by Azzi, Gina
“You aren’t.”
I roll my eyes, “Just forget it. The truth is, I’m months away from taking any steps toward an oophorectomy. I’m doing the mastectomy first.”
Eli visibly swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “When?”
“Soon.”
“I’ll be there.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I’ll be there, Zo.” His voice hardens along with his eyes. “Now tell me about the guy you train who may have a title shot.”
I roll my eyes but acquiesce, filling him in on Rodriguez’s training.
We chat and laugh, and my anxiety leaks out of me like a deflated balloon. Slowly at first and then in a giant whoosh, all at once. For the first time in a long time, I feel settled when Eli and I say goodnight. Not so alone, not so terrified, and not so hopeless.
As they say, life happens when you’re making plans. Turns out, all my careful research and meticulous planning doesn’t matter, because I’m about to be thrown the greatest curveball of my life.
* * *
“You again,” I grin at Evan, sliding a beer across the bar at him.
“Here I am,” he smiles back. In many ways, he and Eli share similarities. The cut of their jawline, the fullness of their lips. But while Eli’s eyes are a dark green, ringed with specks of gold, Evan’s are several shades lighter. Eli towers above nearly everyone, commanding the space around him like a general. Evan is better at fitting in, blending with the crowd and grinning about it.
Their dispositions vary, though. Both are affable and friendly enough, but Evan is more open, easier to read, and more easygoing than Eli.
“Charlie doesn’t start for another thirty minutes,” I remind him, handing him a menu. It’s the third time he’s been in here this week and I already know he’s going to order a Rueben with fries.
“I know. Between you and me, I had to get out of my office.” Evan picks up his pint and takes a sip. “I’m working on a case that’s zapping all my mental energy, and since it’s Friday,” he lifts his beer higher in my direction, “I decided to call it an early day.”
“It’s 6:30PM,” I point out.
“Exactly.” He slides the menu back toward me. “I’ll take a Rueben with fries.”
“You got it,” I snicker.
I turn toward the POS system on the monitor behind the bar when the floor beneath me shifts. Stumbling, I reach out and grip the lip of a shelf holding bottles of tequila. The room spins and I close my eyes, trying to steady my breathing and clear the fog from my mind.
“Zoe, you okay?” Evan’s voice rings out behind me.
My eyes pop open as a wave of nausea churns violently in my stomach, causing my knees to buckle and my body to pitch forward. I lose my hold on the shelf and knock into it as another wave crests around me, pulling me under.
“Zoe!”
Evan’s voice echoes in my head as I hit the floor. Blackness pulls me under, as powerful as an undercurrent, as overwhelming as a storm surge.
* * *
Sirens pierce my eardrums.
Bright lights, blue and red dancing across the wall of Shooters. Evan’s face, worried eyes and loud commands.
The scent of antibacterial gel burns my nostrils. It tugs on so many memories I can’t seem to grasp.
Clinical touches and soothing tones.
Lights. Faraway. Close-up.
Sounds. Loud. Soft. Constant.
The beeping of a machine.
Silence.
20
Eli
“That’s a wrap!” Gray calls out, standing on the rung of his director’s chair and clapping his hands.
Natalie stands behind him, a genuine smile on her lips, her eyes glued to Gray. Her hand rests protectively on the slightest swell of her baby bump. She looks content, at peace, in a way she hasn’t in years.
“Congratulations.” Brooke bumps her hip against mine, pulling me into a side hug.
“You too. Brookie, you’re a star.” I tuck her under my arm and kiss the crown of her head.
She laughs, throwing her head back. “We did it, Eli. I’m really proud of this film.”
“Me too.”
Brooke waves to a crew member as we step off set. “You going to the party tonight?”
“Ahh,” I waver, debating if I should go or not.
“Come on, Holt. We’ve barely seen you. You should celebrate; you were perfect as Henry.”
“Alright. I’ll make an appearance.”
“That’s all we can ask for.” Brooke pauses, saying hello to Harlow.
