All of You

by Lindsay Detwiler

  All of You © 2018 by Lindsay Detwiler

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any written, electronic, recorded, or photocopied format without the express permission from the author or publisher as allowed under the terms and conditions with which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution, circulation or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s rights, and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly. Thank you for respecting the work of this author.

  All of You is a work of fiction. All names, characters, events and places found therein are either from the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to persons alive or dead, actual events, locations, or organizations is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  For information, contact the publisher, Hot Tree Publishing.

  www.hottreepublishing.com

  Editing: Hot Tree Editing

  Cover Designer: Claire Smith

  ISBN-13: 978-1-925655-31-5

  To my husband, Chad

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Epilogue

  More from Lindsay

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  About the Publisher

  Prologue

  Alex

  I swerved to the side of the road, certain she was gone, the blackness of her hair fluttering behind her and blending into the darkness of the night. Just like so many things in life, one second she was there, hunched into herself under the bright streetlights on the Cedar Bend Bridge, clutching something like it was her lifeblood. And then, in the next second, she was gone, slithered away as if she’d slipped through the cracks of life itself, obliterated from existence.

  If I hadn’t been driving by, if I hadn’t seen her disappear with my own eyes, no one would have noticed her descent into darkness, into the lapping waters of the gentle river, or of her almost goodbye.

  But I was there. I did see her.

  The truth was, looking back, I should’ve seen her even before the fateful night that tossed our lives together.

  I should’ve seen her in every goodbye I’d said before her. I should’ve seen her in every wistful dream I’d walked by and didn’t chase. I should’ve seen her in every empty seat beside me for the twenty-six years I didn’t know I was missing her.

  She was the lifeblood I waited to uncover. She was the answer to the midnight wish I didn’t know I’d asked for. I wouldn’t know it until long after I first saw her. I couldn’t have known until I met her that I needed her.

  Because when I swerved my car to the side of the bridge, chest heaving with adrenaline and fear, I had no idea Marley Jade would eviscerate everything I ever thought I knew about life. I didn’t know I would end up saving her that night and on many nights to come.

  Most of all, I didn’t know she would save me from something I didn’t even know I needed saving from.

  Chapter One

  Alex

  I turn the radio down as if this is going to help things, as if a lower volume of Bruno Mars’s song will help me not be fifteen minutes late for my shift.

  “Shit,” I mutter to the hula girl on my dashboard, a memento from the spring break trip my roommates went on without me.

  I glance at the clock in my dashboard, each minute that ticks by feeling like the end of my career creeping closer. So much for the solid impression I thought I’d established these past few weeks in the Rosewood ER. How could I be such an idiot? Pretty sure Dr. Conlan isn’t going to be too pleased his doctor in residency’s late again. The weariness in my bones begs me to turn the car around, to take the break I already desperately need from the crazy hours. The persistent dreamer in me, though, knows I’m too close to my goal to screw things up now. Just a few more years and the white coat will be completely earned, my life path set before me just as I’d planned. I’ll have everything I ever dreamed of—if I can just get to the damn hospital.

  My Chevy chugging over the now-familiar bridge from my one-bedroom to the hospital, I glance across the barren two lanes of traffic as something on the ledge catches my eye.

  I ease up on the gas, although I’m already late and can’t afford to.

  It’s dark, but the streetlight casts an eerie glow over her raven-black hair, long and straight, as it billows in the wind. She’s wearing a bright red hat that contrasts with her hair in a way that steals my gaze from the road. I grasp the wheel tighter, reminding myself to pay attention to my driving, snapping away from the call of her. Not like there’s much traffic, but it won’t do for tonight’s ER doctor to end up there himself.

  Still, I can’t take my eyes off the slumping body on the ledge, her legs bunched up as she clutches them. As I get closer, I notice there’s something in her hand, a crinkled bag. She looks shifty and lost, but with an air of beauty I can sense even from behind my grimy windshield.

  It’s odd, and maybe it’s the mixture of energy drinks and Doritos I had for dinner, but it’s like I want to know her story. Something about her checked flannel shirt and lace-up boots, the way she’s clutching the bag like it’s her last possession on earth, makes me want to approach her, to know her.

  And then my heart stops, my foot slamming on the brakes.

  Because, as if the wind took her into its gripping claws, she’s gone, tumbling down, hair wafting behind her in a grand exit that must only be a few seconds but feels like a slow-motion horror scene.

  She’s over the bridge, and I realize the lost look might not have been imagined.

  I’m late for work, but it looks like my work might have come to me, because this girl, whether she meant to or not, has just slipped way too far down for her to walk away unscathed.

  ***

  I swerve to the side of the road, panic dissipating as the doctor in me takes over. I only have a few minutes to get to her before it’s too late. The bridge is high but a survivable fall. Still, if she has any sort of lacerations, or hits her head on the way down, all sorts of complications could prevent her from surfacing.

