by Jamie Howard
Any other time I would have laughed at her comment, but I just didn’t have it in me. Everything was aching, hurting so bad that I felt it from the tips of my eyelashes straight down to my marrow. I risked one more glance, just one, knowing it would be the last.
The invisible force that pulled at us from the beginning, the intangible string that tied us together, tugged at that moment. Despite the crowd that separated us, the undulating bodies that every so often blocked the view, Ian’s eyes snapped up and locked onto mine. Shock colored his features, the blood draining out of his face so that it was as white as his dress shirt. His mouth worked like he was trying to find the words, but even if he was speaking, I’d never hear him all the way over here.
I never wanted to speak to him again.
“Now, Harper. We need to leave now.”
Her eyes flared at the recognition he was watching us, and with a hand on my arm, she pulled me behind her. When the door slammed shut at my back, I paused for a second to rip off my shoes. Gathering my skirt in one hand, my shoes in the other, we sprinted through the empty, eerie hallways.
The freezing winter air bit into my skin the moment I stepped outside, the stone steps digging into my bare feet. By the time we made it to the curb I was panting, my hair hanging in straggles around my face. My feet burned from the thousands of scrapes I’d accumulated, and my elbow was already bruising from where I’d taken a corner too tightly and whacked it on the wall.
None of it even compared to the agony my heart was in.
I didn’t know if Ian was coming after me. Couldn’t even imagine why he’d want to, after everything he’d done. Everything with him had just been one lie piled on top of another until there was a veritable tower of them bearing down on me.
I wasted no time flagging down a cab. As it pulled to the curb, the brakes squealing and the dark puff of exhaust swirling around me, I threw myself in the backseat. Harper piled in right behind me, the edge of her dress getting caught in the door in her haste to slam it behind her.
As soon as the door closed and the cab lurched forward, I dropped my head into my hands and rocked myself back and forth. The heels of my hands dug into my eyes until I saw spots behind my closed eyelids.
When the cab finally stopped, I was out the door in a flash, not even waiting to see if Harper paid the fare or if she needed any extra cash. I was so out of it, so not present in my own body, that I didn’t see the man waiting at the foot of my stairs until he grabbed me by the shoulder.
I screamed.
Harper fell, her feet getting tangled in her dress as she frantically tried to make her way to me.
The man slapped a hand over my mouth, pulling me against him. “Miss Easton, please calm down. It’s me.”
I fought through the panic, trying to make my eyes focus. Recognition seeped in slowly. “Eli?”
Harper came flying past me, and I was just barely able to catch her, holding her back before she threw herself at the head of the senator’s security detail. She swiped her hair back, flicking a thumb over an oozing cut on her cheek and coming away with a streak of blood.
“Ma’am.”
“You know this guy?” Harper asked.
I nodded, trying to force my heart rate back to a normal rhythm since it was still racing like it was trying to medal at the Olympics. “What’re you doing here?” I asked him.
His lips thinned, the heavy black mustache above them pulling down with the motion. “Your father sent me here to retrieve you, ma’am.”
“Retrieve her?” Harper screeched. “What is she, a fucking Labrador?”
I laid a hand on her arm in what I hoped was a calming gesture. Inside, I was sizzling, my anger boiling up. It took a strong reminder from some part of my brain, one that frankly I was surprised was still functioning, that I shouldn’t shoot the messenger. “Why, exactly, are you here?”
He sighed, fishing a phone from his pocket. His fingers danced over the screen before he handed it to me. “I assume you’ve seen this?”
My eyes flicked down to where a video was playing. It took a second for my overwhelmed brain to realize what it was—a recording of Ian and me at the Blackbird. The phone shook in my hands. “Where did you get this?”
His bushy eyebrows lifted nearly to his hairline. “Try just about anywhere and everywhere on the internet.”
“Oh God.” I pressed my knuckles to my mouth. It took me a moment to scrape my stomach back up off the sidewalk. “How bad is it?”
“Bad. Your parents were very displeased to see you’ve been keeping this type of company.”
