Rescue Breathing

by Zoe Norman

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Olivia

  It's been two weeks since I last saw Owen. He has tried to call me several times, but I haven't answered or responded. I get a text from him almost every day.

  Please talk to me, Olivia.

  I miss you.

  My apartment feels empty. Please talk to me.

  She doesn't mean anything to me, baby. Please believe me.

  Please answer your phone, Olivia. Just talk to me for a minute.

  Give me a chance to fix this. You're the one I want.

  You are my future.

  Every text message is like a knife to my heart, and I've taken to shutting off my phone and telling people to contact me through my house phone or the office.

  At night, I lie in bed and cry. My heart has been beaten to a pulp. This is so much worse than when I lost Jay. I really thought Owen and I had some future. I finally trusted him. My mistake.

  Charley keeps telling me to give him another chance and to hear Owen out. Simon just listens to me cry but doesn't offer anything else. I don't think he knows what to do. The one thing he does know to do is keep this from my parents. The last thing I need right now is my mother to give me an earful about the other one I let get away. Especially after the amazing weekend we spent there.

  Part of me feels like I should give him a chance, like what I saw was perhaps outside his control. But I think of what it would be like for him if the tables had been turned. From just the brief interaction with Jay in my office, his initial reaction was jealousy. And this isn't the first time something has happened. I'm getting tired of turning every corner in Brooklyn and finding another one of his sexcapades, another reminder of his past. I know we all have a past. I get that. But we don't all have to contend with that past rearing its head every five minutes.

  It's something I can't get past. I can't get over it. And maybe that makes me weak or wrong, but it's what I know about myself. I know that if I talk to him, if I let him in at all, I'll waver and end up the one suffering. The thought of never speaking to him again, never seeing him, never touching him or being touched by him… It cracks my heart.

  I throw myself into my work. I am responding to every grant that comes by my desk in the hopes that something will come along that I can sink my teeth into, something to lose myself in. For the first time in years, nothing is sticking, and it's so frustrating. I need desperately some kind of distraction.

  Two more weeks go by, and my heart is starting to heal, albeit very slowly and very tenuously. Last night, while cleaning my apartment, I found the card that had come with the flowers Owen had given me for my birthday. I cried on the floor, my head in my hands, for two hours before passing out.

  One Wednesday morning as I sit at my desk, Laney comes bouncing into my office. “Miss Oliviaaaaa,” she sings, “you have been invited to speak to the FDNY next week about your paper. Isn't that amazing?”

  Normally her enthusiasm is infectious, but today, it's a little exhausting. I feel bad. That's not her fault.

  “I don't remember seeing that invitation. Seems kind of last-minute, doesn't it?” I reply, somewhat frustrated.

  “Apparently it's last-minute because they want to get it done before the new commissioner retires. He wants to do it under his tenure I guess.” She rolls her eyes as if this seems ridiculous to her.

  “Oh,” I say. “Well, I obviously don't have anything scheduled, so I guess you can RSVP for me that I'll come.”

  Laney nods and starts to walk out of my office. Suddenly, something occurs to me.

  “Wait, Laney! Do you know where the talk is being given?”

  Laney stops and turns, reading the invitation. “It's at a community center in Brooklyn. Why?”

  I frown. Fuck. I'm likely to run into Owen at this thing. Can I handle that? Will I break down in the middle of presenting my paper if I see him? Maybe he won't attend. Maybe he'll be smart enough to not go.

  “Okay. Thanks, Laney.”

  She quietly leaves the room, and I spend the rest of the afternoon in my office with tears pricking my eyes, staring blankly at my computer.

  * * *

  A week later, I'm going over my notes for my talk this afternoon. I am dressed in a simple black shift dress and black heels. Not my fuck-me shoes, but a pair that gives me height and makes me look both professional and pretty. I'm trying to make myself feel good. Looking good is feeling good right?

  I'm sitting on a chair in the vestibule by the podium where I'll be speaking. The crowd is loud but starting to settle down. I took a peek earlier and did not see Owen. So far, so good. It's funny because, as terrified as I am to see him, I'm a little hurt that he's not here. My knees start knocking with my nerves, so I put a hand on my knee to settle them. Deep breaths. I can do this.

