Heartless

by R. C. Martin

  It’s been eight minutes since the hospital called, informing me that he had been brought in a little while ago—by ambulance. He collapsed.

  I gasp loudly when my car door opens. Whipping my head around, I find Michael already reaching for me. He pries my fingers away from the steering wheel and helps me out of the car. His hand clasped firmly around mine, he leans across the driver’s seat and snatches up my purse, grabbing my keys while he’s at it, before shutting and locking my door.

  “Let’s go.”

  I follow his lead, comforted by his obvious ability to be cool during a crisis. I, on the other hand, remain a complete mess.

  “Where to?” Clay asks from the front seat as Michael closes us inside of his town car.

  “Um—St. Luke’s. South Denver.”

  His response comes by way of stepping on the gas. I’m so relieved to finally be moving, I sag against Michael’s side. When he wraps me in both of his arms, I lose a little bit of my grip on my emotions. A whimper sounds from my throat, my fear almost all consuming.

  “Talk to me, Blaine. Tell me what’s happening,” Michael commands, his voice soft but adamant.

  “He was at the store. He collapsed. The nurse—the nurse—she said—”

  “Hey, take a breath, angel. Just breathe. Talk slow.”

  I nod, drawing in a shaky breath as I grab a fistful of his shirt. “He had another heart attack. She said—when she called, she said that they were admitting him for surgery. They have to open him up. His chest, Michael—they’re going to cut inside of his chest and—”

  Thinking about my dad in open-heart surgery is my breaking point. Saying it out loud makes it more real, and I start to fall apart. I sob into Michael’s chest, feeling helpless and scared.

  “I’m right here, baby. I’m right here. You’re not alone, all right? I’m right here.”

  He holds me so tight, it’s like he’s the one keeping me in one piece, and I let him. I cry for the entire trip. I’m not even sure how long it takes us to reach our destination, only that Michael doesn’t let me go. When we finally come to a stop and Clay kills the engine, I’m quick to jump out of the car, but Michael stops me.

  “What are you—?”

  “Look at me, angel,” he insists. I do as he says, and he dries my tears before pressing a kiss to my forehead. Without pulling away, he mumbles, “Remember to breathe, no matter what. He’ll need you to be the strong one.”

  I jerk away from him, frightened that he’s telling me this now because he won’t be with me later. I don’t hesitate before I blurt, “You’re coming with me, right? You’re not leaving, are you?”

  Sliding his hand around the side of my neck, he gives me a gentle squeeze before he declares, “You need me, I’m here.”

  “I do. I do—I need you,” I insist.

  “Okay. It’s settled, then. Let’s go.”

  All three of us make our way into the hospital through the emergency room. It’s Michael who takes the lead, asking where we’re to go in order to get an update on a patient in cardiac surgery. We’re instructed to find our way to the seventh floor, where upon arrival, we head straight for the nurse’s station. When we inquire about my dad, we aren’t given very much information—only that he’s been in surgery for thirty minutes now. Apparently, the procedure is four hours long, but a doctor should be out to inform us of their progress and my dad’s status after being notified that I’ve arrived.

  As I turn to take a seat in the waiting area, I stop short when Michael continues talking to the attending nurse.

  “I understand this may be a request that you might not be able to grant; however, as we’re to be here for a few hours, I would appreciate any accommodations you could make for some privacy.”

  I watch the woman on the other side of the desk raise her eyebrows in surprise as she asks, “Excuse me?”

  Clay steps in before Michael can speak another word and explains, “The Governor would like a private room. Can this be arranged?”

  “Oh—um, gosh,” she stammers, a blush rising to her cheeks. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

  “It’s quite all right,” Michael interrupts, stopping her before she draws more attention. “Is there any available space?”

  “Yes. Yes, I’m sure I can find something.”

  “I appreciate that very much.”

  “Sure, Governor.”

  “Nurse…” He leaves the word hanging, obviously trying to catch her name.

