The Twenty-One (Emerald Cove #2)

by Lauren K. McKellar

  Most of all, I hate that he’s dying.

  And I don’t want a tomorrow without him.

  “I’m not afraid,” Joel croaks. I reach out a hand and squeeze his fingers between mine. Tears well in my eyes, and an ache that’s physical swells deep inside me.

  “How can you not be afraid?” I ask, my voice breaking over the last word.

  Joel gives a small smile, a weak grin, and looks at me again. “See those constellations, out there?” His head tilts slightly toward the window, and I nod. “The one that’s burning brightest? The ...” he coughs, and I tighten my grip. “The first star?”

  I nod, yes.

  “That one’s mine. I’ll look for you in the stars, Ellie Mayfield.” He brings my hand to his lips and gives it a tender kiss. “I’ll always find you there.”

  My heart hurts, the kind of ache that feels like a wound ripped open. It’s all-consuming, and I bite my lip. Creating more pain holds the tears back. It keeps the agony at bay.

  “Not ... going,” he says, but every word seems to cost him. A frown mars his forehead, the only indicator that he’s in a lot of pain, but I know him. It’s enough. “Tell me ... how ... your day was.”

  I toe off my skate shoes and lift the blanket up, then slide into the bed beside him. One arm rests over his chest, and my other sits under my head, holding it up so I can look upon him. I press a kiss to his forehead and pull back. He’s ice on his hands, but fire in his cheeks. That one person can feel two extremes seems completely at odds to me, but I don’t say anything because there’s no one to say it to. There’s just Joel and me, and a heap of white balloons.

  “Tell,” Joel croaks.

  “I didn’t do anything exci—”

  “Tell.”

  There’s a finality in his tone that isn’t to be argued with. Typical Joel. As stubborn as he dies as he was when he lived.

  Was.

  No. Not yet.

  Is.

  Even though my heart focuses on him, I let my mind float over the events of the day, sharing them. “So, things went to hell at home,” I say. Joel’s eyes flare with a tiny hint of light. “Dani owed money to some drug guy. And I think she’s been hitting on Colin ... maybe using him to get money ... I don’t know.” I let my breath rush out. “Mum already knew she had a problem, but I think telling her today—now she believes it. Even if I don’t know what’s going on inside her head.”

  “You told her ... truth.”

  I nod. “I know. It seems the truth isn’t as liberating as I’d thought it’d be.”

  Cold fingers grip my own, and they’re strong, so much stronger than I thought they’d be. His grip is tight and I feel my shoulders untense, and every muscle in me slowly uncoils as if on a spring. Because he’s got me. He’s catching me as I fall.

  “You’re ... you’re a strong person.” Those fingers squeeze my hand, but his words squeeze my soul. “She’ll ... she’ll come ’round. You don’t need me. I know you’ve got this.”

  I stare out that unchanging window. Car headlights reflect off the glass in the other building—little specks of white against deep black panes. Doubt still plagues me. How does he know? What if she doesn’t speak to me for weeks? Months? Years?

  What if Joel dies, and I’m left here ... alone?

  The finality of the situation settles over me like a heavy blanket. Terror seizes my body and tightens its grip. I pepper kisses along Joel’s forehead, down his cheek, over his lips. “Please,” I whisper with fierce intensity. The tears I’ve fought so hard to keep locked up well and trickle slowly down my cheeks. It hurts. It hurts so damn much. “Don’t leave me.”

  “I’m ... not.” A shaking hand traces over my lips, and I kiss it, determined to shower him with affection. To let him know with every ounce of my being that he is loved—he can’t go yet.

  My thoughts must show on my face, because hot lips brush against my cheek. “I love you, Ellie Mayfield.” Those eyes lock with mine, and he is all I see. This boy. This face.

  That heart.

  Warmth swells inside me. This moment, right here, right now—it’s where I want to be. I let all thoughts of the rest of the world evaporate into the night sky. I am here. I am with the man I love.

  Only death can’t take these precious moments away from us.

  “I love you, Joel Henley.”

