by Ava Harrison
“You can’t shoulder all the blame, Grant,” I say, trying to help. I feel sorry for him. He looks so desolate.
“I just didn’t understand him. He had everything anyone could want. The parties. The lifestyle. The money. And yet he couldn’t keep his name out of the tabloids. I thought he was doing it on purpose.”
“He was,” I say matter-of-factly. “He was trying to get your attention, and he didn’t care how he got it. It was a cry for help.”
Grant’s shoulders slump. “We turned our backs on him. I’ll regret it for the rest of my life, Lindsey.” He shakes his head. “What can I do? Will he forgive me?”
The story Pierce told me peeks out through my memories, the story of Pierce, his brothers, and their dog.
“He loves you, Grant. You’re his brother. He wants you in his life. Just make time for him. Be there for him.”
He nods. “I promise I’ll make time. Thanks for having his back, Lindsey. I’m glad he has you.”
I smile. A throat clears and we turn our heads to find Spencer looking grim. “Is everything okay?” I ask warily.
“Yeah. I’m just exhausted. He slept the entire time. He looks horrible.” Spencer rubs his red, swollen eyes. “I just don’t know what to do. I’ve got to find those punk-ass kids who did this,” he grits through his teeth.
“Why don’t you go home and get some rest? I’ll stick around,” Grant offers.
Spencer looks up at us. “All right. I appreciate it, man. It’s been a long day. Can you call me as soon as he wakes up?”
“You’ve got it,” Grant promises. “Is anyone else allowed to go back?”
“Yeah, you’re up.”
I want to argue, but I really have no leg to stand on. This is their family, not mine, no matter how much I want to fight that.
Spencer leaves, but Grant doesn’t make a move to go back. “Spencer had a rough day. He needed the rest. I’ll be fine, but why don’t you head home too. I can call you when he wakes up.”
I shake my head. “I’m not leaving him.” My tone leaves no room for argument.
“Then why don’t you go back and sit with him? I’m sure he’d rather have you there than me,” he says sadly. “I can see him in a bit.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, hoping like hell he doesn’t change his mind.
“Absolutely.” He smiles.
I stand and walk toward the nurses’ station. “I’d like to see Pierce Lancaster,” I say apprehensively.
She quirks a brow. “I only have three men on my list.”
Grant comes to stand behind me. “She’s family. Please add her.”
Grant goes about giving her my name while another nurse ushers me back. My legs are shaky and my palms are sweating. Standing in the doorway, my breath hitches at the sight of him lying helplessly in the bed with machines hooked to him. He looks lifeless and my stomach crunches tightly. He’s as pale as the walls, which are a dirty cream color. It twists and turns in knots as I bring my hands to my mouth to stop a sob from breaking through. I inhale and exhale, counting to three, willing my breathing to slow. I don’t want to go in there frightened or sad.
When I finally feel composed, or as composed as I’m going to be, I walk next to the bed, sit on the chair, and grab his hand in mine. The air is stagnant, the room cold, but his hands, they’re warm. Thank God, they’re warm. It’s a morbid thought, but right now that’s all that’s floating through my head.
“I’m here, Pierce.”
Beep.
The sound of the machine.
The sound of his beating heart.
“Please wake up.”
Beep.
“Open your eyes.”
Beep.
“Please wake up.”
Beep.
“You need to wake up.”
Beep.
“Pierce, I’m so sorry,” I choke out. “It should not be you lying in this bed right now. I should’ve never gotten you involved. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” I sniffle.
Beep.
“I’ve known since the first day I saw you that you were bad news for me.” I chuckle.
Beep.
“We were both drowning our issues in drugs and alcohol, just barely getting by. With everyone around us fooled into thinking we had everything when all we craved was love. Maybe that’s why you and I never came together. We could feel the similarities and it scared us. At least it did me. I saw too much of myself in you, and I knew I’d lose my heart to you.”
Beep.
“I never made a move, or never really tried because I knew you’d break me. But now . . . I would take any pain to have you with me. You are the best bad decision I ever made.” A tear slides down my cheek.
Beep.
“You’re breaking me now. Looking at you like this . . .” My voice breaks. “God, Pierce, you have to be okay. Please tell me you’ll be okay. I found you and I cannot live without you.” I bend forward and place a kiss on his palm.
Beep.
“I love you.”
Beeeeeeeeeeeeep.
A nurse comes barreling into the room.
Oh my God, what’s happening?
She stands beside Pierce’s bed, frantically checking the machines, checking his vitals. I watch as the color drains from her face. She shakes, her hand twitching involuntarily as she presses a button.
The next thing I know more people run in.
“Doctor?” she questions and the sound of her fear makes me bite down on my lip. Blood floods my mouth.
“Start CPR,” a man shouts. “Give me an ultrasound probe to check his heart.”
I look up at the ceiling, not able to watch Pierce die. The light is too bright. My eyes blink rapidly behind the abrasive glare. But I can’t look down. I won’t. Tears flood my vision, making me completely blind to the scene in front of me, but I can still hear the shouts. I can still hear every word uttered.
