Aiden nodded. “This is my personal stash, but there’s one I had in mind for Art Walk. I just wanted to make sure you’d be okay with it.”
He flicked a picture down amongst the mess on the comforter.
Daisy picked it up. Her stomach clenched and she smiled, looking at bright oranges and gentle golds, a sandy beach and turquoise bikini strings.
“This one?” she asked.
Mercy hopped on the bed, walked across all the photographs, and lay on top of them.
Aiden stifled a laugh and nodded. “That one.” He hoisted Mercy into his arms.
Daisy looked and looked and looked, carving the photograph into memory. “Can I have a copy of this?”
“Only if you display some of your original stuff at Art Walk with me.”
“Done,” Daisy whispered, still looking and looking and looking.
He dropped Mercy onto the floor, swiped some of the photos out of the way, and lay on his back on one side of the bed. Daisy lay on the other side so the tops of their heads pressed together in the middle.
They held pictures up and laughed and told stories they both knew the endings to.
How quickly things could change. How quickly hope became something they needed, and didn’t just strive to find.
Aiden paused to look closely at a picture of Shannon. He dragged his index finger between Shannon’s eyes.
“Is this what it felt like back then?” Aiden asked.
“What?”
“When I…” The words trickled away. “You know.”
She closed her eyes and reached behind her head to find his arm, then his wrist, then his fingertips. “A little bit, yeah. Just… slowed down.”
“Slowed down,” he repeated.
“Yeah. Like if you took the last two days and stretched them into two years.”
Aiden was quiet. He clutched her hand. “I’m right here,” he whispered.
Her throat cinched. She told herself to breathe and did so. “You’re still here.”
30
Loraine and Lloyd passed Chelsea in the hallway. They stopped to hug and pat and coo, informing her that they were going for coffee and snacks at the café.
She took the opportunity to sneak into Shannon’s room while no one else was there and sat on the edge of the bed.
“Hey, Chels,” Shannon said. He played with her fingertips, something he’d done since they were children.
Her nostrils flared. She swallowed uncomfortably and shifted to pull one leg onto the bed. “You died on me, you know that?”
The curtains on the other side of the room were tied back, allowing the midday light to shine in. Aiden’s headphones were coiled on the cot next to Shannon’s bed, and his duffel bag was in the chair next to Loraine’s Harlequin romance paperback.
Shannon nodded and laced their fingers over and over, bending his knuckles through the slots between her own. “Yeah, I asked my nurse about it. She said it was a minute and forty-seven seconds.”
“Seemed like a lifetime,” Chelsea admitted. “Almost didn’t think they were gonna get you back.”
“You did.”
“The team did, yes. I stood there like an idiot, didn’t know what to do, just wanted to shake you ‘til you woke up.”
“That’s what I would’ve done if it was you.” Shannon grinned and touched the tip of all his fingers to the tips of her own. “Throw some cold water on you, threaten to take Cherry Blossom out without you, tell you I was gonna let Aiden drive your car. That’d wake you up.”
Chelsea snorted a laugh. “Yeah, maybe.” She sighed and turned toward the window, looking for a sign or an answer, something to steer her in the right direction. “I sold Cherry Blossom, Shannon. Same day I bought my plane ticket, same day I decided to leave Georgia for good and come find you. There was never a personal leave. I ran.”
He didn’t look surprised. “That’s why your mama was in rare form, huh?”
“Yeah, that’s why. I’ve been avoiding them for months.”
“I imagined as much,” Shannon whispered. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
“I already told Daisy. I’m sure she’ll tell Aiden. I don’t care anymore…” She sighed and flipped Shannon’s hand over in her own and traced the deep-set lines across his palm. “I’m stayin’ here with you and Aiden and Daisy. Did I tell you we’re doin’ Thanksgiving with her family?”
He shook his head and frowned. “We were supposed to do Thanksgiving,” he whined.