“Bianca, who gives a shit? Who cares about a stupid karaoke video? It’s not like it’s a sex tape.” Harper gripped my fingers in her hands.
“I care,” I whispered, my words nearly swept away in the night air. The burn started again at the back of my eyes, a warning of the tears I was barely keeping at bay.
“I need to pack my things,” I said to Eli. “When do we need to leave?”
“Your landlord let me in your apartment after I apprised him of the situation. I took the liberty of packing your bags; they’re already in the car.”
I wanted to be mad that he invaded my privacy. That even though I was an adult, he thought my father still held the final say over my life. I wanted to, I reached for the fury, the rage, but the only thing I found was . . . relief.
I didn’t want to stay a single minute more.
Dropping Harper’s hands, I threw my arms around her neck, hugging her so tight I thought I might strangle her.
“Don’t do this,” she said. “You’re just upset. Please don’t leave like this.”
“I have to go.” I looked away from her, my eyes following the curve of the sidewalk until it disappeared around the corner. “It was always going to end. It’s just happening a little sooner than I expected.”
“Bullshit, Bianca. Bull. Shit.” She shoved me, and only Eli’s hand on my elbow kept me upright. Spinning around, she slammed her hand down on the trunk of Eli’s car, the bang echoing down the street.
“I’m sorry,” she said, backing away. “You don’t deserve that. I just . . .” She blew out a breath and tilted her head back so she could study the sky. “Call me when you get home? Please?”
I nodded, understanding it wasn’t really me she was mad at. Headlights swept up the street, cutting through the night and sending a bolt of apprehension racing through me. Without wasting any more time, I climbed into the car, clutching my arms around my middle like I could hold myself together by sheer force of will.
Tucking my feet up underneath me, the fabric of the dress bunching, I rested my forehead against the cool glass. I was going home.
Home. I tested the word in my mouth.
I wondered where that really was.
Chapter 34: Ian
2 Years Earlier
It’d been the longest two weeks of my life. Every minute dragged, every hour spun out until one rolled into the next, into the next. The days bled together until I wasn’t sure when one ended and the other began. Realistically, I knew each day was made of twenty-four singular hours, but for the first time, I became intimately acquainted with all of them.
Somewhere behind the tubes and wires, the gauze and tape, was my Maggie. I tried not to focus on it all, tried to see past it, but there was more of it than there was of her. A long, thick cast climbed up her leg, up and over her knee. Thick strips of white gauze circled her head, almost the same shade as her pale skin. My fingers itched to wrap themselves in one of her curls, but they were hidden underneath the bandages. Even holding her hand seemed like a risk. A thin IV protruded from the top of her hand, held in place by a clear piece of adhesive. The skin around it had bruised, but it was starting to fade, hovering somewhere between a deep shade of purple and a sickly yellow.
It didn’t leave me with many options.
More often than not, I curled my fingers around her wrist, careful not to disturb her IV. Underneath the pad of my pointer finger, I
could feel her heartbeat, slow and steady. Any time I felt myself slipping, I concentrated on that—on the undeniable proof that Maggie was still alive.
That’s what Dr. Abel had said: “Your wife is most definitely alive.” I’d learned that alive was a relative term. Her heart still beat, her chest still rose and fell with the accompaniment of the ventilator, but not once in the past 336 hours had she opened her eyes.
The door slid open. “You look like crap.”
My eyes drifted up over the thick, blue blanket. “Way to kick a man when he’s down, Ben.”
“It’s pretty obvious you’re not shaving.” He passed me a cup of coffee, keeping the other one for himself. Dragging the other chair up next to mine, he plopped down into it. “But are you at least eating?”
Food was the last thing on my mind. I scratched a hand over my jaw, my fingertips running over short hairs that made up an actual beard. Mirrors and shaving weren’t really high on my list of priorities either. “I eat.”
He grunted, drumming a finger against the white Styrofoam of his cup. “Any news?”