“Eli?” Harlow’s voice is harsh, her expression severe.
“Low? What’s wrong?” I step closer, dropping my arm from around Brooke’s shoulders. A slick coldness sweeps through me, a feeling of dread settling in the pit of my stomach.
Harlow pushes my phone into my hands, “It’s Evan.”
“What? Is Ollie okay?” I swipe the phone, my hands shaky.
Brooke’s eyes widen at me in concern but she turns around, thwarting off the swell of bodies, crew, actors, lighting technicians, coming our way. Harlow grabs my elbow and hustles me off set and into a trailer.
“Evan?” I breathe into the phone. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
“Eli, it’s Zoe.”
Zoe? My knees give out and I sink into a chair, fear skating up my spine, my eyes swinging around the space, desperate for something to latch onto.
“What do you mean? What the fuck happened?”
“She passed out. We’re at Northwestern Memorial.”
“We?”
“I came in the ambulance with her.” My brother’s voice is borderline panicked, causing my heart to jump from my chest into my throat. Evan is nothing if not calm, practical, logical. He’s a criminal lawyer and a single dad. It comes with a territory. But this, the uncontrollable shake in his tone, the uncertainty in his words, gives me pause.
“Evan, what the fuck happened?”
“I don’t know. I was at Shooters, grabbing a bite, waiting for Charlie’s shift to start. Zoe seemed a little unsteady, confused. The next thing I knew, she was on the floor. Not unconscious, but not all there either. Someone called 9-1-1, and I came with her in the ambulance. Her dad and Charlie are on the way and—”
“So am I.”
“What?”
“Harlow’s booking me a flight now. I’ll call you when I land in Chicago.” I hang up, looking around for my assistant. She appears in front of me, rattling off flight details, always one step ahead of me.
I drop my head and she steps forward, wrapping her arms around me, “She’s strong, Eli. She’s going to be okay.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Go to her. Your flight’s in three hours.”
Her words force me to stand up, tear through the hotel, dump a bunch of random shit into a duffle bag, and swipe my passport.
Harlow assures me she’ll have all of my belongings packed up and shipped to L.A. Nodding my thanks, I slip from the hotel without a word to anyone. I head straight for the airport, my body buzzing with adrenaline, my heart pounding in my eardrums.
* * *
The flight back to Chicago is the longest plane ride I’ve ever endured.
Worry pings through me, numbing my senses one minute and causing them to explode the next. I feel unsettled, off-balance, and more terrified I’ve ever been in my life.
Thoughts I don’t want to consider swirl wildly in my mind, causing my emotions to bounce from one to the next like a pinball machine. By the time I arrive in Dubai for my layover, my chest is slicked in ice, my palms are clammy, and my stomach is gnawing at itself.
I call my brother during my layover but he doesn’t know anything. I can tell by his voice that he’s trying to be soothing. It’s the same tone he uses with Ollie after he wakes from a horrid nightmare or asks questions about Sophie.
“Please, Evan. Give me something,” I nearly beg, pacing in a small corner of the airport while pas
sengers shop around me, buying wine and chocolates, gold jewelry, and designer scarves.
“Her dad’s here—even he hasn’t been allowed back. He’s just pacing the hallways, clenching his cane. Charlie’s heading to Joe’s to pack Zoe an overnight bag for the hospital.”
“So, she’s being admitted?”
“Looks like it. She’s seeing several specialists.”
“Specialists for what?” I bark, my stomach dropping to my feet, hollow and aching.
“I don’t know.”
“Evan, I don’t land for another fifteen fucking hours.” I turn my back when several passengers glance at me, a few peering more closely than I’d like, trying to place my famous face.
“I know,” my brother murmurs. “She’s in good hands, Eli. She’ll be waiting for you when you get here.”
I hang up, continuing to pace the damn airport. I think about Joe Clark, how he’s doing the same thing over seven thousand miles away. I can picture him, his spine erect, his shoulders stiff, his grip on his cane so tight his knuckles may snap.