They’d made plans to have Thanksgiving together. Chelsea and Daisy, Shannon and Aiden, Marcus, Karman and Fae, all cooking and watching football. But Chelsea couldn’t stay away from Daisy’s family forever and she didn’t want to. She’d been pretending to understand the inner workings of what it meant to be a Cavanaugh long enough. She was allowed to have this—to meet the new half of her family, to let them see her, really see her.
“We’ll come over for dessert, how’s that?”
“Well, all right, that’s fine I guess.”
Chelsea swatted his arm. “Don’t be like that,” she said through a laugh. “I’m meeting her family for the first time.”
“Speaking of family, can you make mine leave, please? You said they would only be here for two days, and that was four days ago.”
“I was talkin’ about my mother when I said two days, but don’t worry, you’re out of here this afternoon, and they’ve got a flight in the morning. I’m taking them to the airport.”
“Are we all doing dinner?”
Chelsea nodded. “I believe Daisy is at Marcus’ with Karman cooking as we speak. Aiden’s pickin’ up your prescription from the pharmacy. Your parents will be back any minute. I’m off at seven, so I’ll be a little late, but I’ll be there.”
“You better be there,” Shannon mumbled. “Saved my life after all.”
“Just repaying a debt.”
Shannon tilted his head. His brow furrowed, and his lips popped open. Confusion always had looked good on him. He made the emotion into a treasure hunt: brows flicking and quivering, lips making all sorts of strange movements.
“What did you say to my daddy all those years ago? I know you said somethin’.”
He still appeared puzzled.
“The day you left, Shannon. Out with it.”
He squinted at her. “Told him I’d come back and kill him if I found out he’d touched you again. Said I’d take you away if I had to, that I’d get there quicker than he could imagine if one of our friends told me somethin’ had happened to you.” He shifted to lay his cheek against the pillow and watched her from under his lashes. “Bet he’d be even more afraid if he knew it was me and Aiden comin’ for him now.”
“If Daddy ever laid eyes on Aiden, oh lord, Shannon, it’d be like that poor fox we caught in the neighbor’s hen house, Daddy wavin’ his gun around, that fox’s bushy tail takin’ off for the woods.” Chelsea laughed as she spoke, and Shannon laughed along with her. They tried to stay quiet, to muffle their cackles into pillows and palms, but that didn’t work well. Chelsea wiped her eyes and shook her head. “You know I love you, right?”
“I hope so,” Shannon said. “I love you too, Chels. Always will.”
Chelsea grabbed his hand and squeezed. “Don’t you ever do that to me again.”
“No promises,” Shannon said. “I can’t control what happens sometimes.”
She patted the tops of his hands just as footsteps sounded from the doorway followed by Loraine’s voice, then Aiden’s.
“See you tonight, all right?” Chelsea stood up.
Shannon nodded. “Yeah, see you then.”
Chelsea put on her widest smile, laughed her most charming laugh, hugged Loraine and Lloyd, told them she’d pick up a bottle of wine on the way to dinner. But when she caught Aiden’s eye, he splintered her. No one else seemed to n
otice the shake in her voice, the tremble of her hands, but Aiden did. A tilt of his head, the pursing of his lips, the way he barely had to change his expression to silently ask are you okay? all told her he was filing away the details.
She breathed in deep, gave a curt nod, and rushed out of the room and into the bathroom. She splashed her face with cold water, wrung her hands until they felt raw, looked at her reflection—at the gold chain peeking out below her shirt and the violet bags under her eyes—and felt sick to her stomach.
Told him I’d come back and kill him if I found out he’d touched you again.
Chelsea ripped the necklace off, shoved it in her pocket, and sent a text to her father.
It was all of seven words, but each of them felt like a wave pummeling her into a sharp-edged reef.
I forgive you. I’m not coming back.
Chelsea watched the word “read” appear beneath her text, but Philip didn’t respond.
“I got red and white, because I don’t know what everyone likes and I figured we’d drink both anyway.” Chelsea set the two bottles on the island in the middle of Marcus’ cozy kitchen.
Daisy stood in front of the stove making the last bit of sauce for the pasta dish. Marcus was outside with Karman barbequing. Loraine was whipping up honey butter for the cornbread, and Lloyd was in the living room telling stories about his time as an officer to Shannon and Aiden.
