by Marie Wathen
***
Breesan
A soft throat clearing at the doorway draws mine and Sam's attention. Standing with a polite smile and drawn brows, Marcus glances between us then steps into the room. Following behind him, Morgan's stiff body language clearly alerts me that he is moping. The clenching sensation returns to my chest.
He walks over to the window leaving his back to us, staring outside for what feels like forever to me, but is really no more than a minute. Obviously unwilling to relent, his arms are folded snuggly across his chest and his jaw is set. Glancing back at Marcus he shrugs his shoulders while rolling his eyes dramatically. Oh mygod why didn't I see how spoiled he is before?
“Who was the genius that came up with the damn plan that ultimately puts her back in harm’s way?” Morgan snaps. Impatient when no one responds immediately, he spins around stabbing Marcus with a look that could kill. Dropping his hands on the island counter top and leaning slightly forward, he growls, “Well?”
“Seriously Morgan cut the dramatic bullshit,” Sam interjects, “I'm sorry I couldn't explain everything to you in the car. But if you would just do as you’re told for once you would be back at Gran's living in your world completely unaware of the ugliness that Marcus and I know too well. I’m glad you know the truth about our jobs now because I hate lying to you. We are risking a lot trusting you with this information and if you care about Breesan and the other girls as much as you claim, then you need to trust us too.”
Flinching at her insult, Morgan replaces his brooding stance with one of defeat. Slightly turning Sam's way, he gives a curt nod while his eyes remain downcast. A pang of guilt for being the catalyst in their disagreement jostles butterflies into flight in my belly and I automatically blanket my arms around it. Pivoting his head around, he slowly lifts his eyes to finally look at me.
“Hey,” he offers apologetically, his cheeks flaming red and his tight formed mouth slowly eases into a remorseful smile.
Startled by his sudden kinder voice, tears quickly burn again. Refusing to let him see how unsettled I am I avert my eyes to the floor giving it my sole attention as I respond, “hey.”
Hastily twisting around prepared for his confrontation, I struggle hard to swallow down the apprehension that suddenly chokes me. Glancing back at him, I see raw emotions lying in his dark green eyes.
“Forgive me, please,” he begs, gradually moving closer to me, but as if he's suddenly too scared to be so forward he stops several feet away.
“Morgan, there's nothing to forgive,” I assure smiling sweetly. “None of this is your fault.”
Shaking his head he stares deeply into my eyes before moving in and drawing me against his hard chest.
“I've missed you.” His voice is shaky. Breathing in deeply an overpowering mixture of sandalwood and citrus consumes me and a nostalgic feeling abates my stress. A hard throat clearing signals Marcus' disapproval of our closeness. Morgan is the first to take a step back, but keeps his eyes focused on me.
“You have no idea how good it is to hear you say that because I've missed you too,” I reply. Seeing his face light with a beautiful smile I add, “I need you Morgan. Don't leave like that again.”
“We have a lot to talk about Ms. Maxwell,” he chuckles glancing over at Marcus who is leaning rigidly against the door frame. Dropping his arms that were moments ago tightly folded across his chest, Marcus crosses the room with his dark emerald eyes zeroed in on me. Pulling me tightly to him, his hand rests against my back as he kisses the top of my head.
Knowing that there is a history, albeit a very short history between us I know for a fact that what happens from this moment forward will be profound. Morgan owns a piece of my heart too.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Morgan
Well, isn't this just the best damn situation to be in? What I feel seeing Breesan alive after Sam lying to me about her abduction is minuscule compared to the magnitude it just multiplied when she bravely confessed to needing me. Never in my entire existence have I ever wanted a woman needing me, but what we share is so much more than a frivolous relationship. I truly care for her.
Caring for her and being brought in as her ally during this fucked up situation is precarious. Nonetheless, I eagerly anticipate our relationship flourishing from this point forward; but first I must understand how evolved her relationship is with my brother. Watching his dominance leap to the forefront after holding Breesan in my arms, I am kind of pleased knowing that I’m making Marcus edgy. Ah hell, who am I kidding? It pleases the living hell out of me!