I blow out a deep breath, tap my forehead again the glass window, and close my eyes from the night sky, the sleek planes, the suffocating heat. I pray.
Bargain is more like it.
Dear God, don’t let her die. Please, I’ll give you anything you want. I’ll do anything. Just keep my girl safe. Don’t take her away from me when I’ve only just found her. Please.
I don’t know how long I stand there. Eventually, a kind old woman with gentle eyes approaches me and reaches out with a cup of coffee.
She’s speaking Tagalog to a young boy, pressing the coffee in my hands.
“My grandma says you look like you could use this. Please, have a coffee,” the young boy translates, his English perfect, his accent so slight it’s barely noticeable.
I fumble, glancing around to see if I’m being photographed or worse, filmed. But no one is taking any notice of me, or of this exchange.
The woman’s eyes, soulful and knowing, meet mine. I’m so humbled by her kindness that in this moment, I could cry.
“Thank you,” I accept the hot drink and bring it to my lips. The coffee is strong and soothing. Strengthening. “Thank you so much.”
The boy says something and the woman nods, patting my elbow with her small hand. Then they’re gone, and I’m clutching the coffee cup like a lifeline, desperate to be in Chicago, anxious for the next fifteen hours to pass.
* * *
The second the wheels of the plane touch down at O’Hare International Airport and we are taxied to a gate, an airline representative climbs on board and escorts me off. I’m whisked through security to a waiting car, my luggage piled in before I even close the door.
Thank fuck for Harlow.
My phone beeps with incoming messages and emails. I scan them all, my throat dry, my eyes burning, for any news about Zoe.
Harlow: Northwestern Memorial, Room 1827. Evan and Charlie are in the waiting room. She’s visiting with her Dad. She’s okay, Eli. She’s going to be okay.
Evan: Call me when you land. Zoe’s awake.
I press the contact information for my brother, bringing the phone to my ear as the city I’ve known my entire life envelops me like a hug, dragging me home, pulling me closer to her.
“Are you here?” Evan answers.
“Nearly. How is she?”
“I’m coming down. I’ll meet you right out front .”
“Is Zoe okay?” I can’t hide the panic from my voice and I don’t even try.
“She’s okay, Eli. She’s fine.”
“What is it?” I clench the phone tighter, the possibilities running on a loop in my mind. Cancer, it has to be cancer, right?
“Just meet me out front,” Evan clicks off. I pull the phone away from my ear, glaring at it.
Slipping it into my pocket, I lean forward and tell the driver, “If you can get me to Northwestern Memorial in ten minutes, I’ll pay you triple.”
21
Zoe
“I need you tell me what’s going on, Zo,” Dad’s voice is even, measured, but his expression, wary and uncertain, belies his nerves.
“I’m okay, Dad.” I reach for him, squeezing his fingers in mine. My heart thuds, my mind still whirling, trying to process everything the doctor shared.
“You passed out.”
“I know.”
“Is it because of Eli? Are you messed up over him? Or did the doctor find something? Is it cancer?” Dad rattles off possibilities, his voice hard.
“It’s not cancer.” Tears prick the corners of my eyes. “Nothing’s changed since my last round of tests. And yet, everything’s changed.”
Dad’s brows furrow and I bite my lip. God, I wish my mom was here. I wish I could see her face as I tell them about my miracle.
“Daddy, I’m pregnant.”
His head snaps up, his blue eyes the most cloudless I’ve seen them in years. “Pregnant?”
“Pregnant,” I confirm, my voice thick with tears. Placing a hand over my lower abdomen, I nudge my tiny raspberry-sized baby and say a silent prayer.
“Well why didn’t you say so?” He wraps his arms around me as I sob into his shoulder.
“I feel like I should tell the father first, before I share the news.” I explain, clinging to my dad. And how the hell is Eli going to react to this news?
Happy?
Scared?
Devastated it’s me and not a woman he’s married to?
“Eli?” Dad questions. I nod into his shoulder. “Well, he’s on his way so you should be able to tell him soon.”
