by Jayne Frost
I stared at the screen without blinking, like maybe it would make a difference. One minute. Three. I heard Ella outside the door, but still, I didn’t move.
Finally, Sheppard answered. He’s still unresponsive. Brain function looks good.
There was more. Some nonsense about it “not being my fault” and “taking care of myself” and whatever else he needed to say to make sure I wouldn’t do anything stupid. Like pop the razor out of my shaver and run it over my wrist. Or down the whole bottle of painkillers in my backpack.
But I wouldn’t do that to Ella. I knew too well how that scene would play out. The blood. The shock. The guilt.
And Gelsey…
I didn’t deserve her comfort, but I’d damn well take it. Swiping a finger over her picture, I closed my eyes and flipped onto my back, the phone at my ear.
I jerked when something vibrated against my chest. And then a song floated up from the inner pocket of my suit jacket. “In My Life,” by the Beatles. It took me a moment to realize it was Gelsey’s phone. That I still had it tucked against my heart.
Lyrics formed on my lips, and I sang along until the melody faded. And even though she wouldn’t get the message, I left her one anyway.
“Blake’s in the hospital.” Digging the heel of my palm into my eyes, I willed my voice not to crack. “Suicide attempt. They don’t know if he’s going to make it.”
And it’s my fault.
I left that part out, along with the rest of the details. But I could picture it all. A small bathroom with blood on the floor. Pale skin and lifeless eyes. Only it wasn’t Blake’s face behind my lids. It was my father’s. The way I’d always remember him.
Pushing the image aside, I cleared my throat. “Anyway, I just…I just wanted to hear your voice.” I ended the call without telling her I loved her. I did. With every breath. But love like mine could only bring heartache. I knew that now.
Miles
Shielding my eyes from the newly minted sun, I trudged down the metal stairs and onto the tarmac.
My leg hurt like a bitch, a searing pain that felt as if someone had buried a hot poker in my thigh. I’d passed out less than an hour ago, falling into the fitful kind of sleep that wasn’t exhaustion, but the first sign of something else. Something more. I’d lost days to that kind of sleep, too bogged down by my own dark thoughts to leave my bed.
Shaking off the gloom, I headed for the limo where Cody, the driver, waited, looking wide-awake considering it wasn’t even six in the morning.
“Mr. Cooper.” He reached for my backpack with a smile, but I waved him off, ducking into the back seat without so much as a hello.
My heart lurched in surprise when I nearly fell across Taryn’s lap. She surveyed me with a frown, from my red-rimmed eyes to my rumpled suit to my defeated posture.
“Taryn. What are you doing here?”
My voice was gravel, reed thin with a desperate quality that she picked up on immediately.
Instead of answering, she folded me into her arms where I melted like an ice cream cone in the sun. I was vaguely aware of the door closing behind me as she whispered words of reassurance.
We’d been here before, and I’d pushed her away. But not this time.
“I fucked up, T-Rex,” I breathed, my chest so heavy I could barely get the words out.
I felt her exhale slowly before breaking away to look me in the eyes. “It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known.”
Obviously, Daryl had called her. Told her what was going on. Just the broad strokes, though. I’d need to paint her the full picture.
Flopping against the seat, I let my head fall back and stared out the moonroof. Clouds rolled by, white ribbons lazily drifting on a breeze.
“He called me, Taryn.”
Blake. I couldn’t even say his name.
My confession hung between us, heavy with implications. I was selfish. I’d always been selfish.
You’re just like your father. Tragic. And weak.
That’s what my mother had said the one and only time she’d visited me at Millwood. She knew it wasn’t an accident, my mishap with the pills. More like a family tradition.
And she was right. I was selfish. Consumed by my grief. I’d bought her a house in Florida. Inked the deal before my meds even kicked in. That way she’d never have to be forced to visit me again.
Taryn’s hand found mine, and she linked our fingers. “The night that you tried to… That you…”
Turning my head when her thought trailed off, I watched her struggle to find the words.
