by M. S. Parker
Sadly, I’d missed the one that was supposed to have been my big break. I’d been in a coma when I’d had my interview scheduled and, while Benny Stern had been more than sympathetic when I’d called earlier this week, he’d needed someone quick and the position had been filled. He’d promised to keep me in mind if something ever came up, but I wasn’t going to hold my breath waiting for it.
“Hi,” I said, smiling at Edward.
He returned the smile, but the expression on his face was strained. Tiny lines stood out from his eyes and something about the way he watched me, the way he moved, managed to dim the excitement inside me. His entire body was strung tight.
As he took in all the notes and piles of paper surrounding me, I got up and went to kiss him on the cheek. I was smiling again by the time I reached him. It was amazing how moving without pain could cheer a person up. Or maybe not. I’d never had to deal with a decent amount of pain up until the past few days. How people did it on a regular basis, I didn’t know. Today was the first day I hadn’t been sore and stiff with every movement. My pain meds had even managed to knock out all of my rib pain. I really was getting better.
I was still tired, but that was something that would take longer to get over. I had been stuck in a bed for two weeks. That was bound to make a person need to regain their strength. But I wasn’t going to sit around and wait for it to happen. That would just make it take longer anyway.
I pressed my lips to his cheek, breathing in the familiar scent of him. He stroked a hand down my back in greeting, but didn’t try to make it a real kiss. Instead, he asked, “What’s going on?”
“I’m looking for a job,” I told him, smoothing down his tie. One look at his face had my smile wobbling, then falling away. His eyes were a frozen, distant shade of blue.
“A job,” he said carefully. He caught my wrists and eased them down before stepping away. “A job.”
He spoke slowly, as though the words were foreign to him and he had to puzzle out their meaning. On the far side of the room, he put down his briefcase and got a glass from the bar set nearby. The room was painfully quiet as he poured himself a glass of scotch.
As I watched and waited, Edward took his time moving over to the couch and taking a slow sip of the rich amber liquid. He could have been an ad for the rich and the beautiful, so handsome in his pewter gray suit with a steely blue shirt, a tie that blended both shades, knotted with neat precision. He took another sip and lowered the glass to balance it on his knee, his gaze fixed on some point on the wall.
He wasn’t seeing one of the fine paintings, though. I didn’t know what he saw. Even when he turned his head to look at me, I had the strangest feeling he didn’t see me.
“Gabriella, I don’t understand. Why are you looking for a job? You don’t need one. You need to rest, recover from the accident. From the coma.” He put a heavy emphasis on the last two words.
As if I could have possibly forgotten.
“What I need to do is get back to my life.” I spun around in front of him my hands held out, showing off a body that was getting stronger every day. “Look! All parts in working order. I am fine. I’m not even sore today. And it’s not like I’m looking for some sort of physically demanding job. The worst thing is that I’m tired. I get tired easy.”
“Exactly.” He smacked a fist down on his knee. “That’s exactly—”
I cut him off even as I fought to keep my voice even. “I’m never going to get my strength back if all I do is sit around here.”
“Then don’t sit. For crying out loud, if you want to get your strength back I’ll hire a personal trainer. I can get you a physical therapist.” He tossed back the rest of the scotch and got up to pour more.
I was tempted to have some myself. So much for my cheerful mood earlier.
“I don’t need a physical therapist and if I want to exercise, I can do it fine on my own.” Planting my hands on my hips, I glared at his back. He had his hands braced on the surface of the highly polished bar. “What I need to do is get back to my life. Start living. I’m going stir crazy just sitting around here. I need to be doing something.”
“And what about what I need?” He turned to face me, moving quicker than I’d ever seen him. His voice rose as he jabbed a thumb to his chest. “Do you have any idea what it did to me to see you in the emergency room like that? Then to see you lying in that bed day after day, not moving, barely breathing. Barely alive? I keep seeing you and Cody and…and…” He stopped and sucked in a deep, harsh breath. His voice was rough. “I need you safe, Gabriella.”
Guilt settled inside me, an ugly, festering weight that completely suffocated the excitement I’d felt only moments ago. As that bright and shining emotion died a withering death, I backed away.
But I shouldn’t feel guilty, I thought suddenly. It wasn’t like he was alone in having seen the person he loved in danger.
“You were held hostage,” I said, my voice shaking. “You came just as close to dying as I did, and it killed me every second you were in danger, but I’ve never once attempted to hold you back.”
“I don’t want to hold you back.” He reached for me.
But I turned away, a knot swelling in my throat. He could play it up all he wanted as a reaction to the accident, but he’d been like this before, not understanding why I refused to sit up on some pedestal for people to admire.
“I just want you safe.”
I shook my head. “The house could catch on fire. I could choke on a chicken bone. I could slip in the bathroom. You know, that accounts for almost all of the accidents in the home. What happens then? Do you wrap me in bubble wrap?”
“Gabriella…”
Bringing my hands to my face, I rubbed them, brushing away the few tears that had managed to break free. I was so tired.
“I never tried to stifle you. Why are you trying to stifle me?”
“I’m not. I just need to protect you.” His hands came to rest on my upper arms, sliding up to cup my shoulders, but I pulled away from him.