Even without my sight, I know what’s happening . . .
He’s dying.
“I see fluid around. He’s in cardiac tamponade.”
A sob tears from my lungs. It’s primal and desperate.
“Give me a fourteen-inch long gauge needle.”
The pain is too much. I’m being shredded from the inside out.
“Drain fifty-five cc’s of blood.”
Any semblance of composure is gone. Violent shaking. A thick, never-ending flow of tears.
I can’t breathe. I can’t.
Time stands still in that minute.
It stretches painfully slow, through inhales and exhales, silent prayers and tortured sobs. Hands hold me from behind as we wait. Grant. Pierce’s parents are beside us.
Praying that his heart starts. That he doesn’t leave this earth. That he doesn’t leave me all alone.
Then I hear the sound.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
His heart has started.
The sound is steady.
He’s alive.
The doctor approaches us.
“He had a little bit of blood re-accumulated around his heart. I was able to drain the blood.” He looks at us and breathes before speaking. “He should be fine now.”
He should be fine.
He should be fine.
But what if he’s not?
What if he doesn’t make it?
What if he dies?
I can’t be around these people.
I can’t be here.
Despite the pain, I push away and begin to run.
I run for the first time in a year.
I run down the hall, with no destination in sight.
My legs scream at me to stop. But I don’t.
I need the pain.
I’m so numb, I need to feel.
One day has passed. One long day. He’s still in ICU. He’s still intubated. He still hasn’t woken up. The doctor says he’s doing better . . .
I don’t believe him.
I watched him die.
Back in the hospital, I sit holding his hand, slumped over his body, silently begging for him to wake.
A light tap on my shoulder has me jarring awake. It’s the nurse. “Dear, visiting hours are over. You have to return to the guest area.”
I nod, standing from the chair. I bend over and place a kiss on Pierce’s cheek. “I love you.” When I reach the waiting room, I find Grant sleeping.
“Grant,” I call until he rouses.
“Is everything okay?”
“Everything is fine. He never woke up,” I say sadly. “I just wanted to let you know I’m going to get out of here for a little bit. I’ll be back first thing in the morning, but if something happens, please call me. I left my number at the nurses’ station.”
He nods. “Try to get some sleep.”
When I get to the taxi, I pull out my phone and send a text message off to Carson. I can’t put off talking to the police any longer.
Me: Pierce is still sleeping. No change. How are the boys?
Carson: Still very shaken up. We’re still at the penthouse of The Lancaster.
Me: I just called the police and they’ll be there soon to take my statement.
Carson: Good, because Christopher has gotten three death threats via text since he gave his statement yesterday. He needs to talk to them again.
Me: Oh, God. On my way.
Clutching the phone in my hand, I stare out the window. The city rushes by in a haze of bright lights against the backdrop of the early morning. In the distance, I see commuters walking toward their destinations. To think these people are going about their lives right now as Pierce is struggling for his life has me shaking in the back seat of the cab. I’m happy I’ll be there for Xavier today. I hate the fact I wasn’t there with them yesterday. But I’ll be there to support them now and also give my own account of what happened and everything that led up to it. If I have my way, Xavier’s brother, along with all of his contacts, will be behind bars.
I’m walking in at the same time the police pull up. “Follow me,” I say, motioning them in. I unlock the door with the key Spencer gave me to his penthouse apartment in The Lancaster and take them to the back where I know Carson and the boys will be. When we walk in, all three of the boys jump up and pull me into a hug. I hug them back, so glad they’re safe. Looking over their shoulders, I smile at Carson and mouth a thank you for keeping them safe.
“I’d like to give my statement first, please,” I say to the officers.
They look at each other and motion for me to follow them. I recount every gory detail, starting from the day I found Xavier with bruises and cuts, all the way up until the alley and Pierce’s last words. The words that got him shot. I told them I had just come from the hospital, and they said they would be heading there tomorrow with the hopes that Pierce would be awake and able to give his statement. Thankfully, Xavier was able to identify the other guy with his brother in the alley. There’s a warrant out for both of them, and the boys will be under protection until they are caught.
I’m exhausted and in desperate need of my bed. The police offer to have a guard stand outside my apartment, but I decline. My place is locked up like Fort Knox. I pay for security and they wouldn’t get three feet in my building. That’s the luxury of being Lindsey Walker.
When I get home, I go through the motions: undress, brush my teeth, lock everything up, set the alarm for two hours later, and then allow my head to hit the pillow. With the way my body aches and my eyelids droop, you’d think sleep would come easily, but it doesn’t. If I’m not tossing and turning, I’m dreaming of Pierce being shot.
Choosing a sleepless night over revisiting that nightmare over and over in vivid detail, I curl up and continue praying to God to keep Pierce alive. Praying that he allows me to have the life I’ve always wanted. A life with Pierce Lancaster by my side.