Everyone was hustling and bustling, moving to get food on the table, chatting about this or that, but a stillness crept in that filled the space between bowls being set up in the dining room, barbeque sauce being smothered over chicken breasts, Daisy licking alfredo sauce off the side of her hand. It made the house seem smaller; it made voices louder, more alive.
Chelsea’s feet didn’t ache, because she wasn’t wearing heels. Her hair was thrown together in a messy, frayed braid. She was wearing jeans and one of Daisy’s striped crop tops. Her lips were bare; her cheeks were accented with a dusting of drugstore blush and highlight.
Daisy’s arms wrapped around her middle. She said taste this and held her finger up to Chelsea’s lips.
Chelsea Cavanaugh felt true, unwrapped, and laid bare.
She sucked the sauce off Daisy’s finger. “It’s good,” she said, smiling over her shoulder as Daisy rested her forehead against the knobby top of her spine.
“I’m so glad this is all over,” Daisy whispered.
“Me too.” They were talking about different things, but that was still true. Chelsea was glad it was over, but she knew it wasn’t over. Chelsea still heard the sound of Shannon’s heart monitor going flat. She still saw the blood on her gloves. In some ways, they would all feel it; everything would stop and start again for a long time. That’s how recovery had to be. “Is Aiden okay?”
Daisy sighed and rolled her forehead back and forth between Chelsea’s shoulder blades.
“Well, he will be,” Chelsea said softly.
“Will you?”
This time Chelsea sighed. “Yeah,” she said. For once, it wasn’t a lie. “Course I will.”
Karman hollered from the back door, “Dinner’s done!”
Daisy kissed the nape of Chelsea’s neck.
The world turned. Chelsea felt it.
31
Aiden’s hip rested against the edge of the refrigerator. He watched Shannon, and it was apparent that Shannon wasn’t comfortable being watched. Shannon squirmed, slowly maneuvering his legs until he was in an upright position against the bed frame. There was a book in his lap that he refused to read, and the bandage wrapped around his midsection looked more and more horrible the longer Aiden stared at it.
“We’re still doing Thanksgiving at your brother’s house, right?” Shannon asked. His voice was uncertain, confident in the beginning and dwindling toward the end.
Aiden traced the line that separated white cloth and tan, olive skin, relaying every inch to memory. This is the outcome, Aiden thought. It could’ve been worse, he reminded himself. The pieced-together puzzle of Shannon Wurther after being shot, after almost dying, after coming home from the hospital, was something Aiden didn’t want to remember, but had to.
“Aiden,” Shannon said, softer. “Did you hear me?”
“I heard you,” Aiden said. He gripped the countertop with one hand while the other curled and uncurled into a weak fist. “I’m sure he’d like it if we did it at his place.”
“Why are you over there?”
It wasn’t difficult looking at Shannon; it was difficult acknowledging Shannon’s wound. Even though it was hidden, tucked away and stitched, Aiden knew it was there, like having a spider lost in the bathroom. He could still go inside, but he’d never be able to look anywhere without thinking of the arachnid crawling around. Aiden could still sit beside Shannon, he could still look at Shannon with all the adoration he’d had for him, but in the back of his mind he would still see a hole torn through his stomach.
Code blue room 1201 ICU. Code blue room 1201 ICU.
Aiden had looked up what code blue meant two days ago: cardiac arrest.
“Your heart stopped,” Aiden said suddenly. He tasted the words. They were coppery, crunchy, like dried blood or stale dirt. “I listened to the nurse call it out over the loudspeaker. I was in the waiting room…” He paused, the words turned into bile quickly. “I didn’t know if I’d get to bring you home.”
“It was only for a second,” Shannon said. “And it doesn’t matter because I’m home, in our bed, with you, and I’m fine.”
“You got shot.” Aiden exhaled, sharp and fast, like a summary of the situation as a whole: sharp and fast, the phone call; sharp and fast, the time at the hospital, everything, even the moments in between, when time was made up of languid, lingering horrors, was sharp and fast. Aiden imagined the bullets were just as sharp and just as fast. “You almost died.”