  The crowd quiets and the commissioner starts to speak, introducing me and my work. In other circumstances, this would thrill me. This is the audience I hoped would see my research—the servicemen themselves. I am desperate to help them, particularly since I learned how damaged they are by their traumas. I think back to Owen's nightmares, and I shiver.

  I stand when I hear my name called. After walking carefully to the podium, I shake the Commissioner's hand. He pulls me in, giving me a kiss on the cheek. Sweet man.

  I glace at my notes, rearranging them, and then scan my eyes over the crowd. I still don't see Owen, and my heart squeezes with the knowledge. I guess he's not coming. He's over me. I decide to start.

  “Thank you all for coming to see me speak. I can't tell you how gratifying it is for me to have the results of my research on trauma and servicemen reach the actual subjects of my studies. I have met many of you—policemen, firemen, military men—and I am in awe of what you do, in awe of your commitments as human beings, and saddened by the traumas you've experienced.” There is round of applause as I pause.

  When I look up, my eye catches someone walking into the room toward the back, and my heart lurches into my throat. It's Owen. Our eyes lock and Owen gives me a weak smile as he waves. Since it's standing-room only, he leans against the back wall in a way he has done before when watching me. But now, his eyes lack the sensual haze they usually have, instead looking bleak, tired, and sad. My heart breaks and I feel my throat tighten.

  After taking a sip of water, I clear my throat. I start talking about my selection of subjects for the research and then discuss the information I collected and the treatment strategies I developed. Periodically, I look up at him, and each time, my heart squeezes as he just stares straight at me, sadness taking over his face.

  I glance down at my notes and finish my talk. In the back of my mind, I think, Maybe I should go say hi. When I scan the crowd again, he's gone. Owen has left. I gasp audibly.

  I clear my throat again and ask for questions. Luckily there are none. I excuse myself and walk back into the vestibule. I give an excuse about having another appointment, grab my coat and purse, and rush out of the building. Am I going to see if I can catch him? Am I running away? I don't know, but when I walk onto the cold street, there is no one there. I duck into an alleyway, put my head in my hands, and cry.

  CHAPTER THIRTY- SEVEN

  Olivia

  The weather is colder, and while it hasn't snowed yet, I can smell it in the air while I am sitting in a Starbucks with Simon and Reese, enjoying my chai latte. We just had a lovely lunch together, and now we're talking about the wedding coming up this summer. I am really excited about it. How could I not be? They are so in love, and it's infectious to be around. We talk about the dresses and the colors. Reese has asked me to be her maid of honor, and I am so touched by that.

  Simon tells me about how he's been running interference with my folks. It hasn't been hard since, once my mother is satisfied in her thinking, she tends to leave me alone. She still doesn't know that Owen and I broke up and I have no intention of telling her in the near future. Am I avoiding? Absolutely.

  I suddenly hear my phone buzz. Crap. Where did I put
it? I rummage around in my bag and finally find it just before it goes to voicemail. I don't recognize the number. Huh.

  “Hello?” I ask cautiously.

  “Uh, hey, uh Olivia? Olivia Burke?” a male voice I vaguely recognize says on the other end.

  “Yes, this is Olivia. Who is this?”

  “Oh, shit, great. I mean…sorry. This is, um, Tanner. Owen's friend from the firehouse?”

  Holy fuck. My silence must be giving me away because simultaneously Simon pulls at my sleeve with a 'what the fuck' look on his face.

  Tanner continues. “Wait, Olivia. Don't hang up, please. I have to tell you something. It's Owen...” His voice trails off.

  I swat Simon's hand away, my blood running cold. I can feel the color draining from my face, and instinctively, Reese puts her arm around my shoulder.

  “What about Owen,” I ask nervously.

  “He, um...He's been in an accident, Olivia,” he stammers, his voice breaking a bit. “He was on a balcony four stories up, and it was burning but we didn't know how bad the lower levels were. It collapsed and…well… He's unconscious. In a coma, I think they said. He's pretty beat up.”

  My hand clasps over my mouth, tears already streaming down my face. “Where is he?” I manage to rasp out despite my throat feeling like it's closing.