  Her blush returns as she fills in the blank. “Connie. My name is Connie.”

  “Nurse Connie, I would also appreciate as much discretion as you can manage. If you can imagine, I don’t want anyone tweeting about my whereabouts.”

  “Certainly! I understand completely.”

  Michael merely nods in response. Five minutes later, we’re escorted to a private, empty room. Connie promises that a doctor will be along shortly, and then we’re left alone. Clay closes the door behind her and then keeps post in the hallway. I stare at Michael, a little taken aback by all that just happened.

  “Are you all right?” he asks, closing the distance between us.

  I shake my head, in awe of the man before me. “The last time—the last time dad had a heart attack, it was a nightmare getting to the hospital and finding someone to get me information. You got me here and got us a private room without even batting an eyelash.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” he starts to say, his tone leaning toward playful as he tucks my hair behind my ears. “I’d like to think it was my charming personality that won over that nurse.”

  I cough out a laugh, turning my cheek to rest it against his chest as I tease, “Yours, or maybe Clay’s. You’re not the only one with pretty eyes around here.”

  “Are you telling me I need to keep tabs on my security detail or he might steal my woman?” he murmurs, folding me in his arms.

  Snuggling against him, I whisper, “I’m telling you that I love you; that we’ve been here for all of five minutes, and already I don’t know what I’d do without you; and that nurse Connie better steer clear—because you’re mine.”

  “There’s my girl.”

  “Tell me he’ll be okay,” I beg softly. “Just tell me he’ll be okay.”

  “I’m praying that he will be, baby. We’ll know more, soon.”

  Soon feels more like an eternity. When Michael gets tired of standing, he sits in one of the chairs against the wall, inviting me to join him in the empty one at his side. I refuse, unable to sit still as my patience wanes. I pace back and forth while we wait, wondering if no news in this case is good or bad. It’s a half an hour before there’s a knock at the door, a doctor on the other side to tell me what I’m so anxious to hear.

  I learn—from a surprisingly pretty doctor in peach hued scrubs and a matching scrub cap—that my dad is in the middle of CABG surgery. She explains to both Michael and me that the procedure will help widen the arteries of his heart to allow for better blood flow. When she informs me that he’s currently on a bypass machine, I start to lose my balance—but Michael is at my side in a second. I grab hold of his hand, squeezing it for dear life as I try and concentrate on what the doctor is saying. Something about taking a vein from his leg to graft into his heart.

  It isn’t until after she describes the procedure that she tells me it’s a very common surgery, one that they perform at this hospital often enough—whatever that means. She then assures me that someone will be back to update us further as the surgery progresses, but that she doesn’t anticipate any complications.

  “If you wouldn’t mind, could it be you who delivers all of the updates moving forward? Until we can speak with the head surgeon on John’s case?” asks Michael. Before I can figure out why he’s made such a request, he goes on to clarify, “I prefer the consistency. It’s easier to trust the information coming from the same source.”

  “Absolutely, Governor. As I said, Mr. Foster is doing great so far. I see no reason to worry at this juncture. I’ll
let you know as soon as he’s off bypass.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Yes, thank you,” I echo, watching her leave.

  “That was favorable news,” says Michael. He leans down and presses a kiss against my temple, and I nod, letting out a sigh.

  “I’ll feel better when I can see him.”

  “Well, we’ve got a few hours. Sit with me.”

  This time, when he takes a seat, he doesn’t invite me into the chair at his side. His hand still wrapped around mine, he guides me into his lap. I go willingly, curling up against him as I close my eyes and try to relax. Michael grazes his hand back and forth across my thigh, and I concentrate on his touch, willing the hours to pass by faster. Then it dawns on me that while I’m here, instead of at work, Michael’s here, instead of at home.

  “Oh, shit,” I mutter, sitting up straight so that I can see his face. “Veronica.”

  “I told her I had an emergency, that I didn’t know how long I’d be, and that I’d text her when I knew.”