After hearing what my gut tells me is a partial truth from the three of them, I notice Breesan is visibly shaken and antsy upon the mention of Tristan's shooting. She has asked twice nicely, but is now practically demanding that Sam, Marcus and I check in with the family. Suggesting that spending some time with him should take precedence over her needing babysitters, she literally pushed us out of the house.
Knowing Kole and Rhys are target practicing with their rifles on the range located at the back of the compound, Marcus finally relents instructing her not to leave. His feelings for her are blatantly obvious and he doesn't care that I know, which is highly unusual for him. Hiding Elise from me was of the utmost importance for him, and as disturbing as it sounds that made her even more intriguing.
“How much does the family know about what's really going on?” I ask Sam, leaning forward against the front seat of Marcus' Jeep. I don't really want to engage him in casual conversation just yet.
“They know nothing and we're keeping it that way,” Sam says. “We have security at the hospital and a few of Kole's buddies are staking out Gran's, watching for anything suspicious.”
“Well, that's good.” The heaviness of this situation weighs like dead weight in my stomach, but I must ask more questions, “And ... how serious is Tristan's condition?”
Letting out a heavy sigh Marcus answers, “He's been in a coma for over a week. They say if he doesn't wake up soon he may not ever come back to us. They also warn that when he does wake up he may not be the same as before.”
My anxiety builds rapidly. I swallow that shit down hard and keep my mouth shut for the rest of the drive to the hospital. We enter the trauma floor and are immediately met with a range of facial expressions and comments, from happy to concern. Granddad bear hugs me while Gran furiously wipes a handkerchief at the onslaught of tears rushing down her rosy cheeks. I scan the room for any sign of my parents, spotting my mother glaring at me from across the large open area.
“I guess I need to explain where I've been to Mom.” Turning to Marcus, I add, “I'll join you in a few minutes.”
“Although, it would probably be best for everyone here if you waited, I doubt she will let you get away with that for another minute.” Marcus replies, strolling away from me he joins our family in Tristan's room.
I walk over and take the empty chair next to my mother and drop my arm across her shoulder. Watching me since the moment we exited the elevator her glare softens slightly at this gesture.
“I've been worried sick Morgan,” sighing, she whispers sadly. Leaning into my shoulder, she lifts a trembling hand to my forehead pushing away the long strands from my eyes. “Disappointed does not even cover how your father feels about your unscheduled trip out of town.”
Oppressed by a sudden heaviness in the air, I push down my desire to tell her exactly what I think about his feelings and offer a half-ass smile instead. She sits quietly for a moment staring off into the distance toward Tristan's hospital room. Noticing the foreboding etched across her beautiful face, I wonder if she's imagining me lying there and feeling somewhat regretful for what she's implied about shucking my responsibilities.
“Forgive me Mother,” I offer truthfully.
“I will, but I need you to promise me that it won't happen again.” Turning back to me, she stares deep into my eyes and I see the dark clouds begin to lighten. “Of course, you will need to speak with Elise first.”
/> There are no words for what I feel at this very moment. She takes my devotion and rips it to shreds with just the mention of that name. I should have expected it. Damn, I'm surprised she didn't mention Elise before she mentioned my father. Unable to speak, I nod and avert my eyes back to Tristan's room. My mother begins speaking again only this time all I can think about is what this moment would be like if it were me on the other side of that glass wall lying in the hospital bed. No, I'm not ready to die, but does she care enough about me to feel something other than joyful for making me feel guilty?
