Brisé (18 page)

“Sorry, only family is allowed to ride. You can meet us at the hospital. If there is anyone you need to call for her, time may be of the essence.” I stare blankly at him as he climbs inside and shuts the doors. I watch the ambulance drive off, and I’m still standing there, frozen to the spot taking in what he just said to me.

I run to my car and drive as fast as possible to the hospital. I call Myra on my way, and when I walk in the ER he’s already there. “Do you know anything?”

“They’re being quiet until they finish examining her, but from the little I was told there is some swelling on the brain from repeated blows to her head. She still hasn’t regained consciousness.” Repeated blows to her head? I will kill whoever is responsible.

“Any idea who did this?”

“I have an idea, but I hope I am wrong. The police are still at the studio looking for clues.”

“Drake?”

“He doesn’t give me a good feeling, and he has a record. Just got out after serving three years. I reached out to his probation officer.”

“How the hell do you work so fast?” He gives me a shrewd look.

“I’ve been checking into him since he started sniffing around our girl. I owe everything to her, if it wasn’t for Scott picking me up at my weakest, I don’t know where I’d be.” Lifting my eyebrows at him, waiting for him to expand on that tidbit, he just chuckles. “That’s a story for another time, but I’m not immune to what you two have been through. That’s why I hate to see you apart when you still have a chance to be together.”

I assume this is too deep of a story to get into, so I drop it for now. He walks over to the vending machine, bringing me back a coffee while I stare at the walls, seeking answers and praying to every higher power that I know that she will open her eyes, shed some light on this mystery, and that she’ll be okay. It’s essential she stays alive; it’s de-ja-vu all over again in this hospital. Me praying for her to be healed, but the end will be the same; both of us leave here alone. It’s like I am drowning and can’t get above water, thinking how callous I was being at the same time she was suffering at the hands of a madman. I went over to give her papers, giving us both an out, and she was lying on the ground bleeding and beaten. I was planning our demise while she was possibly meeting hers. Needing answers I walk up to the desk, they still don’t know anything and give me the standard line, ‘The doctor will be out shortly.’

“She’ll be fine, Lucas. She’s strong, you know that.”

I do. She’s one of the strongest people I’ve ever met, but even the strongest fade away. Strength isn’t everlasting. It wanes and diminishes with time. Has she had enough? Is she tired of always struggling to live? Officers walk into the waiting room, and Myra goes over to converse with them. I can’t focus on that now. I need to focus on taking deep breaths, somehow seeping them into her body, healing her with my love. A doctor walks out, calling, “Wells family.” Myra and I immediately head towards him. “She has minimal brain swelling. It could subside, or it could swell more. The next twenty-four hours are critical, and we’ll keep her sedated. She had no other internal injuries, but is badly bruised and will be sore once she wakes up.”

“So she’ll be fine?” He looks at me with misfortune in his eyes. “Like I said, the next twenty-four hours are crucial. Until we know what the swelling is going to do, I can’t tell you one way or another. I can tell you we will do everything medically possible to assure that outcome for you. She’s being moved to ICU and visiting hours are over. Since she’s a new admission they’ll allow you in one at a time for a few minutes. If the swelling diminishes she’ll be moved to a regular floor, and the hours are a lot more lenient then.”

I can’t break down right now, but I need to. I look at Myra, and seeing the watery look in his eyes, I know I am seconds away from shedding my own tears. I’m so fucking tired of somebody or something robbing her of a future. First cancer, then the asshole who botched the construction killing her parents, cancer again, and now this lowlife who put her in a coma. When will it ever be enough? Why can’t I take on some of her burdens?

I follow Myra to the elevators that will take us to the ICU. “Lucas, I have something to tell you. I need you to remain calm.” I nod at him, and hope to hell I’m not going to make a liar out of myself. “It was Drake. He came back to the studio while some of the police department was there. He saw them and ran. They apprehended him and he had marks on his hands. They obtained DNA and are waiting on the match, but he admitted to it.” Holy shit. I ball my hands in fists, needing to hit something, needing to destroy him. “That’s not the worst of it. He had drugs hidden all over her apartment. They are tearing it up now, but his fingerprints are all over them.”