  “But—tonight, you were going to…”

  My voice trails off as he shakes his head at me. “One crisis at a time, angel. I’m where I need to be right now.”

  I stare at him for a minute. My mind a little less muddled than before, I realize how quickly he dropped everything to be here with me. Not just to sit with me, but to take care of me—take care of everything.

  Reaching up to hold either side of his neck, I run my thumbs across his scruffy jaw and lean in to kiss him. I kiss him lovingly, tasting his lips a little before touching the tip of my nose to the tip of his.

  “Thank you,” I whisper.

  “You don’t have to thank me, Blaine.”

  “Maybe not,” I say, snuggling against him once more. “But I mean it anyway.”

  Michael

  IT’S NEARLY MIDNIGHT by the time we’re taken back to the ICU to see John. Blaine grips my hand tightly the entire way to his room, inhaling a shuddered breath when she finally lays eyes on him. As she goes to stand by his bedside, I stay back and allow her to have a moment. I watch as she slips her small hand into his large one, her tears returning as she dips down to kiss his cheek. Sniffling, she murmurs something in his ear that I can’t make out, and it hits me for the first time that I’m seeing a side of her I’ve never seen before.

  Blaine as daughter.

  Admiring her now, I regret having not met this part of her before. Even more so, I’m sorry that it had to be under these circumstances. We’ve been told that it’ll take John some time to come out of the anesthesia. While I plan on staying for as long as Blaine asks me to, it’s only a matter of time before I have to answer about my whereabouts to my wife. Any chance I have at meeting Blaine’s father properly before that time is slim to none.

  As if she can hear my thoughts, Blaine looks over her shoulder at me. “Come ‘ere,” she murmurs.

  Accepting her invitation, I stop right behind her, resting my hands on her shoulders.

  “This is my dad,” she states. “John Foster.”

  “Looks like he’s going to be all right.”

  “Yeah,” she sighs, giving me her slight weight as she relaxes against me. “I’m never going to let him eat fried chicken again, but he’ll be all right.”

  I smirk down at her, both amused and attracted to her protective side. I then lower my lips to her ear as I ask, “What about bacon?”

  She hums a giggle, shaking her head as she tells me, “I’m no match against the bacon. I don’t want him to disown me. I love him too much.”

  We’re interrupted by a knock on the door. I straighten behind Blaine as we both look at the man who enters the room. He introduces himself as the head surgeon before shaking both of our hands. He then gives us a thorough run-down of the successful surgery and what can be expected throughout the duration of John’s recovery. Blaine has a couple of questions, which he’s patient enough to answer, and then we’re left alone again.

  “Do you mind if we stay? Just a little while longer? I want to see him when he wakes up. I know you need to go home, and if you can’t—”

  “Whenever you’re ready. We’ll take you to your car, and I’ll see you home.”

  She turns around to face me and circles her arms around my waist. Tilting her chin up, her gaze aligns with mine as she frees a heavy sigh. “I know you said I didn’t have to thank you—but how about an I love you?”

  “Those are always welcome.”

  “In that case—I love you, Michael Cavanaugh. I love you so much.”

  “I love you, too, angel. Don’t forget it.”

  “I won’t,” she promises, giving me a squeeze. “Not ever.”

  Michael

  IT’S AFTER FOUR when I arrive back at the mansion. I’m exhausted, and yet I’m without a doubt that sleep isn’t in my near future. I ignored half a dozen texts from Veronica last night, only informing her that I’d be home as soon as I could and that I would explain it to her upon my arrival. That’s why I’m not at all surprised when I quietly make my way into the bedroom and find her asleep, but with the bedside lamp still lit.

  I don’t bother waking her. Rather, I take a seat on the bench at the foot of the bed and wait. At this point, there’s no reason to rehearse what it is I’ll say. There are no right words. There’s only the truth. The truth that last night—I wasn’t Blaine’s husband. I wasn’t her boyfriend—I was the governor, pulling favors for her. To the woman I love, it didn’t matter. Her concern was her father, as it should have been. However, to me, it mattered a great deal.

