, and in twenty-four hours you’re an expert?” Why couldn’t I stop the wrong thing from flying out of my mouth?
He threw his hands up. “No. I think that I know how to fly helicopters—that’s it. Yesterday around this time I was at dinner with my girlfriend, wondering how to keep my family from blowing up in my face, and today she’s making choices about fucking heart surgery. I spent some time on the internet so I could maybe not look like a moron, and what I read scares me more than when you collapsed on me yesterday.”
I deflated, my shoulders drooping. “I should have told you. I’m so sorry you found out like this.”
“We should have told each other a lot of things.” He sat down, resting his head in his hands. “I should have told you about my family, or that I spent that week getting Anna into another rehab. But the things I kept from you don’t change who I am right now, and you…” He looked up, the defeat in his eyes nearly breaking me. “I didn’t tell you what happened to me, or what effect it had on other people, but you hid something that’s killing you from the inside.”
Eyes Turned Skyward Page 28