  Brown lashes fan across his cheeks as his eyes flutter closed, and soon his breathing settles into a shallow rhythm. I move my elbow from under my head and rest upon the pillow, watching him sleep. I want to commit this moment to memory. I want to etch this view so fiercely into my brain that nothing will ever erase it.

  And with everything I have, with every cell in my being, with every pulse of blood around my body, with every breath of air into my lungs—I pray.

  I pray that he makes it through.

  And that if he doesn’t, he takes me with him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “Ellie.”

  Fingers wrap around my arm. The voice isn’t familiar—feminine, soft.

  I tighten my grip around Joel’s waist, melding my side to his. Perhaps if I press hard enough, I can mould myself to him. Imprint him upon my body as he’s been imprinted upon my soul.

  I don’t remember falling asleep, but at some point I must have. Now, tiredness cloaks my body in a mist I can’t fight through. It’s nice being asleep. Nothing can hurt me here.

  “Ellie, I need you to wake up.”

  That same voice again. This time, the fingers give a little squeeze and a pull, and I fight the wave of sleep that’s crashed upon me and blink my eyes open.

  Joel’s face is the first thing I see, and I smile, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. This time it’s cool, and I thank the lord. Surely this is a good thing. His fever has broken.

  “Please, can I get you out of the bed?”

  I turn and see a nurse standing there, lines creasing her brow. I give a small smile. I don’t mind moving. This gives me the perfect opportunity to repark my car. Avoid getting a ticket.

  A man in a shirt and jacket enters the room, and for the first time I realise it’s still night. The corridor outside is bathed in a bright yellow light, and outside thousands of stars sparkle in the sky. They twinkle like tiny jewels in a deep, dark crown.

  I pull back the covers and swing my legs out of the bed, my feet landing inside my shoes. I shuffle over to a chair and wipe at my eyes, trying to wake myself up.

  “Can I get you ... can you come with me, please, Ellie?” the nurse asks, and this time there’s a kindness to her tone.

  I’m mid-lace when I look up to reply, and that’s when I see it.

  Pity.

  Sympathy.

  Pain.

  My heart lurches. I feel it like a lump in my throat, something I can’t swallow.

  No.

  No.

  No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no—

  “I need to talk to you outside.”

  My hands fall limply to my sides. I shake my head. Or, I think I’m shaking my head. On the inside I’m shutting myself away into a place where Joel is well, and we’re in love, and we’re making love, and we’re happy, and we’re not this. We’re anything but this.

  I want to just stay in this chair. If I stay here, nothing will change. No one can tell me words I don’t want to hear. No one can take him away from me.

  But for some unknown reason, my feet thud out of the room after her, shoelaces trailing beside me. I don’t look back. Doing that will confirm what I know deep down is true.

  I’m not ready for tomorrow yet.

  Someone has control of my body and it sits down right in the middle of the green plastic chair in the small waiting room of the ward. Someone has pasted a blank look on my face that’s directly at odds with how full of emotion I am inside.

  “I’m terribly sorry.” The nurse’s hand reaches for my own, and I numbly let her take it. She gives it a squeeze and looks me dead in the eyes. “Joel Henley has passed away.”<
br />
  Five small words.

  Five simple, small, life-ending words.

  “He died peacefully, in his sleep,” she continues.

  I nod, slowly, three times. I take in a deep breath and let it all out, my chest deflating like a balloon.

  “Can I get you anything? A glass of water? Tea? Coffee?” The nurse tilts her head to the side, taking her hand back and placing it in her lap.

  I shake my head this time, and open my mouth to speak. Words. I need to ... “Has ... does Mr Henley ...?”

  “Ms Armstrong has been called, and will be in later. Mr Henley is in with his son now.” The nurse confirms, then pushes to a stand. “He’s asked for a few moments alone, but if you want to check back at the desk in five, I’m sure you can go in to say goodbye.”

  She walks back to the desk and I sit there, staring at my hands. This time twenty-four hours ago, everything was okay. Now, nothing is the same.

  I was sleeping when he died.