  Dashing across the empty street, I quickly peer down over the edge to assess the situation. Seeing nothing but murky water, the streetlights’ beams ricocheting off the relatively calm waters, I do the senseless thing, emboldened by my previous summers’ job.

  I dive in after her.

  My dive isn’t Olympic-worthy, but it does the trick. My hands cut through the water, a jolt to my system. Now that I’m in here, my clothes dragging me downward, I realize how impulsive my split-second decision was. The girl is nowhere to be seen, and in the chilly night, it seems like an impossible task to find her. I scan the surface, hoping to see even a hint of her rising from the depths of the water.

  About ten feet away from me, she emerges, a sputtering, coughing mess. She flounders and flails in the water.

  “Stay calm,” I yell, swimming over to her hurriedly, wrapping an arm around her, and kicking us both back toward the shore. I’m already tiring from fighting the current, but luckily the water isn’t too choppy tonight. It’s manageable. Maybe all those summers at the pool paid off after al
l.

  I swim to the shore, the ragged girl in my arms, her black hair drenched and sticking to her face as she continues to gasp for air and spew up water. When I finally get to the bank of the river, I haul us both out in a swift but difficult maneuver, trying to place her on the ground as carefully as I can.

  I take a deep breath before the physician-in-training takes over. “I’m Dr. Alex Evans. Can you hear me? Do you know your name?”

  She coughs and then gasps, looking like she’s trying to catch her bearings, her eyes half-closed.

  “Marley,” she croaks, looking up into my eyes as I examine her for injuries. The red hat is still miraculously on her head, but I yank it off. I look for contusions or lacerations under the dim glow of the streetlight but don’t see any. Glancing over her, checking her eyes, I don’t see any immediate damage. Other than being drenching wet, confused, and exhausted, she seems to be okay. There could be underlying damage, though. She’ll need to be checked out.

  Plus, there’s also the consideration of why she fell from the bridge. Was it purposeful? Did some other medical incident happen?

  She strains to sit up, but I push her back down. “Stay put. I’m going to call for an ambulance, okay? You stay here while I go get my phone from my car.”

  Waving a hand in front of her, she says, “I’m fine. I don’t need an ambulance. But thank you. Thank you for saving me. I just… I wasn’t expecting that. I got all disoriented in the water.” Refusing my insistence that she stay still, she props herself up on her elbows, wiping a strand of hair away that is stuck to her face, weariness still evident in her voice and lethargic movements. I can tell, though, she’s doing her best to convince me she’s okay, her eyes now marked by a defiance that seems to taunt me.

  “I really think you should be checked out,” I insist, appraising the situation, including a slight trembling of her hands as she reaches for the red hat I’ve thrown on the bank nearby.

  “I like the sound of that,” she says, giving me a wink and a smile despite the precarious situation as she shoves the drenched hat onto her sopping wet head. She could’ve died, but she’s here cracking jokes. Maybe she is mentally unstable. I don’t smell alcohol on her breath, so I don’t think she’s drunk.

  I don’t say a word, just stare.

  “Relax, Doctor. It was a joke. I promise I’m okay, and I promise it was an accident. I’m not suicidal if that’s what you’re thinking. Just having a rough day.”

  “It was a pretty decent fall. You’re lucky.”

  “I’m something, but lucky usually isn’t it,” she replies, an odd remark to say the least.

  She struggles to stand, and I offer her my hand, yanking her to her feet. Her skin is cold and clammy, and she’s shivering. Her voice sounds smoky, perhaps from the situation she’s just been through, or maybe it’s just partially the quality of her voice. It stirs something in me. Now that the rush of the situation is over and things aren’t so critical, I take a second to drink her in. Her clothes, soaked through, stick to her in all the right places, showing off a petite yet womanly frame. She’s got an edge to her, from her voice to her clothes, that screams different. But different on her looks good.

  Get it together, I tell myself. This girl could’ve died and you’re checking her out. Professional.

  “So,” she says now, wringing out her shirt with her hands. “I’m not sure of the protocol after a doctor dives into the river to save your klutzy ass. Other than thank you, of course. I don’t know. Do we exchange numbers? Do I offer to buy you lunch or something?” She grins mischievously.

  This girl’s different. Very different.

  Still, I can’t ignore the facts. She allegedly fell from the bridge. She had a brown bag. Maybe this girl’s just trouble.

  “Look, I’m heading to the ER for my shift. I can’t in good conscience let you just walk away like this. It was quite a fall. Will you please at least come with me so we can make sure you’re okay?”

  We walk up the bank now. I offer her my hand, but she scurries up herself.

  “I don’t know. I don’t really like doctors and hospitals.”

  I grin.

  “No offense,” she adds quickly. “Just makes me nervous.”

  “Well, on a plus side, the doctor in residency is pretty nice. I hear he’s handsome, too. And he might even be able to sneak you a cup of coffee, the good stuff, not the ones they have in the vending machine that taste like watered-down tar.”

  She shifts her eyes to the ground, her smile fading as she considers. For a moment, the lost look is back, the bridge-ledge girl is back. I think she’s going to say no.