  “He's at New York Methodist. He's been there since last night. I just thought you would want to know, Olivia. He still loves you, you know. He's lost without you. He works one-hundred-hour weeks just to clear his head. He's running like a maniac. Lost a ton of weight,” he sighs as my tears overtake me.

  “Olivia, I know it's none of my business so no need to tell me that, but what happened with his ex? That wasn't his fault. He didn't know she was coming. He really didn't. Just a few minutes before, he was gushing about you to me, about your future. I gave him such a hard time,” he says wistfully, recalling the memory. “I just thought you should know that. He loves you, Olivia.”

  He loves me? Owen loves me? Why didn't he ever tell me that? I would have said it back. And now I can't restrain my sobs.

  “Tanner, I'll be there as fast as I can. I'm downtown in Manhattan and I'm leaving now. My brother has his car so hopefully it will be quick.”

  “Okay, Olivia. I know if anyone can help him right now, it's you,” he says. Tanner gives me the room number and some directions and then I hang up the phone.

  Reese rubs my back as I put my head down on the table and cry. “Liv? Sweetheart? What happened?”

  I grab a proffered tissue, blow my nose, and wipe my eyes. I take a deep, shaky breath. “Owen was in an accident. He's in a coma.” I look up at Simon, hopeful. “Simon, can you take me to the hospital?”

  “Absolutely, kiddo. Let's go.”

  I slip my coat on with the assistance of Reese. She is such a good friend. She grabs my coffee and my bag and leads me out of the coffee house toward the car parked around the corner. The ride is quiet and uneventful and horribly slow.

  He loves me. All this time. He was suffering too. And now I'm mad at myself. Why did I let myself suffer? Why did I let us suffer? Over some ridiculous bitch who wants what she can't have? Over a misunderstanding much like the one with Jay? The tears come harder. What was I thinking?

  We pull up to the front of the hospital and Simon tells Reese and me to climb out here. He knows where we'll be, and he's going to park while we find Owen.

  Reese and I run into the hospital, frantic. I ask for Owen's room at the security desk, and he directs toward a bank of elevators. He gives us directions up to his floor and we race to get there. When we get to the floor, the nurses greet me at the desk. She's older and looks like the stereotype of a grandmother everyone would want.

  “Hi, um, I'm here to see Owen Maxwell? He's in one of the critical care beds?” I ask, breathless.

  “You're name, dear?”

  “I'm, um, Olivia Burke. His coworker Tanner called to tell me he was here?” I pause, “I was, um, his girlfriend.”

  She gives me a beaming smile. “Oh yes, dear. Of course. We were expecting you. Come, come with me.” She shows Reese where she can wait for Simon and also for me since Owen can have only one visitor at a time. Reese gives me a hug and goes to the waiting area.

  Once we're past the waiting area, the nurse introduces herself as Jean and says in a quiet voice, “Mr. Maxwell's sister is with him right now. I'll let her know you're here.”

  I never considered the fact that Owen's family was with him. This just makes things awkward. “No. No, that's all right. I'll just wait until she leaves. I…I can wait to see Owen,” I stammer, turning to walk back toward the crowded waiting room.

  “Don't be silly, dear. Mr. Maxwell's mother, I believe, left a while back, so his sister I'm sure could use a break from her vigil. You wait right here, Miss Olivia, and we'll have a little changing of the guard,” Nurse Jean says with a smile like she just made the funniest of jokes. With that, she turns on her heel and I watch with nervous trepidation as she steps inside what must be Owen's room. He's so close. He's just inside that room. My heart starts to thump hard with the realization that I'll be seeing Owen soon, but not before awkwardly meeting his sister. What was her name again? Oh, come on, Olivia. Think. Think.

  Only a short minute after Nurse Jean stepped into Owen's room, a woman looking to be about my age steps out. She appears tired, and her hair is disheveled like her fingers have run through it a hundred times throughout the day. But there is no denying that she is Owen's sister. She is as beautiful as Owen is handsome. Her shoulder-length, wavy, dark blonde hair is highlighted with lighter blonde streaks that frame her face, and her eyes are the bluest of blue, just like Owen's. Height must be a family trait, because I'm guessing she's at least five foot ten and has a solid build that fits her large frame. She looks over to where I am leaning on the wall next to the door of his room and our eyes meet as she moves toward me.