“I don’t need to be protected!” My shout was so loud, one of the servants came running.
It was Helen. She paused in the doorway, a question on her lips, but at the sight of us, she wisely backed away.
“I was driving the family truck around the farm from the time I was fourteen,” I said. “I can milk a damn cow, drive a tractor, and when I was sixteen, I gave the quarterback a bloody nose when he tried to shove his hand up my skirt. I put myself through college and I lived in the big, bad city of New York all by myself for years before I met you. I found my own job and was working my way up on my own. I don’t need to be protected!”
His face was a dull shade of red, his jaw tight. “But I need it.”
“Why?” I demanded. Something inside me was shaking, clenched into a terrible, cold knot. “You’re asking me…”
My words trailed off as I realized the enormity of what we were discussing. Sucking in a breath, I stopped and made myself think before I spoke.
“How long do you expect me to be kept here, like a little china doll on a shelf? How long do you have to protect me from everything in the world?”
His face softened. “Gabriella, this is just who I am.”
Blinking, I turned away. I felt like I’d been hollowed out.
“Gabriella?”
Shaking my head, I cut around him, keeping a very, very clear distance between us as I made my way over to the desk. I felt empty. I felt like I wasn’t me. I didn’t know who I was. Staring at the work on my desk, I tried to work up the energy to stack it up neatly until I could make him understand what all of this meant.
But I couldn’t, because I didn’t know anymore.
Grabbing the trash can, I swept every last piece of paper, every note, everything I could into it. The only thing I didn’t trash was my computer. Pens, paper clips, even the journal that held notes for the wedding and ideas for the honeymoon, everything went inside.
Edward edged closer, but w
hen he tried to speak, I just shook my head.
He tried to stop me again when I left the room, but I didn’t even look at him and, after a few moments, he let go of my arm.
I went upstairs, but I didn’t go into our room. I found a guest room. There, I showered and when I was done, I wrapped myself in a robe, using the toiletries kept on hand for guests. That’s what I’d always felt like, after all. It didn’t matter that my clothes were here. I was a guest.
I laid down on the bed and closed my eyes, but I didn’t fall asleep. I couldn’t, not with the big gaping hole inside of me. I wasn’t even tired anymore. I wasn’t anything or anyone.
Edward came in some time later. I kept my eyes closed, ignoring him when he sat beside me and stroked my hair. Ignoring him when he said my name.
Finally, he left and I opened my eyes to stare out the window.
It was a long, long time before I slept.
***
Mama always told me that things always seemed better after a good night’s sleep, a hot shower and a hot meal.
So, I took a shower so hot, I almost scalded my flesh. I ate a hot meal even though I had to force every bite down like I was chewing rocks and swallowing gravel.
But I didn’t feel much better and nothing seemed any better at all.
Maybe the problem was I hadn’t had a good night’s sleep.
Tossing and turning had given way to uneasy dreams where I found myself barefoot and pregnant in the luxurious kitchen, wearing a silk ballgown as I went over the dinner menu for a party of five hundred. All the while, Claire stood by, dressed in a chic three piece suit and a crown. My mother was wearing the dress she’d worn to her high school homecoming and sobbing into my dad’s work shirt and shaking her head. You were supposed to chase your dreams, baby!
She kept saying that over and over while Claire tsked and criticized every menu choice I made, marking through them and writing down a list that consisted of barbecue pork, corn on the cob, cole slaw and potato salad. When I laughed and told her I loved it, she snatched it away and scrawled something else on it. Here! She laughed triumphantly. Now it really suits you…everybody knows only poor trash like you eats pigs feet.
Laughter rose from everywhere and I started to cry.
Claire had made a little tutting sound under her breath and patted my shoulder. This could have all been avoided if you’d just admitted the truth. You only wanted him for his money.
I screamed at her. That’s not true! I don’t want his money! I don’t even want him!
That was when I’d woken up. Now, hours later, I was still brooding over what I’d said.
I don’t even want him.
I was uneasy about the dream. To be specific, I was uneasy about what I’d said to his mother, at the very end.
I don’t want him.
I needed to talk to somebody.
Aching and miserable, I grabbed my cellphone and started for the small room I went to when I didn’t want anyone to find me. I couldn’t call Kendra. She wouldn’t understand. Worse, she might tell Edward and that wouldn’t help me at all. I hated that I couldn’t trust my best friend not to go to my fiancé, even if she was concerned about me.
That left one option. Cody.
I was reluctant to do it. He was home now, living with his parents until he was able to get around more easily on his own. He had a few weeks—at least—of physical therapy ahead of him and a private nurse too. Once his arm was healed, he’d be doing even more physical therapy, but I doubted he’d be staying with his parents that long.
I almost didn’t call. But then I thought about how I’d feel if Cody needed to talk to me, but didn’t for whatever reason, even if it was because he thought I didn’t feel good enough. I’d be torn between irritation and hurt.
That was what decided it for me. Curled up in my favorite spot on the window seat, I called up his number on my cell phone and listened as it rang. It was answered almost immediately and the clenching in my gut started to unravel.