Knowing that she and my father plan on using me to strengthen the family corporation irks the shit out of me. Sitting quietly, I endure her going on about everything that I missed while away. Clearly she doesn't require my input because she hasn't stopped talking for the past thirty minutes. I can honestly say at this precise moment I prefer Marcus' company over my own mother’s. Noticing the door to Tristan's room open, relief flushes through me as I see Sam approaching with an “I'll rescue you” look on her face. Never before, have I needed to get away from my mother more than this very second, but Sam shoots that idea to hell after taking a seat next to me.
“Marcus wants to be alone with him for a little while.” She smiles apologetically. I nod somberly and notice that my mother never stopped talking, even after Sam sat down.
***
Marcus
The room falls silent after everyone leaves me to have a moment alone with Tristan. Drinking in my surroundings I didn't realize how solemn this room was before. Standing next to what I consider my best friend, I am overwhelmed with emotions and need to talk to him.
“Hey Bubba, you look good man,” I state with a trembling voice. Great, I just said the same old lame ass comment everyone says to someone in a hospital bed.
Finding my resolve I say, “So, I was wondering, when exactly are you going to crawl your ass out of this bed? Football season starts soon and I need you to go with me to watch Bama beat the Cajun out of LSU? Roll Tide.”
Met with an eerie silence, I stare at all the machines hooked up to him and wince at the bandage covering his head and most of his face. The only thing I can see in the dark room is the one bruised and swollen eye partially covered with all those damn bandages.
“I need you to wake up Tristan.”
Nothing
“Can you hear me Bubba?”
Nothing
“Mother fucker!”
Taking a deep breath, I slide down into the empty chair positioned at the head of his bed. Instantly, the memory of Breesan being in the hospital after her Ryske drug overdose jars my mind. I thought I was going to lose her before she was even mine. Watching Tristan breathing with a machine’s assistance, I have that same doomed feeling all over again.
“Fine, you sit there and I will share.” I remember similar words that he used on me once and add, “And afterward we'll go get our hair did.” I smile. “Since every time I come to see you someone is always in here, I haven't had the chance to catch you up on what has been going on. First, Morgan left. Actually, he left before the shit hit the fan at the party. He missed all the action and I can say that I'm actually kind of glad. I know we have our problems, but there's no telling what could have happened to him if he would have stayed.”
Swallowing down the rising emotions, I clear my throat and take Tristan's hand in mine careful not to disturb the wires. Slightly unnerved by seeing the tether that is keeping him alive attached to his hand and his mouth, I avert my eyes to the window fixating on the hanging hibiscus plant. The lump in my throat rises with the sudden accelerated beeping sound coming from the heart monitor. Moving quickly to my feet I draw my face extremely close to his.
I whisper, “Bubba, can you hear me?”
Nothing
Unaware that I had drawn his hand up with me when I rose, I unwind my fingers from his, but before I break our connection I feel a slight flicker. Forcing myself to become exceptionally calm I stare intently at the strong grasp I have on him and pray that the movement I noticed is the blessing we all have been wholeheartedly praying for. I wait disheveled by the thought of it being a phantom movement. The moment subsides and as if I were standing in a room full of monks who have taken a vow of silence the quietness becomes deafening.
Wiping away the sweat that formed on my forehead, I reach behind me and draw the chair closer beside him, sitting again.
“I need you to wake up. I don't want to lose you,” I whisper, staring at the floor. “I can't lose you. No one in this world gets me or accepts me the way you do. That is until Breesan.” I lift my eyes and look at Tristan. “You knew, didn't you? You warned me to stay away from her. Only it wasn't for her sake, it was for mine. That's why you and Anna were pushing for her to be with Morgan instead of me because you knew what being with Breesan would do to me. After the misery my life turned into because of what happened with him and Elise, you didn't want me to fall for her.” I sigh. “But I did Bubba. I'm boundlessly in love with her. I have never loved one person more than I do that beautiful, bright woman who honestly doesn't know what it feels like to be loved. But I'm going to erase that pain completely from her heart.” I smile sadly, wishing he would respond. “I admit that I'm completely scared to death. I want her in a way that I didn't know was possible. I want her, like you want Anna, Tristan. I didn't think that would ever happen for me.” I laugh softly, knowing that it was like magic the very moment that Breesan touched me the night we met, and my life has been like sweet, delicious madness ever since.