That’s why she was so scared. She needed money to get away from him, but why not just go to Myra for help? I understand her not coming to me, but she had options. Once again this is her burying her head in the sand; not facing the facts that were in front of her . . . just like before. She is so focused on problems and solutions, she doesn’t seem to realize there isn’t always only one answer for each question. I can deal with that after she recuperates. Right now, her recovery is my only focus, and when that occurs, I can leave and create my life without the weight of our past holding me down. Once and for all it will be our past.

She still looks frail, and her skin is pale. I don’t know what I was expecting, but some improvement would have been nice. The machines beep, keeping rhythm with her heart, oxygen levels, and many other functions of her organs, but she’s breathing on her own.

Leaning down, I brush a kiss across her forehead. “I forgot my cape tonight, Twinkle. I didn’t save you, but know I’ll always fight for you.” I follow Myra to the nurses’ station where we leave our information, and they promise to call with any updates and give us the schedule of visiting hours. We reach the waiting room outside the doors to ICU, and I tell Myra to go on. I’m going to stay here all night in case she needs me.

“Don’t give up on her. Don’t give up on y’all.” His words are somber and serious.

“I never did. Now it’s time.” My words are sincere. All I feel is agony.

Chapter 22

Phoebe

I try to swallow, but pain radiates down my esophagus. I feel like I’ve been on an all-night bender and am desperately craving water. Prying my eyelids open is torture and exerts strength I am not sure I have. The dimness of the room starts to soothe me back to sleep, but a movement I catch out of the corner of my eye has me on high alert. I remember Drake and the fight, but I don’t remember anything after. I hope he isn’t looking for another round because I’m not up for it. This was one he took too far, and I will do whatever it takes to get away; I will involve the police, Myra . . . even Luke if that’s what it takes. I may have been naïve in thinking I could handle this. Maybe I was reckless in seeking out a relationship like this, but I’m not stupid.

I hear some rustling, but I’m afraid to look over. Making as little movement as possible, I force my eyes all the way open and turn my head. I’m speechless with what I can deduce. Luke, my protector, is sitting in a chair, staring at me. I realize I’m in the hospital . . . my home away from home, but his gaze is unwavering as he’s silently pleading with me to assure him I’m okay. “Luke,” I sigh. Immediately I begin choking from the lack of moisture in my throat, and he’s immediately pushing buttons, gently lifting my back off the bed to help me. Nurses rush into the room, flooding it with light causing me to wince in pain.

“Jesus . . .” I hear him gasp. He hasn’t left my side even with the activity happening in my room, and this is the moment I’ve been seeking. A place I thought I had lost, a place I’ve been yearning for . . . his arms. My home, my safety, and my family. I foolishly threw it away, didn’t take time to process the consequences at the time, and for that I can only blame myself.

The staff asks me a slew of questions, and I answer appropriately. When they leave, the silence ensues, tension and questions fill the room. “Are you ready to tell me the truth now, Phoebe?”

By the tone of his voice, it seems a bit unnecessary. “Do I really need to?”

“No, you needed to tell me twenty-four hours ago before this happened. I have sat here all night, struggling with guilt, wondering how the hell I missed what was going on. I guess it boils down to you not trusting me anymore and me not knowing you.”

“That’s not true. You knew I was lying to you.” His words are like a hot poker stabbing into my heart. He’s the only one in my life I trust, even when I don’t trust myself.

He scoffs at me. “Like I said, you were always a shit liar. The subject matter was a dead giveaway. You would never sell that house. You might want to erase what we were to each other, but not your parents’ home. I was with you through those times. I remember holding you, keeping you together on the days you just wanted to smell your mom’s perfume or hear your dad’s wisdom. I know exactly what that house means to you.” He runs his hands through his hair, frustrated with this conversation. “I don’t want to do this now, you just got the shit beat out of you, by a man that I warned you about years ago. I do have to know why. Why would you let him in your life when you pushed me out?” The pain in his words causes me to bleed out more than I ever have. I knew he hurt, I know I hurt him, but I have never had to face the devastation I caused. I wreaked havoc on his heart and mind. And then I left.

“I didn’t allow him in my life, he was just there one day and refused to leave. How much do you know?”

“More than you. They found the drugs at your house, but you aren’t in trouble. He sang like a canary. You should’ve trusted me.”

“I should have trusted you four years ago. I should have never left. I should have reached out. I should have held on to you and never let you go. I have so many regrets, Luke. Where do you want me to start?” My head hurts, tears are blurring my vision, but this visceral pain seizing my chest is the worst. Purging the pain and remorse of my soul will hopefully heal his.