  I didn’t even realise he’d passed.

  For some reason, the thought hits me. It’s a stabbing pain aimed straight at my heart and it twists, digging the wound deeper. How could I be so connected to him and not feel him leave? How could I be by his side and not know he’d gone?

  That thought is the one that breaks me. My soul tears, and I go from numb to completely shattered. I’d thought sadness was something that hurt you mentally, emotionally. I didn’t realise true devastation carries a physical ache, too. I’m so upset, so completely hurt that my pain is a punch in the stomach. It’s a wallop to the chest. A knife to the heart. Tears prickle my eyes and then stream down my cheeks. I go from zero to one hundred in a second and lose myself as waves of pain crash over me and pull me under. I gulp for air in between angry, heart-wrenching sobs. My throat stings with each cry and my shoulders shake. I clutch at my stomach and double over on myself as the hurt eats at me with everything it has.

  Heartache is so damn ugly. There is nothing beautiful in this moment of grief.

  There’s nothing beautiful in death.

  The nurse rushes over, a plastic cup in her hand. “Here.” She hands it over, but I’m shaking so hard I can’t keep it still. Water splashes from the cup onto the floor.

  “Is there someone I can call, sweetie? Your mother, maybe?” the nurse asks, and it only makes me cry harder. Because I don’t want anyone else. I want Joel. He’s the only person who can heal the gaping wound inside of me.

  I shake my head but don’t make eye contact as I try so hard to stop the pain. Slippered feet pad away, and it’s just me and my all-consuming sobs.

  Some time later—it could be minutes, it could be hours—the nurse is back by my side, one hand on my shoulder. The ache is still so fresh, so raw, and her simple act of affection rubs salt in my wound.

  “Would you like to say goodbye?” she asks.

  Would I like to say goodbye.

  No. I want to scream no with everything I have. I want to say hello. I want to ask how he’s feeling and make bad jokes about the nurse who keeps referring to him as ‘her poppet’.

  I don’t want to say goodbye. Not ever.

  “Ye-e-es.” I manage between sobs.

  The nurse nods, and a split second of regret passes over her features before she schools them again. I wonder if she regrets what’s happened, or that she offered to take me in.

  I choke my sobs back by sucking in deep breaths. It’s easier than I thought it would be—probably because my throat is hoarse from crying.

  After a few minutes, I swipe my hands across my cheeks and under my nose, then look up at the nurse. My chest still rises and falls at a rapid rate, but I’m containing the monster within.

  For now.

  “I’m ready,” I say.

  Liar.

  The nurse leads me down the hall, as if I might have forgotten where Joel’s room is. Mr Henley stands outside the room. His head rests against the wall, and his skin has an ashen tone to it. His eyes are closed, but he opens them right as we near.

  He doesn’t offer me his customary smile or his usual polite greeting. Instead, he just shakes his head and shrugs, an apology for the unthinkable. For the death of the man I love.

  The nurse opens the door and waits, and I look her in the eye. She has brown eyes, a deep chocolate colour. Her gaze is strong. Independent. Secure.

  I wonder what it’s like to feel like that.

  She gives me a small nod. A you can do it stamp of approval.

  And I do.

  I walk into the room and over to the bed.

  Joel looks exactly as he did earlier tonight, or was that yesterday? I’ve lost track of the time. His eyes are closed, and his skin is that same pale colour. His mouth is open, his lips slightly parted, as if waiting for my kiss. And who knows? Maybe he was.

  His chest doesn’t rise and fall, though.

  The machines don’t beat life into him.

  The clock on the wall overhead ticks a solemn beat, a funeral dirge for the recently deceased. Once again, I feel as if this can’t really be happening. I’m outside looking in.

  Things like this don’t happen to me.

  Not to the man I love.

  “Hi,” I whisper. He looks so normal lying there—so very much alive. I take his arm and give it a small shake. “Please wake up,” I beg. My lips press together to try and stem the emotion that wants to pour out of my mouth. Tears roll down my cheeks again, and I’m almost surprised. I thought I’d have none left to give.