Thoroughly exposing my raw thoughts and inspirations, I am barely aware of the trace word floating in the silence. Clinging to Tristan's hand, my spirit stirs as I hear the soft tenor reiterate a childhood nickname I had long forgotten. Before I could respond the door opens and Morgan walks around the other side of Tristan's bed. Scooping up his free hand Morgan squeezes it and stares at our cousin. Emotions I never witnessed from him before, arrest my own when Morgan’s voice breaks as he speaks openly to him in front of me.
“Trist, forgive me for not being here with you after the accident. I'll make it up to you if you'll just please wake up.”
An indefinable state of mind for his empathy genuinely knocks the breath out of me. Choking back tears that burn harshly against my now closed eyelids I stand and move to the window, hopefully before Morgan notices my complete unraveling.
“Bones?” It was soft and garbled around the tube going down his throat, but when I glance at Morgan, who jerks his head up looking at me I know he heard it too.
“Yes Tristan,” Morgan replies. “Thank God. Marcus, he's going to be okay.”
“Mac?” Another raspy whisper, luckily we understand that he is calling me now. I move quickly to the door and yell for the nurse before returning to Tristan’s side.
The room becomes mass capacity within seconds as almost our entire family descends upon the three of us followed by the nurse who takes her damn time joining us. Watching the nurse routinely check his pulse and lift the one exposed eyelid, flicking a disbelieving glance our way, like we made the shit up.
“Do you need to get the doctor in here?” I spit out my anxiety about her casualness. “He spoke to me and Morgan.”
Feeling every eye in the room fall on me, my blood begins to boil at her incompetency and lackadaisical attitude.
Witnessing my stress rising, Granddad clasps a large hand on my shoulder and asks, “Son, what did he say?” His words instantly calm the raging beast inside me along with his authoritative, yet compassionate tone.
Before I can respond Morgan chimes in, “He said Bones and Mac to us.”
Glancing over toward Tristan, I see joyful tears streaming down Aunt Gretchen's face. Believing what we said to be true it's Gran who intervenes.
“Young lady, you need to go get his doctor now,” she snaps definitively.
The room erupts into chaos when she smartly obeys Gran's command. Scurrying out of the room the nurse promptly returns dragging the bewild
ered doctor behind her. He does a quick check over his vitals then turns addressing the room.
“Who heard him speak?”
“He spoke to the boys.” Aunt Gretchen gestures to me and Morgan.
“Are you certain that he spoke?” Smirking arrogantly between us he says, “Sometimes what we hope for so desperately, actually turns out to be our imaginations playing tricks.
Exchanging a look with Morgan that literally screams “oh hell no”, we jointly bark out, “He spoke to us!”
Through the eerie silence a soft groan comes from the center of the chaos, quelling all doubt about Tristan speaking. Finally believing our story and acting accordingly, the doctor and nurse deliberate with each other and agree that Tristan is awakening from the coma. They begin working on extracting the tube from his mouth quickly.
Opening his eyes slowly, Tristan scans the worried faces landing on Granddad before speaking. “Where...” His voice is sluggish and scratchy. He gently clears his throat and stutters through his question. “Where is my...”
Every soul in the small room freezes. No one wants to answer the question we all know is coming. How can we tell him that Anna is gone? This is so not the time to explain that the love of his life has been abducted while he was in a coma. Every eye in the room zero's in on him as he chokes several times. The nurse fetches a cup of water and instructs him to drink slowly. Letting out a unified breath the whole room anticipates this not going to end well.
“Granddad,” He groans after quenching his throat. “Where is my dad?”
My suspicions instantly flare to extreme. This is seriously some fucked up shit. Why in the hell did he ask for his dad before asking about Anna?
