A Man of Honor (A Young Adult Paranormal Romance) (The Honor Trilogy)

by Grider, J. P.

Storm. It’s Jack Stevens. There’s no cell service here, so I’m calling from the Princess Margaret Hospital in Nassau. There’s been a terrible accident and Honor is …oh my god, Storm.

  Mr. Stevens pauses to swallow some tears. He’s choking up.

  I’m sorry. I’ll try to stay calm so I can get this out. The plane went down. Right on the island. A lot of people were hurt. Honor and her mom included. But…Honor wasn’t hurt too badly. She would have…

  Jack’s voice cracks and he hesitates again.

  She would have gotten away with just some bruises, but…she couldn’t help herself. Oh, Storm.

  Jack cries again, making me wait even longer for his explanation.

  She had to go saving as many people as she could. Wound after wound, she wouldn’t stop. Until finally…she collapsed…fell unconscious. It…It was horrible. She was turning all sorts of colors…wounds started appearing on her skin where before there weren’t any. It…oh my god, it was awful.

  Jack catches his breath again, while I listen to his sobs over the phone.

  And oh, Storm…

  His crying is scaring the hell out of me.

  She…she…

  BeepBeepBeep. Three fast beeps end the call.

  She what goddammit? Oh my god…she what?

  I drop to my knees with the phone clutched to my chest. He never told me. He never said…

  He never said if she was still alive.

  Forcing myself to grab hold of my emotions, I get up off the floor and pull open my laptop. The first thing I do is book a one-way ticket for the first available trip to Nassau, Bahamas. This gives me hope before going on to the second thing I do –dial the long-distance number that displays in my recent calls.

  After listening to the recording, I press the option to reach the receptionist. When she finally answers the phone, I ask to reach Honor Stevens’ room. When she tells me to please hold, I wait impatiently listening to some cheesy Chicago song called Wishing You Were Here – which pisses me off big time, because it’s sad…and I’m already sad.

  When the woman comes back, she tells me, “I’m sorry, sir, but I cannot connect you at this time.”

  “Can you tell me if she’s at least there? Is she alive?” I beg. I plead.

  “I’m sorry sir, but I’m unable to offer you information. You can come in and speak to that department face to face, but we cannot give out that information over the phone.”

  “I’m in fucking America. I can’t just take a bus over there. Please. I’m begging you.”

  “I’m really sorry, sir, but I can’t.”

  Before I plead one last time, the line goes dead.

  And so does my heart.

  Chapter Forty-One

  The incessant replaying in my mind of yesterday’s phone call is all I remember about the flight to Nassau, Bahamas. The melting ice in my glass and the three empty miniature bottles of Jack Daniels tells me I was articulate enough to request a drink and coherent enough to show the correct form of id – considering I have two different ones. But don’t ask me what my attendant looks like or whether or not she’s male or female. All I know is, though my body is numb, my heart and mind have a permanent vise clamping down on them. The pain is unbearable.

  “In five minutes, we will be landing in beautiful Nassau, Bahamas,” the pilot announces. But all I care about is getting to Princess Margaret Hospital and finding out if Honor’s alive.

  God I hope she’s alive.

  Since I spent no time packing, there is nothing to stop and retrieve. So when I get off the plane, I hail the closest taxi and somehow communicate to the driver where I need to go. I don’t even hear the words come out of my mouth. It’s as if someone else is operating my body. I’m floating above myself in a way, because everything that is happening to me since the moment I got the phone call is hallucinatory.

  The eight stairs leading up to the front door may have been the seventy-two stone steps leading up to the Philadelphia Museum of Art. It took me that long to make it in to the building. And even longer to make it to the receptionist. Yes, I was in a hurry to see Honor. No, I was not in a hurry to hear terrible news. So I let time stand still by hovering in the lobby a few minutes before asking for information about her.

  “You can go up to the Intensive Care Wing on the second floor. There’s a reception area where you can sign in,” the woman behind the circular desk says.

  My heart struggles to pick up its pace with the vise constricting it, but God bless it, it tries. “Are you…are you saying…she’s alive?” I ask between labored breaths.

  “Yes, sir, I am, but she is in ICU, so you’ll need to cover up. The nurses will give you a gown upstairs.”

  She is alive. Like one of those religious people who drop to their knees and sing “Praise be the Lord,” I feel my own body screaming in celebration. “She’s alive,” I whisper only to myself. “Praise be the Lord.”

  Upstairs, the lady in blue makes me put on a yellow gown and a mask and gloves. When I walk into her room, I’m greeted by two grim faces and a body hooked up to all types of tubes.