  “You're just as beautiful as Owen described.” Her voice is quiet as she looks me over in a reverent, almost inquisitive way.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I'm sorry. I'm Emily Bello. Emily Maxwell Bello, actually. I'm Owen's sister,” she says, extending her hand in greeting.

  I take it. “I'm Oli—”

  Emily suddenly pulls me in for a tight hug. “You're Olivia. Owen has told me so much about you. I feel like we're practically friends,” she says as she continues to hold me.

  The hug doesn't feel as awkward as it should. It feels quite the opposite, in fact. I slowly wrap my arms around Emily and hug her back. I take comfort in her arms as someone who cares deeply for Owen, and we're both finding solace in each other, however brief the moment.

  “I'm so glad you came, Olivia. Owen told me about…well…about your breakup, but I'm so happy you're here.” Emily goes on to give me the details she knows about the accident and the reports from his doctors. He remains in a coma while his brain heals and he has some cracked ribs and other superficial lacerations, but otherwise, he's incredibly lucky. Emily looks at her watch. “Do you want to stay with him?” she asks. “I'm pretty sure my Vince would like to see me at some point.”

  I look down at my hands and fidget with my fingers. “If you don't mind, yes. I'd like to spend some time with him,” I say, meeting her eyes. “Unless you think Owen would mind,” I stammer, suddenly unsure. “It's been a couple of months since—”

  “No. I think that would be a wonderful idea,” Emily says, saving me from finishing my sentence. “He'll wake up for you, Olivia.” She grabs my hand. “And when he does, please tell him that Mom and I will be here in the morning to see him.” Emily pulls me in for a final hug goodbye. “Thanks again for coming, Olivia. It was nice to finally meet you. I hope to have the pleasure again sometime.”

  My lips turn up in a smile, and we say our goodbyes. I would like that, Emily. I really, really would, I think to myself.

  Jean guides me closer to the door to Owen's room. She pulls aside the glass and my heart stops. He is a
ttached to a multitude of machines, some of which I don't recognize. He has a nasal cannula attached to oxygen, likely due to his exposure to smoke. I can hear his heartbeat, and lights are blinking on the machines all around him. It is terrifying. I notice myself start to sway, feeling lightheaded. Jean takes me by the shoulders and guides me to a chair next to his bed. I sit in the chair, my hands in my lap. Then Jean leaves the room, telling me to spend as much time as I'd like.

  After I watch her leave and shut the door, my attention turns to Owen. I can tell that he's lost weight, but he also looks more muscular. The blanket comes up to his hips, but his chest is bare and covered with round leads connected to wires attached to machines. I scan the area around him, taking stock of what he's monitored for. He has several IVs running into his hand—saline, it looks like, and a medication I don't recognize. I reach out carefully and slip my hand into his. He is warm, and his skin is dry and rough. Just as I remember it. I watch his chest rise and fall and look at his precious face. And then I start to cry. I put my head down, my forehead resting on his forearm. After a few moments, I wipe my eyes and gaze back up at him. Rubbing his hand, I start to speak.

  “Oh, Owen, I'm so sorry. So sorry about everything.” I shake my head. “I let my emotions get ahead of my brain. I should have given you a chance, a chance to explain, or…something. I just was so scared. I felt you pulling away a little and I thought maybe you had reached out to her or something.”

  I decide that I'll let him know all of my crazy thoughts about all of this. Why hold back now? “I thought maybe you were testing yourself to see if this was really something you wanted. I can't tell you how sorry I am, Owen. So, so very sorry, baby.”

  I sit by Owen's bedside for what seems like hours, just watching him as the sun sets outside the window. Occasionally, I straighten, reach over, and stroke his hair. It's so soft and in desperate need of a cut. He's just so gorgeous. He has a little stubble, which I always think looks good on him. I remember how it feels on my cheeks, my neck, my body. I look at his strong arms and think about how it felt to just lie in them. I recall how they felt wrapped around me while we watched TV on his couch, when we went to a movie theater, or when we were out dancing. I think about waking in the morning before him and watching him sleep, contemplating our future. Wondering if we'd have a future.