“Nothing.” I blew out a breath. “Another round of tests this morning, but I haven’t heard back on them yet.”
If Rachel had been here, she would have said something like, “I’m sure everything’s going to be fine, Ian. You’ll see.” Her smile would have been real and genuine, the sincerity in her voice relaxing the knotted muscles in my shoulders. But Ben wasn’t Rachel, so instead I watched the worry seep into his eyes, his lips pinching into a tight line.
The door squeaked open again, the head of Dr. Abel popping through the opening. I tensed, every muscle in my body going to attention at his appearance.
“Ian,” he said, “do you have a minute?”
I nodded. I had plenty of minutes. Too many of them really.
The door closed behind him with a soft click, and he readjusted his glasses as he pulled over a chair on the opposite side of the bed. “This may be a conversation you’d like to have in private,” he said, with a meaningful glance in Ben’s direction.
Ben went to stand, but I put a hand on his shoulder. “If it’s alright, I’d like him to stay.”
“Of course, of course,” he mumbled, shuffling through the paperwork in his hands. His eyes lifted until they found mine. “I’m afraid the news isn’t good, Ian. Maggie’s injuries were very extensive, and although we were able to stabilize her condition, she’s continued to decline. Her kidney function isn’t improving; her organs are starting to fail. We’re not able to remove her from the ventilator.”
When he stopped speaking, the only sounds in the room were Maggie’s machines—the beep of her heart on the monitor, the mechanical breath of the ventilator. I knew what he was trying to say, but I had to hear him say it. Had to hear the words to really believe them. “What are you saying?”
Dr. Abel plucked his glasses from his nose so he could rub a hand across his face. “Your wife is dying, Ian. Her organs are shutting down. And these machines”—he waved a hand around the room—“they’ll prolong it for a time. But leaving her this way will drag out her suffering.”
“She’s in pain?” I choked the words out, even though it felt like each word was flecked with glass shards.
“We’re doing everything we can to keep her comfortable. But you have to understand, regardless of what we do, she’ll never be able to breathe on her own. She won’t be able to swallow.” He stopped to take a breath. “The decision is yours, but I’m recommending that you withdraw life support.”
“When . . . when do I need to let you know?” My voice shook, and I pinched my fingers tighter around Maggie’s wrist. The ever present badum-badum of her heart beating out against my skin. Every pulse screamed out against Dr. Abel. Every beat shouted, “I’m alive!”
“Take your time. Think it over. I’ll come by to see you tomorrow.” Tucking the clipboard underneath his arm, he stood. “I’m very sorry.”
After he left, Ben turned to me. His fingers twisted in the fabric of the blanket. “We can get a second opinion.”
“Yeah.” That one word cost me, but it fought its way to the surface.
My eyes searched over her, drinking her in, looking for something, anything, that would refute Dr. Abel’s claims. I dropped my gaze down to my hand on her arm. Twisting my wrist just slightly, the edge of a hummingbird’s wing peeked into view. Tiny, delicate, exquisitely detailed. I’d planned it for months, worked on it endlessly until it was absolutely perfect. I’d promised her the next one would be for her, swore it. But she’d never get to see it. I’d never get to find out if she remembered that little doodle on the side of her sneaker from the first day we met.
I let my fingers slide down the underside of her wrist, folding her hand into mine. Giving it a squeeze, I felt the hard edges of her bones dig into the palm of my hand. Give me something, Maggie. If you can hear me, or feel me, if you’re still there, just give me a sign. A twitch, a blink, a squeeze. Anything. Anything and I’ll wait for you. As long as it takes.
I stared at her until my eyes blurred from my refusal to blink, terrified that I’d miss the tiny signal that would tell me Maggie was still with me. Her eyelids didn’t flutter, her fingers didn’t flex. Nothing happened. Not a single fucking thing.