“You called me,” she finally blurted, wincing as the admission tumbled from her lips.
I sat up straighter. “What?”
With a heavy sigh, she pulled her phone out and began to scroll, her finger swiping the screen over and over. Her lip disappeared between her teeth when she got to where she was going.
Holding the phone between us with a shaky hand, she stared down at her lap as a barely intelligible voice spilled from the speaker.
“T-Taryn…I n-need you. P-Please come.”
It was me, all right. Though I didn’t remember calling.
Sniffling, a tear spilled onto her cheek. “I was out,” she admitted, her tone flat. “At a business dinner trying to finalize the plans for…” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. The point is, I ignored the call. When I finally listened to the message, I…I rushed over to your place. And you know the rest.”
“Taryn—”
She sucked in a breath and continued like I wasn’t even there. “They didn’t know if you were going to make it. Or if you would have brain damage. They told me in the ambulance that I’d saved your life.” Her watery gaze finally found mine. “It didn’t feel like it, though. You didn’t wake up for seventeen hours and thirty-two minutes.”
My heart shattered behind my ribs as I pulled her against me, pressing my lips to the top of her head. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
She peered up at me, and I wiped her tears. And even through her smile, I saw the pain I’d put there, etched into tiny lines around her eyes. An unwanted gift she couldn’t give back.
“Don’t be,” she said. “I’m just glad you’re here. And that it’s all behind you now.”
Was it?
She looked so hopeful; I didn’t voice my reservations. The niggling thoughts at the corners of my mind where the rain clouds lived.
I merely nodded and forced my lips to bend.
The day nurse guarding the locked door in front of the psych ward at St. David’s looked me up and down like she couldn’t decide if I were a patient or a visitor.
I’d managed to choke down a cup of coffee and a breakfast burrito, leaving me somewhat revived. But I’d decided against going home to change my clothes.
No time.
According to Sheppard, Blake had regained consciousness. While that should’ve eased the heavy mantle of guilt, it didn’t. I still needed to see him. To explain. Maybe then the dark clouds would evaporate. And the heaviness in my chest would go away.
But the nurse seemed hell-bent on keeping me from my mission. The woman had no clue who I was. None. More proof that my luck had taken a hard left into shit town.
I couldn’t take a piss in a public restroom without someone loitering behind me waiting to shake my hand or get my autograph. Yet, here I was, standing in front of the one person in the whole damn city under the age of fifty who didn’t recognize me.
A little cajoling and she finally picked up the phone, her gaze settling on the tattoos peeking from the rolled-up sleeves of my dress shirt. The way her nose wrinkled, I got the feeling she wasn’t a fan of ink.
“I’ve got a Mr. Conner here to see Blake Peterson,” she said, giving me her back as she swiveled in her chair.
“Cooper,” I corrected in a voice loud enough to be heard by anyone in the vicinity. “Miles Cooper.”
If I weren’t dead on my feet, I might’ve gotten some measure of satisfaction when she tu
rned around and blinked at me with wide eyes. “Yes. He’s tall. Uh-huh…brown hair.” The column of her throat bobbed as she continued to describe me in great detail. Right down to my dimple. Which I proudly displayed when the smile spread wide on my lips.
She definitely knew who I was now.
After stammering her thanks to whoever was on the other end of the line, she set the phone in the cradle and addressed me with a tight smile. “You can go right in, Mr. Cooper. Room 415.”
The double doors swung open, and a cacophony of sounds traveled from the busy ward. Mostly patients’ voices. The discordant mix of anger and confusion in their tones froze me in my spot.
The sound of madness.
I’d recognize it anywhere.
Clenching my fingers into tight fists, I forced my feet to move. My throat tightened when the doors whooshed closed behind me, the lock engaging with a loud thwack.
Was it possible to experience claustrophobia in a space this large?