I pull back, my emotions raw and overwhelming as I look into Dad’s face. “What do you mean, he’s on his way?”
“Zoe.” My name bursts through the air, followed by two sharp knocks and a shadow framing the doorway.
I turn, taking in Eli’s larger-than-life presence and almost sob again. “Eli.”
He glances between my dad and me, color draining from his face as he takes in our embrace, my tears. His eyes are tired, dark shadows smudged beneath them. He’s wearing a crumpled sweatshirt and wrinkled jeans. Stubble coats his chin and cheeks and a baseball hat sits on top of his head.
He looks more disheveled than I’ve ever seen him.
And more beautiful too. My wounded warrior transforming into a savior.
Dad shuffles to his feet and presses a kiss to my forehead. “I’ll give you two a minute.” With that, he excuses himself and my heart nearly bursts with how much love and respect I have for him. He pauses at the doorway, holding out a hand. “Eli.”
“Good to see you again, Joe,” Eli shakes his hand.
“You sticking around or passing through?” Dad asks, his posture rigid, his face open.
I bite my lower lip, knowing Dad wants to know if Eli’s really here for me or not.
“Sticking around.” Eli’s voice is clear, resolute. “For as long as it takes.”
“Glad to hear it, son,” Dad pats him on the shoulder and maneuvers his way back into the hallway.
Before the door closes, Eli is at my bedside, pulling the chair Dad vacated even closer. His hands are on my cheeks, his eyes studying every inch of my face, like he’s searching for clues as to what’s wrong.
“I’m okay,” I offer. Relief slashes through his green eyes, a chuckle laden with nervous energy bubbling from his throat.
“Jesus Christ, Violet.” He brings his nose to mine, his breath warm as it flutters over my lips. “I’ve never been so fucking scared in my life.” My stomach twists at the confession.
Before I can tell him anything, his lips move over mine, desperate and seeking. He kisses me passionately, with abandon. I taste his fear on his tongue, his pent-up energy ready to explode. His fingers slip behind my neck as he slants his head, kissing me with unrivaled intensity. When he pulls back, we’re both breathing heavily, our eyes fused together.
“This is the best friendship I’ve ever had,” I joke.
A hint o
f a smile flickers over Eli’s mouth but he shakes his head, ignoring my attempt at humor in favor of the real I always hide from. “I’m here, Zoe. Whatever you say, whatever you need, I’m not fucking going anywhere. I meant it when I said I love you. And love doesn’t die just because we try to sabotage it.”
His words calm the small part of my heart quaking with nerves over the news I’m about to share. He loves me. He never stopped. “Eli…”
“Whatever it is, Violet, you can tell me.” His eyes are serious, burning with promise.
“I love you, Eli Holt.” The words hover in the air between us before Eli dips his head closer and brushes his lips against mine. The kiss is sweet and soulful, stirring and hopeful.
I wrap my hand around his wrist, keeping his palms pressed to my face. “Eli, I’m pregnant.”
He staggers back, surprise exploding in his expression. The backs of his knees hit his chair and he sinks into it, his hands tangling back up with mine. “Pregnant?” he repeats, his voice unsure, his eyes unfocused.
“We’re having a baby.”
His eyes latch back onto mine, brimming with so much longing that I physically ache for him.
“A baby,” he repeats, dazed.
“That’s why I passed out. My blood pressure dropped.”
“Are you okay? Is…is the baby?” He clears his throat, leaning over my bed and curling my hands into his chest.
“Yes. It happens sometimes. Hormones.”
“Tell me everything, Zoe. Please.”
“I’m okay, Eli. Still in the exact same health as the last time we spoke.” I smile. “Just, with a miracle.”
Eli hangs his head. It takes me a moment to realize he’s crying. My broken warrior, too proud to believe in miracles, too fearful to desire faith. His shoulders tremble with emotion and his hands clutch mine tighter.
I lean into him. He shifts his weight, sitting on the side of my bed and wrapping me in his arms until our tears meld, salty and hopeful, and our breathing regulates, serene and in unison.