  I’m not stupid. There’s no explanation as to why the governor came into the hospital with a woman who is not his wife and sat with her all night. There’s only room for speculation. I’d be an idiot to assume that such speculations weren’t made. I’m not worried about them. I’m not concerned with word getting out. It was one hospital, one ghost staff, one night. I’m merely tired of it all. Tired of the lies, of the secrets, of the hiding. I can’t do it anymore.

  Propping my elbows on my knees, I close my eyes and rest my face in my hands. I can feel it as sleep starts to wash over me at the same time that there’s a rustling in the sheets behind me.

  “Mike?” Veronica mutters groggily.

  “I’m here.”

  “My God,” she sighs. I hear it as she pushes herself up to sitting before she asks, “Where have you been? I’ve been worried and you’ve been vague. What’s going on?”

  “I was at the hospital,” I admit.

  “What?” she asks, sounding more awake. There’s more rustling as she goes on to question, “Why? Are you okay? Did something happen?”

  I don’t answer her right away. For a moment, I embrace the silence—I embrace the last moment of her ignorance. I embrace what it feels like to be us for just a second longer. With my eyes still closed, it’s like I see our whole lives flash before my eyes. It amazes me how, in one instant, it can all shatter.

  “Sweetie, you’re scaring me,” she tells me, her voice now closer than it was before.

  When I feel her occupy the space next to me, I lift my head from out of my hands and I look at my wife. I notice that even in her worried state, she went to bed last night in a red negligee. It’s ironic to me—how perfectly her nightgown depicts her character. From the outside looking in, you can’t tell anything is wrong; you can’t see her broken spirit—I can’t see the pieces of herself that she’s hidden from me.

  “Why were you at the hospital? Mike! Talk to me!” she demands, grabbing hold of my arm.

  “I was with Blaine. Her father had a heart attack. I stayed with her and waited with her while he was in surgery and then in recovery. She didn’t want to leave until he woke up.”

  A confused expression pulls at the features of her face as she shakes her head at me slowly. “What are you talking about? Who is Blaine?”

  I want to touch her. I want to hold her hand. I want to comfort her. I want to make this easier for the woman I still care for, but I know th
at’s impossible. Not only that, but it’s no longer my place.

  “Michael!”

  She says my name like a demand, and all I can hear in response is Blaine’s voice.

  I love you, Michael Cavanaugh. I love you so much.

  “Blaine…Blaine is the woman with whom I’ve been having an affair.”

  Veronica’s spine straightens as her hand falls away from my arm. The shock she wears on her face is unmasked as she studies me. Her dark eyes are calculating, like she’s trying to make sense of what I’ve just told her. Finally, she replies, “I—I can’t have heard you correctly. Right? I—”

  She cuts herself off, as if she thinks that it’s my cue to speak. When I say nothing, I see it as the truth begins to sink in and take root. I see it when her eyes grow glassy with tears, and her breathing becomes shallow and uneven. I see it when the beginning stages of pain strikes her heart.

  “You’re—you’re sleeping with someone,” she states, her voice thick. She doesn’t phrase it as a question, but like a truth she’s trying to taste.

  “No.” I straighten, shifting my body so that I’m facing her fully. Resisting the urge to take her hands in mine, I explain, “I’m not just sleeping with her.”

  “Just,” she mutters, fidgeting with her fingers. “So you are having sex with her? Is that what you’re telling me?”

  “We’re intimate, yes,” I answer with a slow nod.

  Tears spill over and down her face, but she’s quick to wipe them away—as if they’re not meant for me to see. Regardless, I can see them. For the first time in a long time, I can see her—and I can’t look away. She’s crumbling right before my eyes, and I can’t look away.

  “How long?” she asks, sweeping her fingers across her cheeks once more.

  “I met her in June.”

  “Three months,” she murmurs, her voice so soft I’m not sure she meant to speak aloud. “Three months. So—you barely know her.”