  It’s all so final. I shake his arm harder this time, and beg again. This can’t be it. I won’t let it be it. “Wake up, Joel.” Denial wraps its way around my heart and consumes me with a passion. He can’t be dead. This can’t be happening to me. I shake with a vengeance, so hard his body starts to move. He has to wake up. He has to be with me. “Please wake up.” Shake. “Wake up!” Shake, shake, shake. “Joel!”

  The nurse sticks her head in the room, but I don’t stop shaking him. I can’t. Because he’s just asleep. He wouldn’t leave me. He can’t leave—

  Cool hand lands on my back, and she rubs a small circle there. “Sweetheart, he’s gone.”

  “No!” I cry, but my shaking slows and now I’m just holding the arm of a shell, the body of a man I thought I’d be with forever. I collapse over the top of his chest, my tears soaking through the webbed blanket, my shoulders heaving. It hurts. God, it hurts so bad.

  The nurse’s footsteps pad away, and then it’s just Joel and me. For the last time.

  The last time ever.

  I push up from the blanket and look at that still angelic face. He’s as beautiful now as he was the first time I saw him. Every time I saw him.

  I lean over and kiss him on the lips. They’re warmer than I thought they’d be—not the temperature of cool marble, as I’d somehow expected. In that kiss, the press of our lips together, I try and inject everything. All my thank yous for everything he’s done. All my sorrys for everything I know I’ll screw up in the future.

  All my love, for now ’til eternity.

  I inch out of the room, walking backward the entire time. I hate this moment, but I don’t want it to end. Because once it does, I’m no longer in this limbo of life with Joel. I officially begin life without him.

  At the door, I pause, one hand curled around the frame. The sky outside the window has taken on a soft grey hue, as if the sun is just thinking about starting the day. The light softens the overhead yellow one.

  A sharp breath shudders through my chest as I look one last time ...

  Then I unhook my hand from where it has been holding my body up against the doorframe ...

  And I run.

  I bolt to the end of the corridor, pushing through the emergency exit door and hurtling down the stairs. I fly around the corners and leap to the bottom landing, clearing steps two at a time.

  I reach the ground floor and push through the door, racing through the foyer. From the corner of my eye, I see the café and gift shop have a gre
en hue to them, as if there’s a security alarm trigger present.

  My feet slam against the tiled floor, echoing through the quiet building, and I run toward the glass doors. They’re slow to open, so slow, but then they do, and I stagger to my car. A white ticket is clipped under the windscreen wiper, and I grab it, scrunch it into a ball and shove it deep within my pocket. Shaky hands find my keys and unlock the door and then I drive, tears blurring my vision as I pull out of the hospital. I’m on autopilot. All I know is I need to get away. I need to get out. I have to somehow stop these memories.

  Joel and I, holding hands.

  Joel and I, laughing.

  Joel and I, pushing the limits.

  Joel and I, making love.

  Now ... it’s just I.

  And I don’t know how I’m going to deal with that.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  I thought I’d grieved before. I’d thought finding out Joel had cancer was one of the worst things that could happen to me.

  It turns out, I was wrong.

  I guess I’d figured that when it came time for Joel to pass, maybe I’d somehow be prepared for it. Maybe I’d have accepted his fate.

  Or perhaps I’d have changed it. Perhaps they’d have developed new technology, and found him a miracle cure.

  I didn’t expect it to hurt like this.

  I didn’t expect this pain.

  I turn my phone on silent and place it on the hall table, then walk to my room and curl up in bed, darkness coating me in a thick shroud. I don’t sleep—my eyes don’t want to shut. I want to stay awake. I want it to be this day forever, because right now I can hurt and it sucks, but it still feels as if Joel could come walking down the street at any moment. I try reading, but the words all jangle together in a blur, and my heart doesn’t want to hear about other people’s happily-ever-afters. It just wants to bleed.

  Hope comes in and out, tiptoeing around and offering me food and drink, spritzing perfume as she goes. These are all things I register but I don’t truly see.

  All I see is Joel.