That lasted about two seconds.
“Gabriella.”
I tensed at the sound of Claire’s voice, frosty and stiff, on the phone.
“Ah, hi, Claire. I was just calling to talk with Cody. Is he around?” My hand tensed on the casing of the phone. I already knew what she was going to say.
“No. He’s resting. His physical therapist left and I took his phone so he wouldn’t be disturbed.”
“Okay. Well, when he wakes up—”
“I won’t give him your message, if that’s what you’re getting ready to ask.” Over the phone, her voice came at me like a slap. “You’ve done enough damage to my family, young lady. Frankly, I’ve had enough of it. Cody could have died. My oldest son is hardly on speaking terms with me. For that matter, even Flynn rarely speaks to me now. All because of you. I have to focus on repairing the damage you’ve done and I can’t do it with you around.”
The call disconnected while I sat there, too shocked to do anything.
It was too much.
The blows from Edward, my lingering exhaustion and now the attack from Claire.
Had it come at any other time, I think I could have handled it, handled her better. But just then, I felt too empty, too drained. Too empty.
I let the phone fall from my hand and sat there as the tears burning my eyes started to fall.
***
I didn’t know how long I sat there.
The light shifted and changed so I knew hours had passed. Early morning gave way to early afternoon and my back was growing stiff. My mouth was dry and my stomach made a couple of grumbling complaints, but I simply ignored the physical discomforts, rolling onto my side and stretching out on the chaise to stare at the vivid burst of the potted orchids sitting just outside the window.
When I heard the footsteps behind me, I closed my eyes.
It could only be Edward.
A few times during the day, Helen had come in to check on me and her hovering had gotten worse when I wouldn’t talk to her. Then, she’d gotten Paul and I hadn’t talked to him either. He must have called Edward and I had even less desire to talk to my fiancé than Paul. I didn’t want to talk to anyone because there was nothing to say.
But it wasn’t Edward who dropped down into my line of sight in front of the window seat. Faded denim stretched over strong thighs and a worn black T-shirt featuring some indie rock band molded to Flynn’s chest as he stared at me with hard eyes.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he asked bluntly.
“Go away.” I started to roll onto my stomach, but he rose onto his knees and came down over me, bracing his hands on either side of me, challenge in his eyes. He was only inches away and I still felt nothing.
That should have worried me because Flynn always made me feel something.
“What’s wrong? If you’re hurting or having problems with your head or something, tell me now and I’ll drive you to the hospital. Otherwise, you’re going to tell me why in the hell Paul called me—me, not Edward—and said I should come talk to you.”
I blinked at him. Paul had called him?
And he’d come?
Shoving at his chest, I tried to sit up. It took more effort than I liked and I recalled how I’d told myself I had to move if I wanted to regain my strength. It had mattered…yesterday. How could twenty-four hours make such a difference?
Gripping the edge of the chaise in my hands, I glared at him and that took almost as much of an effort as sitting up had. “I’m fine. You can go. Tell Paul to go to hell.”
“You tell him. I’m not your messenger boy, Tennessee.” His blue eyes were hard. But then he reached out and touched my cheek with gentle fingers, a rough sigh escaping him. “What’s wrong, Gabs?”
It was the first time he’d ever called me that.
Something about the way his eyes had softened cracked me and I started to sob. These tears were different. They weren’t the slow endless tears of earlier. This was a torrential flood, something that
felt like poison tearing out of me and I couldn’t stop it.
I didn’t know when he moved to sit down next to me and I didn’t know how I ended up in his lap. I didn’t know how my head ended up on his shoulder or when I started to cling to him. I didn’t even know how long I cried.
Eventually, though, the storm ended. Storms always did.
Sometimes they left the air feeling clean and fresh, beautiful, as though everything ugly and bitter had been washed away, but other times, it just left the world looking ugly and broken, a million little pieces of detritus littering the way.
That was how I felt when the tears passed. The emptiness was back again, and it was somehow worse. Listless, I sat there, staring at nothing, only vaguely aware of anything that didn’t have to do with the hole inside of me or Flynn. His hand moved up and down my back. His chest rose up and down with his breathing. His cheek rested on top of my head.
“Now you’re going to tell me what’s wrong,” he said quietly. “Because if you don’t, I’ll have to call Edward.”
I stiffened and started to pull away, but his arms just tightened.
I didn’t even have the strength to fight him. I slumped against him. “Call him, and do what? Show him the fucking pictures?” I tried to sound defiant, but I just sounded…broken. Sad. Defeated.
“No. Call him and tell him that you just spent the past half hour or so sobbing in my arms. I think he’d want to know.”
Yeah. He probably would. And he’d want to fix it. But Edward couldn’t fix this, because what was wrong was me. Me. And he wanted to change me. But changing would break me.
Slowly, I lifted my head and met Flynn’s gaze. I’d never seen him look so kind. He brushed my hair back from my face.
In that moment, I felt that powerful punch again, the draw that I’d felt toward him from the very beginning. I felt. I tried to look away, but he cupped my cheek and kept me from turning.
“What’s hurt you, Tennessee? I can’t promise I can fix it, but maybe just talking about it will help.”