Not You It's Me

by Julie Johnson

Maybe, I can still make it out of this alive.

  “That’s why my associate is there,” Brett adds. “To help you along.”

  My heart clenches in my chest. I hear the sound of the line going dead as Brett disconnects the call, but I can’t focus on that. Because The Hulk suddenly has my seatbelt in his massive hand, and he’s squeezing with all his might, until the veins are popping in his forearms. I flinch back from his proximity, watching beads of sweat break out on his forehead in utter confusion.

  What the hell?

  By the time realization hits, it’s too late. He’s bent the metal tongue of my seatbelt out of shape, jamming the buckles so they can’t be undone. I watch in horror as he presses the release button and tugs, smirking when the warped latch doesn’t release.

  I’m trapped.

  I tug on the belt, but it’s so tight around my chest I can barely breathe, let alone move.

  “You don’t have to do this,” I plead with him, watching as he cracks his window slightly, shrugs out of his suit jacket, and calmly tucks his gun back into his holster.

  “Please,” I beg. “I’ll pay you. I’ll give you whatever you want.”

  He looks over at me for a single moment, and what I see in his eyes makes my heart fail.

  Because it’s nothing.

  Nothing.

  Not an ounce of sympathy, not a fragment of humanity, not a shred of understanding.

  He’s empty, inside.

  His eyes don’t leave mine as he reaches over, grabs my right knee with one beefy fist, and jams it down onto the gas pedal with so much force, I’ve got no chance in hell at resisting him.

  The car lurches forward, toward the bridge, and I try to swerve, but his other hand has latched onto the wheel, keeping us on a steady course for disaster. I hear the moment we cross onto the bridge — the sound of the tires, spinning over uneven boards — and I feel my stomach fly into my throat when the Hulk pulls sharply on the wheel, sending us careening toward the barrier.

  Toward the water.

  I don’t have time to think how insane it is that this is my second car crash of the day, because suddenly, we’ve hit. The wood railing snaps like a toothpick when our car crashes against it, through it, and then we’re flying.

  No.

  We’re falling.

  I don’t scream, when we hit the water. I can’t — all the breath is stolen from my lungs on impact. We land so hard, my teeth clack together in my skull and my head whips forward with such force, I’m surprised my neck doesn’t break. There are sounds — rushing water, the sputtering engine — but I barely hear them. My eyes are wide, watching the water creep up over the hood as we slowly slip beneath the surface.

  The Hulk has already undone his seatbelt and rolled down his window the rest of the way. Water is spilling over, filling the passenger side so rapidly, the entire car will be full in a matter of seconds. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at me, as he maneuvers his huge frame against the stream of water, out through the open window. I hear the sound of his feet, pushing against the metal door as he swims off.

  And then I’m alone.

  “Wait!” I gasp, feeling water ascending up past my knees, my stomach, my chest. “Please!”

  But he’s gone.

  I barely manage to pull in a last breath before the weight of water wins out in one great, final torrent that fills the car to the ceiling. The world goes dark as I sink slowly toward the bottom, the weak evening sunlight barely filtering through the murky depths. I wonder vaguely how deep it is, here — if I’ll still be alive, when I hit the bottom.

  I want to scream, but I know I can’t waste my air, so I thrash against my seatbelt, instead.

  I claw at the buckle until my fingernails tear.

  I curse Brett and The Hulk and Vanessa and Ralph.

  And then, as the strength in my arms starts to wane, as my will to fight slowly ebbs, as my vision starts to fade out around the edges and my lungs start to burn…

  I curse myself.

  I curse every stupid, stubborn, self-preserving bone in my body for ever pushing Chase away. I curse all those horrible, harmful voices in my head that told me it would never work, that a girl like me would never make a man like him happy. I curse the marrow in my bones, the strands of my DNA, that truly believed I wasn’t worthy of a love like his.

  With the last of my strength, I tilt my head toward the sky. The faintest beams of sunlight shine down through the windshield — I wish I could feel their warmth, but I can’t feel anything, anymore.

  Except cold.

  Dark.

  Alone.

  As I slip away, I pretend he’s here with me — his hands on my arms, his lips warm on mine, the rough calluses of his fingers tracing my skin.

  Chase.

  The last thing I see, before the darkness takes over and I fade into nothing, is an image of his face — those green eyes, that wolfish grin. And with him burned forever onto the backs of my eyelids, I smile as I let go.

  It’s not a bad way to die.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  After

  Breaking up is never easy, I suppose — which is probably why so many people suck at it. We’re so scared to hurt feelings, to place blame, to be anything but polite, that we retreat to the safety of clichés.

  It’s not you, it’s me.

  We can still be friends.

  I need to focus on myself.

  Our friendship means too much to me.

  I’ve been on the receiving end of my fair share of these lines. And I’m not ashamed to admit I’ve even used some of them. Because, when it comes down to it, it’s a lot easier to feed someone a line than simply say what you feel.

  We’re not it. You’re not the one. I’m sorry if I hurt you.

  At some point, we all decided that honesty was no longer the best policy. We chose, collectively, to embrace the cliché. To generalize, to standardize, until all those pesky, personal feelings are sucked right out of the dreaded encounter. Until our breakups more closely resemble a business severance than the ending of a relationship. Hell, it’s practically become a competition — who’s more aloof, who handles the mess with the least perceivable distress, who’s “winning” the break up.