  Instead, she sighs as if in surrender. “Fine. But I’m not staying for a ton of tests, just so you know. I’ve got work in the morning.”

  “Deal.” We head back to my car, and as she walks to the passenger side, I scramble to toss the stack of fast food bags and empty energy drink cans from the seat. My car’s the place where I let it go, where I don’t worry about being organized. It’s a junk hole, in truth, something I regret now as Marley climbs in.

  “Not much of a healthy eater for a doctor,” she observes, stepping on an empty can I couldn’t reach. She doesn’t seem to mind, though, and buckles herself in.

  I shrug, slightly embarrassed. “We all have our weaknesses.”

  “Indeed,” she murmurs, turning the knob on the radio to find a station she likes as I buckle up and head toward work.

  “Do you have anyone you want to call?” I ask, offering her my phone from the center console.

  “Nope. I’m good,” she replies with a weak smile I don’t quite believe. She’s putting on a good show, looking like she’s not shaken, trying to seem like she didn’t just fall from a bridge into a river where she could’ve drowned.

  So I hit the gas, heading toward Rosewood ER for a lecture from Dr. Conlan, some quick assurances Marley’s okay, and some confusion about how life is truly a weird thing.

  Chapter Two

  Marley

  I hug the paper-thin hospital blanket around my shoulders, constricting the cold and the anxiety out of myself. A kind nurse gave me a change of clothes, but the hideous gray sweatpants are about three sizes too big and the T-shirt is my least favorite color—vomit green. Although I’m not sure anyone really likes vomit green.

  Dangling my feet over the edge of the hospital bed, I sigh in frustration. I should be at home right now. I should be tucked away in bed, drifting off into dreamland, not sitting here waiting to get an all-clear I know will come. I’m fine.

  At least I’m fine from the fall.

  Walking out on the Cedar Bend Bridge, crinkled paper sack in my hand, I knew I was making a mistake. I was acting more like the sixteen-year-old Marley instead of the twenty-one-year-old I am. Insolent, impulsive, and moody—these were not the ways to fix problems.

  But Mom was out of control again, and I just needed to feel in control. I needed the crisp air in my lungs so I could remember to breathe. I needed nothingness, blackness, peace. Cedar Bend is where I go to find it, sitting on the edge, thinking how easy it would be to fall.

  Remembering where so much in my life changed not so long ago, the crinkled paper bag of heartache reminding me it’s a choice to stay strong, to stay unbroken.

  Tonight, though, my little artsy metaphor failed because I actually did fall. Luckily, though, I’m not completely broken. I survived, thanks to a stoic doctor with seriously sexy looks and a noteworthy set of biceps. I guess if you’re going to almost drown in what looks like a suicide attempt, you may as well do it when a man with immense sex appeal is near.

  Dammit Marley, calm your hormones, I tell myself, shaking my head. Look at me. I’m not exactly what I’d describe as the doctor’s type. Or anyone’s type, in reality.

  Not that I’m low on self-esteem or drowning in negative feelings about myself. I’ve prided myself on keeping my body in check, and accepted my quirky looks. Still, a girl with countless tattoos and a biting sense of dark h
umor isn’t what I’d typify as the studious, saving-people type. Looking at him, I can see a little into who he is. The messy car isn’t fooling me. This guy’s got himself together, his eyes on his goals.

  Meanwhile, I work at a coffee bar in a town basically forgotten, my nose ring my most exciting dream realized.

  A knock at the door snaps me out of my ruminations. I pull the blanket tighter. I really don’t like doctors or medical visits.

  “Marley Jade, what the hell are you doing here?” a voice bellows through the door. I smile; the voice belongs to a familiar face.

  “Dr. Conlan. I just missed you. Figured I’d throw myself in the river just to get your attention.”

  He raises an eyebrow, wordlessly telling me my comment isn’t amusing.

  “Relax. I’m fine. It was an honest mistake. Fell over the ledge.”

  “And do I even want to ask why you were sitting on the ledge?” he asks, glancing at my chart before he eyes me above his glasses.

  I shrug. “It’s peaceful.”

  “Except when you’re almost plummeting to your death. Dr. Evans filled me in.”

  I sigh. “So, he thinks I am suicidal.”

  “No. He thinks you need to be checked out for head trauma, just to be sure.”

  “So, he’s a worrywart.”

  “He’s thorough. And he’s new. Wouldn’t do to kill one of the town’s best girls in the first few weeks, huh?”

  I grin, shaking my head. “Where’s this guy from, anyway? I haven’t seen him around.”

  “California. He’s been busy settling in and learning the hospital.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “He’s from California, and he came here? To this dinky town?”

  “It’s not so bad of a town,” Dr. Conlan says, his wrinkled hand reaching out to put the stethoscope on my chest. I hate doctors—except Dr. Conlan. He’s okay in my books.

  “If you’re okay with Chick-fil-A’s opening five years ago being the biggest excitement in your life. Seriously, he traded California for this place?”