My racing heart responded with a resounding hell yes as I ventured further down the long hallway. Room numbers swam into view, but nothing clicked until I saw the 415 next to the closed door.
I grabbed the handle, and the metal slipped under my sweaty palm.
You can do this, said the voice in my head. Rhenn’s voice. The irony didn’t escape me, my dead best friend popping up to cheer me on during a visit to the psych ward.
Blowing out a breath, I let my mind go blank and stepped inside. The room was quiet, just the steady beep from the heart monitor echoing off the pale green walls. And Blake. So still, his gaze cemented to a shaft of light spilling from a split in the heavy curtains.
As if he could sense my presence, he turned his head in my direction. Washed out eyes wandered over my face but there was barely a hint of recognition.
I could only guess what kind of cocktail was flowing through his veins. Sedatives. Anti-psychotics. Anti-depressants.
Shifting my focus to the IV in his arm, I shuddered at the restraints anchoring him to the bed. Right above the bandages covering his wrists.
A chuckle parted his pale lips, a tiny spark returning to his gaze. “We all fall down. Right?”
I grappled for a reply. Something profound enough to pull him from his pit of despair. But I wasn’t the guy to wax poetic about the beauty of life. And we both knew it.
I took a seat in the chair beside the bed as Blake’s attention returned to the window.
Rather than offer meaningless platitudes, I pulled out my phone and scrolled to the playlist with the tracks from his EP.
Blake closed his eyes, a tear rolling down his cheek as the first song began to play.
This was what I had to offer.
Music. Another beautiful, worthless thing. Like paper flowers. And promises.
The door swung open, meeting the wall with a loud crack a second before a booming female voice rocketed around the room.
“Get out!”
I jerked my gaze over my shoulder, not particularly concerned. This was the psych ward, after all. And not all the patients were restrained. Didn’t mean they weren’t crazy, though. Or delusional.
The woman glaring daggers at me with her hair standing up in every direction like she’d been pulling on it all day appeared to be both.
I shoved to my feet, a halting smile curving my lips.
Just play along. Find an orderly.
Those were my only goals as I inched toward her. But as I got closer, one dip into her gray eyes stayed my progress.
I knew those eyes.
My attention floated to Blake, still staring at the shaft of light peeking through the curtain. But I didn’t need his confirmation.
“You must be Blake’s mom,” I said, holding out my hand as I closed the gap between us. “I’m Miles. A friend of your—”
“I know who you are,” she spat, brushing past me to stand at the foot of her son’s bed. “You’re the man who put all those ideas in my boy’s head. Told him he could be normal. Make music. And look at him now!” Her voice rose an octave as she pointed at Blake. “He almost died because of you! I’ve already lost one son! I won’t lose another!”
At the mention of his brother, Blake clenched his eyes shut. The machine monitoring his heart rate began to beep louder as his agitation increased.
“I’m sorry,” I said holding up my hands in surrender. “I’ll go. Just…let me grab my phone.”
She folded her arms over her chest, watching me like a hawk as I walked to the bed. Risking her wrath probably wasn’t the best idea, but I didn’t care.
Leaning in close, I curved a hand around the back of Blake’s neck and rested my forehead against his temple. “I got to go, bud. But I’ll be back soon.”
His fingers flexed, mildly rebelling against the restraints. “Promise?”
The hope in his voice made my throat burn. I didn’t deserve his trust. But here he was, offering it.
I gave his neck a squeeze. “You have my word.”
Slipping my phone into my pocket, I started for the door with Blake’s mother on my heels.
“Don’t come back,” she snapped as I stepped into the hallway. “You’re not welcome here.”
Over her shoulder, I locked eyes with her son. And I nodded, letting her think she had my agreement. But the small smile curving his lips told me that he understood.
I would be back.
Whether she liked it or not.
Gelsey
Emily shot to her feet, the magazine sliding off her lap as Daryl and I dropped our bags on the kitchen floor.