“Almost is the key word.”
It was nearly impossible to decipher whether anger or relief kept him on edge. Relief wasn’t supposed to be so abrasive; it wasn’t supposed to keep people up at night. Anger didn’t have a place in this situation. It took up the space around it, though.
“I understand that it scared you,” Shannon blurted.
“Scared me?” Aiden whispered. “You think it scared me?”
Shannon’s blue eyes, riddled with worry, widened. His brows furrowed, his lips pursed, and he opened his mouth to speak. Whatever he was going to say got caught, a fish on a hook, and writhed in his throat.
“I don’t… I’m not good at this, I can’t, I…” It came skidding out of him. Aiden paused to take a breath, and another, but they started coming more frequently. He was breathing and then gasping and Aiden didn’t want to fall apart. “I should go.”
“Aiden, wait…” But Shannon stopped. His voice was low enough that Aiden barely heard him. The rest of the conversation was played out between their eyes. Shannon’s lips parted. He gripped the spine of the paperback novel in his lap and stared at Aiden.
Aiden grabbed his helmet off the counter and left without looking back at Shannon because he knew if he looked he’d hear the same thing again.
Code blue room 1201 ICU.
Chelsea rummaged through the kitchen cabinets. She pushed shot glasses aside, followed by tall, skinny glasses and short, wide ones. Aiden and Daisy had obviously stocked the kitchen with more plates and bowls. Square plates, round plates, and deep rectangular bowls in different colors filled the biggest cabinet. The smaller one above the sink had an array of spices and salts.
“Where’s the honey?” she mumbled, pushing a container of pink Himalayan salt out of the way. “Where does he keep…?”
Keys jingled in the lock on the front door before it swung open. The force caused the doorknob to smash into the wall, alerting Chelsea to one of two things: Aiden was home or Daisy had fallen through the door. It was the former.
“Hey, good, you’re here. Where do y’all keep the…” Chelsea’s tongue went limp. She stared at Aiden, unaware that staring wasn’t the best idea, and closed her mouth. He looked as he usually did, dressed in black, motorcycle helmet in his hand, an unpleasant look on his face. But the unpleasant look was more than unpleasant. His cheeks were dark and his mouth was red, as if he’d been gnawing on his lips.
“You’ve been cryin’…” she said, and immediately shook her head, as if to dismiss it. “I mean, you look—you don’t look too good. What’s the matter?”
He might as well have spit venom. Aiden lifted his chin and pressed his mouth down until his lips glowed white. “I’m fine,” he hissed, but his lashes stuck together and he sniffled.
Chelsea rolled her eyes and clucked her tongue. “Oh, come on now. What’s goin’ on?”
“He almost died.” He tossed his helmet onto the couch and stomped toward the balcony. “You get that, right?”
“Sure do. I pulled the bullet out, remember?”
Aiden wrenched the sliding glass door open and it slammed against the buffer on the wall. Aiden trudged outside and leaned over the balcony. Chelsea examined the line of his shoulders, straight across, splitting the sky in half. His head was bowed, and his knuckles glowed as white as his mouth.
It hadn’t taken long for Chelsea to realize that Aiden wasn’t dangerous; he was passionate. Everything he felt, he felt all at once. There was no order to his emotions. If he went over the top of a rollercoaster once, he would feel exactly the same the second time. The man refused to accommodate his own being into a manageable state, and instead opted to be uncontained: wildfire spreading in every direction, a thunderstorm without an eye.
But she wasn’t scared of him, not anymore. She tiptoed onto the porch and touched a leaf on one of his many potted plants. “You know,” she tested, inching toward the space beside him, “statistically he’s in the clear. Usually people who meet with death once don’t do it again for a while.”
“Statistics are bullshit.” Aiden had one side of his mouth between his teeth. He drummed his fingers and reached up to swipe at his eyes. “Where’s Daisy?”
Curved Horizon Page 26