The first thing I do when I open my eyes is check my phone. He’s yet to wake. Spencer texted me that the doctor says that’s normal. His body needs time to recover. I don’t think there’s anything normal about it. If he’s going to be fine, why doesn’t he wake up?
Every second that passes, I lose the will to live because the part that’s tethered to Pierce is slowly fading away, and with that, a little part of myself dies too. I don’t know what I’d do without him. My head is filled with fear spinning out of control, and in the hospital, I can’t stop them.
So I leave.
I need a break for a while, so I go to Polaris to meet with Carson. When I arrive, he surprises me with a folder full of information.
“After everything that happened, I can’t agree with you more. We do need a boarding school. A better way to keep these kids safe . . . I know I’ve already offered to help, but it’s not enough. We need to do more. We need this place opened now.”
Nodding in agreement, I think of what we can do.
“I’m going to speak to Spencer,” I finally say.
“That’s a great idea and, Lindsey, whatever you need from Polaris, you’ve got it.”
“Thank you,” I say, emotions flooding me.
“I’ve looked into all the information I originally got from the state when I opened this place, and it looks like these correspond with what you would need.” He hands me the thick folder. “This has all the information. All the telephone numbers, and all of the documents you’ll need to fill out. If you’d like, I can help you with them today. The sooner we get them done and sent in, the sooner you can get the permits ready to go.”
“I’m speechless. You have enough on your hands here. You don’t have to help me.”
“I want to, Lindsey. What you want to create will benefit all our kids. It’ll be a great partner for Polaris.”
“Absolutely. I want all your kids to stay at Seaglass.”
“Seaglass?” He raises a brow.
“I’m going to call it Seaglass.”
He nods, seeming to like it, whether he gets the meaning behind the name or not.
“Have you heard anything about the building?” Carson asks.
I had spoken to Spencer and Grant about a possible location and they were looking into what they could do to help. I also spoke to my father and pitched the original business plan. He asked for a few additional pieces to be added, but otherwise, he seemed very proud. “I’d love your help with these,” I say, lifting the folder.
Carson and I work to finish the documents. Three hours later, we finally come up for air.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Blackness engulfs me and I try to push through. My lids are heavy, my mouth parched.
Beep.
Beep.
Mustering all the energy in my body, I try to open my eyes.
“Pierce . . .”
My eyes blink rapidly.
“Open your eyes.”
They flutter open and Spencer comes into focus. His face is distraught. “Spen . . .” My voice cracks, and it feels as if a million fragments of glass rip at my throat. At the sound of my voice, I hear a strangled sob. Turning toward the sound, my chest heaves at what I see. My father, his head in his hands, his body shaking with sobs. Standing next to him is Grant. His hand is placed on my dad’s shoulder, trying to soothe him.
“Dad?”
A harder sob breaks loose. He’s coming apart, breaking in front of me, reminding me of the last series of paintings I created—broken pieces of glass barely holding on, smashing to the ground in front of me.
Dad’s sobs continue, and I look up to see Grant has a tear running down his cheek as well. When I look at Spencer, I see the same.
“You died,” he whispers as rivulets of water streak his cheek.
Died? I died? I try to move my hands, try to leave the bed, but Spencer holds me down.
“You can’t move.”
I almost died. I almost never saw my family again. I almost never saw Lindsey again. Lindsey.
I would have left her alone in the world.
I
almost left her alone without telling her how I felt.
“Lindsey . . .” My heart lurches in my chest. Please tell me she wasn’t hurt. “Lindsey,” I repeat, but this time the word comes out as a desperate cry.
“She’s fine. She’s okay. The boys are too. They weren’t hurt, but who knows what would have happened if you didn’t find them. You probably saved their lives. You’re a hero.”
“I’m no hero.”
“You’re not the villain either,” Spencer says as he takes my hand and squeezes it.
My father stands from his chair and comes to the side of my bed. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers. “I thought I lost you.”
“We all did,” Grant says, stepping beside them, creating a united front.
“We were wrong. We failed you. We should have been there . . .” Spencer trails off, and with all the energy I have, I lift my hand in protest.
“I deserved it.”
They shake their heads in unison.
“I made bad choices.” My voice is raspy. “But I’ve changed—”
“We know,” my dad cuts in.
Dying changes you. It sounds cliché but it’s true. As I stare at my family beside my bed, I’d never thought I’d feel this way.
No anger.
No hate.
As if when my heart stopped all of the bad died with it. When it started beating again, I was born anew. The past is the past and I’m ready to move on.
“Where’s Mom?”
My dad points to the couch in the corner and I see my mother curled up in a ball sleeping. “I’ll wake her.”
“No, let her rest,” I respond, my voice rough still from the previous intubation.
No one speaks for a minute and I wince in pain.
“Shit. Are you okay?” Spencer moves closer, his concern present on his features.
“Yeah.”
“What can I do?”
“You can get her. I need her.”