  “Storm,” Mr. and Mrs. S. say together.

  Taking slow steps toward the bed, I feel that vise clamping down again. She’s not breathing on her own – she’s breathing through an oxygen mask. My eyes stay drawn to a sleeping Honor, but I manage to speak softly. “What’s going to happen to her?” I ask her parents.

  “Well, it’s a waiting game,” Mr. Stevens tries to say as a matter of fact, but his voice cracks, and I know he’s trying his best to stay strong.

  “What are we waiting for?” My voice is still quiet, my eyes, still on Honor.

  Mrs. Stevens’ breath hitches and her hand covers her mouth.

  “We’re waiting to see…if she’ll make it.” Though he tries not to, Honor’s dad cries.

  This is where I drop to my knees.

  And cry.

  I don’t just let the tears slip from my eyes. No. I let them rain down. And I don’t stop crying until sometime later in the evening when Honor’s mother brings me a cup of coffee.

  “It was nice of you to come,” she tells me.

  My struggle to stand is met with two lower limbs filled with pins and needles. I turn anyway and hug the shit out of Mrs. Stevens.

  “I’m so sorry. I’m just so so sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault, Storm. Stop,” she cries.

  “The break. If I hadn’t…oh my god, if I hadn’t asked to take a break, she wouldn’t be here right now.” I’m still squeezing Mrs. S. so hard, I finally realize I could be hurting her.

  She lets me pull away and then looks me in the eyes. “Storm. We might have taken this trip anyway. You don’t know that we wouldn’t have. Lord knows we needed it.” She laughs through her tears, leaving me to wonder where she finds her strength.

  “I don’t know what to do,” I cry in exasperation.

  “We fly back home. They’ll be flying Honor to Morristown Hospital on Tuesday. We’ll meet her there. That’s all we can do.”

  Nodding my head, I say, “Okay. Okay.”

  I sit down in the chair next to the bed, manage to swallow a few sips of the hot coffee, and cry. Again. Going through my mind this time, though, is making a deal with God.

  God, If You allow Honor to live, I will no longer be the asshole I’ve been. No longer will I make Honor choose between Ethan and me. If You allow Honor to live, Ethan can have her. I will not stress her out over it. I will make things easy on her and just be her friend. Her very best friend. If You allow Honor to live, I will be only good. Good to everyone. Especially Ethan. Please God. Please.

  After my meltdown, I think - this affects him as much as it does me. He should know. It’s only fair that he knows.

  And in a matter of minutes, I’m in the hallway calling Ethan.

  Giving him what has to be the worst call in his life.

  And it breaks my heart, because I know he loves her as much as I do.

  The End

&n
bsp; Acknowledgments

  I’d like to thank my editor Sue Toth for her brilliant insight and knowledge. Sue, you are the best editor an author can have. Thank you so much for all your hard work and dedication in making my story the best it can be.

  To my writing posse – Amber, Kathleen, and Stefan – thank you for listening to me vent and rant and sometimes even boast. You guys make the whole writing journey worth it.

  Once again, I’d like to thank my husband and children for understanding that I am trying to make writing a full-time career, and because of that, some domestic responsibilities (i.e. laundry, vacuuming) get dropped. So thank you for picking up the slack. I love you, guys, so much.

  About the Author

  J.P. Grider (1966 - ) born in Paterson, New Jersey as Julianne Pellegrino, was raised in Haledon, New Jersey, the oldest of six siblings. Her love of writing started early in her childhood, when she started writing poetry in-between homework assignments. As part of a school work program as a Journalism major in High School, J.P. Grider worked as a freelance reporter for a local newspaper, writing feature stories about exceptional high-school classmates. She studied Television Production and Film Writing at Seton Hall University in South Orange, New Jersey, where she graduated with a Bachelor's degree in Communications.

  Two of J.P. Grider's novels have won awards in the Textnovel Writing Contest, with her first published book – Unplugged (A Portrait of a Rock Star) – reaching Semi-finalist position. Though Unplugged is not her first novel written, it is the first to be published. Her second novel, Maybe This Life, published in 2012, was actually her first attempt at writing a novel. After completing the whole manuscript, Grider decided to scrap the whole thing and rewrite Maybe This Life from scratch. In Grider's opinion, the difference between the two was night and day.

  Currently, J.P. Grider is continuing work on the third book of her Young Adult Paranormal trilogy – A Heart of Honor – and continues to work on stories in the Adult Contemporary/Paranormal romance genre as well.