“Hey.” She ran a nervous hand through her messy hair. “I wasn’t expecting y’all tonight.”
Obviously. Since it was nearly midnight and she was still here, in my boyfriend’s kitchen. Not that I was jealous. The opposite in fact. Emily cared about Miles, and I was glad he wasn’t alone.
“The jet wasn’t due to arrive back in New York until tomorrow,” I replied, letting Daryl ease the backpack off my sore shoulder. “So we took the first flight we could get. We would’ve been here sooner, but we got stuck in Chicago for six hours because of a weather delay.”
I clamped my mouth shut to keep from spilling any more details. I’d never been Emily’s favorite person, so it wasn’t like she cared about my twelve-hour trip from hell.
To my surprise, her features softened. “You poor thing. That sounds awful. Miles is in the studio. Went straight there after he got home from the hospital. I haven’t seen him since.”
Apprehension twisted a cold hand around my heart. “How long ago was that?”
Her brows pinched together over troubled eyes. “Going on ten hours.”
The horror must’ve shone on my face because she wrung her hands. “I went down there two of three times, but he told me to leave him alone. I didn’t know what to do, so I just stayed here. In case he needed something when he came up. Food or…I don’t know…someone to talk to.”
Her gaze found Daryl’s, and something passed between them. But I didn’t have time to figure out what it was. I needed to get to Miles. Only my feet wouldn’t move.
What if Miles blamed me for dragging him to New York? The only reason he’d set up that appearance on the Tonight Show was because of me.
Daryl’s comforting hand curved around my arm. “Do you want me to go down there with you?”
Ignoring the mounting feeling of dread, I peered up at him. “No. I’m sure everything’s fine.”
Since I had no idea what frame of mind Miles was in, the reassurance sounded halfhearted at best.
I shifted my attention to Emily. “It’s really late. Why don’t you stay over, so you don’t have to drive across town at this time of night?”
She blinked at me, and for a moment I thought I might’ve overstepped. It wasn’t my house, and she certainly didn’t need my permission to be here.
Before I could backtrack and rearrange the invitation in a way that wouldn’t offend her, Emily sprang forward and threw her arms ar
ound me.
“Thank you. I’m so glad you’re here.”
Taken aback by the spontaneous show of affection, I awkwardly returned the embrace. “Don’t worry. I’m sure Miles just fell asleep downstairs.”
Easing back, she offered a watery smile. “You’re probably right. Are you hungry? I could run to What a Burger?” She wrinkled her nose. “Shit. You don’t eat junk food. Why don’t I make you—”
“No. That’s okay. I’m not hungry.” The mere thought of food turned my stomach. “I’m just going to go find Miles.”
I started for the door, then paused and looked back. Emily and Daryl already had their heads together. And again, I got the feeling there was something I didn’t know.
“Any news on Blake?” I asked.
She lifted a slender shoulder in a half shrug. “He’s alive. That’s all I know.”
Alive.
I guess that was something.
I rapped lightly on the door to the studio and got no answer.
More than likely, Miles was asleep, and the tightness in my chest was an overreaction. But still, I had to check. Just in case the pang was his heart talking to mine.
We were joined that way, whether I liked it or not. Whether I wanted it or not. Whether it was convenient or not.
I tried the doorknob, and it turned easily in my hand.
Shaking off the feeling that I was invading his privacy, I stepped inside; the air squeezing from my lungs as I took in the scene.
Miles was slumped on the couch, a thick cloud of smoke hanging over his head. There was no shock on his face as he looked me over with bloodshot eyes, slowly raising the cigarette to his lips.
“Hey, little mouse.”
Drawn by the anguish etching his features, I moved toward him, my throat too tight to speak. It wasn’t until I was on my knees in front of him that I noticed the half empty bottle of Jack clutched in his free hand.
“You’re d-drinking?”
The question sounded hollow. Unnecessary.
Obviously, he was drinking.
Still, I wanted to hear the words. Feel his remorse when he said them.