I felt it then—hope draining from my bones, the inevitability that the life I’d spent wrapped up in Maggie’s love was gone and I’d never get it back. I might’ve just prayed to the universe to give me a sign, but I wasn’t stupid. I knew that finding someone once in this lifetime who I could love with everything I had, who loved me back just as fiercely, was rare. The road ahead of me was bleak and barren. And that’s what I’d be—alone. Because I knew that I’d never love someone again like I did Maggie. It wasn’t possible.
The day dawned clear and bright, the wind gusting over mounds of powdered snow so that it whirled in the air, like tiny flake-encrusted tornadoes. The weather, it seemed, didn’t care that I was dying inside, and that on the day I lost Maggie it should be dark and storming. As bleak outside as I felt inside. The sun glared adamantly down through the hospital window, streaking the white expanse of snow until it looked like it was covered in piles of glitter.
The room was crowded. Too full—of pain, of tears, of everything. There were too many emotions clouding the air, more than I’d be able to name given a dictionary and an entire lifetime to search it.
I couldn’t sit. So I stood, at the side of the bed, my hand tucked neatly into hers. A small slash of ink stained the tip of my middle finger. Ink from the pen Dr. Abel gave me. The pen I used to sign the forms that gave them permission to turn off the machines. Each swipe of the pen stole a little sliver of my soul. Every swirl felt like a wicked paper cut, until everything was stinging and aching.
Maggie’s parents stood somewhere off to my right. Her mom’s eyes locked onto mine, still pleading with me. I couldn’t hold her gaze and immediately wrenched it away. They’d argued with me, begged me not to do it, but I couldn’t leave her like this. I couldn’t leave her to die in slow motion. Losing her would be the worst pain I ever felt, but I’d gladly welcome it rather than let her suffer a minute more.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her father lay one broad hand across Maggie’s forehead, his other arm tucked tightly around his wife. They pulled closer and closer together, like they could somehow shield themselves from what was to come by hiding inside each other. To the left, with hands holding tight to the footboard of the bed, were Rachel and Ben, Gavin and Felix standing behind them. Each of them kept to themselves, curling into their own little ball of grief.
Dr. Abel shifted across from me, drawing my attention to him. “Are you ready?”
Ready? How could anyone ever be ready for this?
I managed a nod. The muscles in my throat worked as I tried to swallow, but it felt like something was caught there. It wasn’t my heart. That was already lying on the bed next to Maggie, dying right along with her.
Dr. Abel reached u
p to the machines, turning them off one by one. With gentle hands, he peeled back the tape that stretched out from her mouth, slowly removing the tube from her throat. The heart monitor was the last machine left on. The thin white line kept spiking, but it slowed as the seconds passed, the deafening beep sounding out less and less. I held my breath between beats, begging for just one more, until the pauses drew out too long and I had to breathe without her.
I didn’t notice the first tear. Or the second. Or the twelfth. They ran down my cheeks and dripped off my chin, soaking into the blanket or splattering onto our joined hands. Each one drained a little bit of life out of me, dragging me down into a pit where the stubborn rays of the sun couldn’t bother me.
When her heart rate flatlined, Dr. Abel reached up to switch off the machine, killing the sound in the room. We were left with sniffles and sobs, whimpers and not-so-silent tears.
Dr. Abel whispered time of death to the nurse standing at his side, and then left us with an, “I’ll give you some time.”
His exit was a cue, and one by one they left. Rachel with a soft pat on Maggie’s arm, the guys with a brief touch to her blanket-covered legs and feet. Maggie’s mom trailed a finger across her cheek and then came toward me, just two steps.
With a quick, decisive movement, she drew back her hand and slapped me across the face. I felt every single one of her fingers touch my skin, burning, and no doubt leaving a red print behind. Her eyes welled with tears, her voice jagged and rasping. “You never deserved her. And this?” Her nostrils flared. “This is all your fault.”
Arms snaked around her from behind, squeezing her tightly, locking her hands to her sides. Maggie’s dad walked her toward the door, never saying one word to me. Never even lifting his eyes to meet mine. I was too shocked to say anything, too stunned to move.
If I’d been able to, I would have told her, “I know.”