“I told you, I’m not doing this now, Phoebe. You need your rest.”

“Who’s the one running now? Afraid Katie won’t approve of you being in the same room with an ex?” Words are flowing from my mouth before I even consider the recourse of their meaning. I sound like a jealous, petulant child taunting him, and I hate it. I hate the way he makes me lose control, but I love the way he makes me feel.

He whips his head around and stalks towards me. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? Katie has nothing to do with my life and where I spend it. I’m not running, but once again putting your well-being above my wants.” Slapping me across the face would have been less painful.

“I know you were with her in New York. The
‘dashing duo’
off for wonderful adventures.” I acknowledge I was hurt, but I never knew I was mad. I have no right to be, it is not my place. He was allowed to live his life, he wasn’t betraying me. But, it still feels like a betrayal.

“We were never together. Not like you’re thinking. She was moving to New York to pursue her modeling career. It was just convenient.”

“So you didn’t fuck her? You didn’t live with her?”

His eyes narrow. “Like you were fucking Drake? Living with him?” He looks to the door, forming an escape. “Doesn’t feel good to have your transgressions thrown in your face, does it? And whatever I did with Katie, I did after you discarded me like I was last week’s trash.” I can’t watch him walk out the door. This could be my last chance.

“I never slept with Drake. I have never given that piece of myself to anyone but you. My body and my soul have always been yours.” He freezes, and I keep talking. “I saw you leaving the ballet that day. I wanted to run after you, call out to you, and beg you to talk to me, but I didn’t.”

“Why?” The deep baritone of his voice is cracking with emotion. I am reaching him on some level.

“I was scared. I was ashamed of what I had set in motion. I hated myself for ruining us and I didn’t want to see you hate me. I couldn’t live with that.”

He stumbles back, turns and faces me. He’s fading in front of me, the façade of his anger is turning into pain. I’m making him relive it all again. Once again, the hatred I have for myself is flowing freely through my veins. I’ve hurt him enough. “I could never hate you. You know me better than that. I fucking worshiped you. My dreams were to live with you by my side . . . end of story. I don’t care if we were in New York or New Mexico. You by my side, happy, healthy and whole is the only thing I ever wanted. You stole that from me. I was in the same town for a fucking year, and you never once reached out to me. You knew I was there, and you proved what I was worth to you by ignoring me. So don’t hand me this bullshit about your fears, your embarrassment. It’s laughable. A fucking joke like the mockery you made of my love for you.” Each tear he’s shedding is killing me. Each ounce of pain I’ve caused him is tearing my heart open, slowing its beat. He is angry, and he has every right to be. He doesn’t understand because I have never explained it to him. I don’t even know if I can now, because I don’t understand it myself.

I try to steady my voice, portray a calm I hope he’ll listen to. “Luke, it had been three years. I had just finished chemo and was trying for the ballerina position. I was floundering, not able to tap into the passion I needed to compete at that level because I had shut down.” His eye roll stops me for a minute. He has every reason to doubt me. I have to make him listen. “The only thing I knew would work was you. Since the day I met you, you’ve held every spot in my heart. It was you who fueled my zest for life . . . for love. I called Myra and asked for the box of music, the CDs you made me. He sent me something else, a box of letters. I read every single one that very night. I never moved from the floor, devouring your words and longing with regret that I wasn’t here to share those days with you. I should have been. I fucked that up, Luke. All on my own. You can’t punish me anymore than I’ve punished myself. Just like I can’t apologize to you and make you forgive me. I am sorry … for all of it.” I take a deep breath, trying to rationalize my thoughts, they’re all over the place, and I need them to reach him. “I found out you had moved to New York, and Katie was with you. I was jealous, eaten up with it. I was mad at you without cause. I was really mad at myself for what I allowed to happen. I told you to move on, my actions shouted that to you, but when I thought you had, I derailed. Went right off the cliff, and until I stopped spinning I was in denial. I told myself all those years. It was you that did this to us. Your decisions tore us apart. I told myself that until I couldn’t stomach to hear it anymore, and even then I knew it was a lie. I did this. I broke us, and in turn I ruined us both. I didn’t go to you that day because whatever happiness you had found without me, I wanted you to hold on to it. I was putting you first for once. I was sacrificing my desires for what I thought you needed. Maybe I got it wrong, but it wasn’t from lack of trying.”