  And hey, maybe that would be okay.

  Except, those harmless little clichés aren’t really so harmless. Because when you hear those same lines, over and over… when someone can’t be bothered to end things with a good reason, with some emotion and honesty — or, hey even an original line — scary thoughts start to take root. Those little voices in your head say you aren’t even worth the effort it takes someone to dump you with a little personalization. They say you aren’t worth the time, the energy, the emotional drainage.

  You aren’t worth anything, at all.

  I spent a long time listening to those voices.

  Believing them. Hearing them. Fearing them.

  And, when I met a man who made me question everything, it took me a long time to shake them off. So long, I almost missed my chance to tell him the only thing that matters.

  We’re it. You’re the one. I’m sorry it took me so long to figure it out.

  I almost let those little voices steal my happy ending.

  Almost.

  Thankfully, I get another shot. And this time… I’m not going to screw it up.

  ***

  My eyes sliver open.

  The first things I see are the peonies. They’re everywhere – in vases, on tables, on windowsills. Every shade, every shape, every color imaginable. My favorite kind.

  He remembered.

  There are tubes in my arm, pumping god only knows what into my bloodstream. A gazillion machines are next to my bed, beeping regularly as they monitor my vitals. I’m wearing a horrid, light blue hospital gown, my mouth is drier than the Sahara, and every muscle in my damn body aches like I’ve been flattened by a steam roller.

  But I’m alive.

  And there’s a gorgeous blond man in the
chair next to my bed, slumped forward so his head and arms rest on the mattress, beside my thighs. I move my right hand — and wince, because ouch, I wasn’t kidding when I said everything hurts — until my fingers stroke through his hair.

  I feel him stir, feel him slowly come awake beneath my touch. All at once, he seems to realize what’s happening — his eyes spring open as he snaps back into full consciousness.

  His head turns, his eyes find mine, and I feel my heart flip at the relief in his gaze.

  “Hey,” I whisper.

  “Sunshine,” he breathes, sitting up. In the space between two heartbeats, he’s gathered me in his arms and crushed me against his chest. “You’re okay. You’re alive. You’re breathing. You’re speaking.”

  “I’m fine, Chase.” My words are muffled against his shirt. “But you’re kind of crushing me.”

  “Sorry.” His hold loosens, but he doesn’t let me go. I get the feeling, in that moment, he can’t let me go. “I thought…” He trails off, looking into my eyes. “I thought you were dead. And then they said, even if you woke up… You were without oxygen, and…” His forehead drops against mine, and he breathes me in. “I thought you were dead.”

  “That makes two of us,” I say, my voice wry. “What happened? I don’t remember anything, after the car sank… I ran out of air, and… well, it’s just darkness, after that.”

  His jaw clenches and he pulls back to look at me. “I got there just in time to see the SUV go over the railing. Brett’s man, Hawkins, came up. You didn’t.”

  “The Hulk.”

  “What?”

  “Brett’s thug. I call him The Hulk. Sometimes, Bruce Banner, too.”

  He looks at me like maybe my brain was damaged, after all. “Sunshine…”

  “I was kidnapped, shot, punched, and drowned. I almost died! You aren’t allowed to tease me right now.” My cheeks heat. “Just tell me what happened.”

  He watches the blush spread across my face like he’s witnessing a miracle firsthand. “Never thought I’d see that again,” he murmurs, rubbing one thumb across my bruised cheekbone, his touch gentle.

  I lean into his hand, so he’s cupping my face.

  “I jumped in after you, but the car was already submersed, sinking fast. It took me a long time to get to you, to cut the seatbelt, to pull you to the surface...”

  “But you did.” My eyes fill. “You saved me.”

  “If anything had happened to you…”

  “It didn’t.” I reach up and place my hand over his. “I’m fine.”

  I sit up straight as a thought suddenly occurs to me, panic rushing through my veins. “Chrissy!”

  “Shh, sunshine, she’s all right. Actually, she’s right upstairs,” he assures me. “The police got her to the hospital in time. She gave birth to a healthy baby girl late last night. Mark’s with her now.”

  “And Winnie?”

  “He’s okay. Just a few bumps and bruises. Shelby’s watching him — she’s been going back and forth, between your room and Chrissy’s room.”

  “Thank god they’re okay,” I breathe, settling back against my pillows. “What time is it?”

  “Around six — the nurses will be in soon, to take your morning vitals and yell at me.”

  My eyebrows lift. “Why would they yell?”

  “This is the ICU — visitors aren’t supposed to spend the night. Or bring flowers.” He grins. “I was persuasive.”

  “Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.”

  He has the grace to look a little embarrassed. “The large contribution my family makes every year at the MGH fundraiser may’ve helped matters.”

  “I’ll bet.” My voice is dry. “Wait, I’m at Mass General?”

  “Yeah. You were in rough shape. They air-lifted you here.” His face goes dark. “Scariest thirty minutes of my life.”

  “Well, that just sucks!”

  His eyebrows go up. “Excuse me?”

  “The first time I ever ride in a helicopter, and I’m unconscious the whole freaking time.” I huff. “Just my luck.”

  He grins and shakes his head at me.

  “I’m serious!” I protest.

  “As soon as you’re better, I’ll take you on the company helicopter.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  He kisses me then — just a light brush of his lips over mine, and the tenderness of it steals my breath.

  “You should sleep,” he says, pulling back slightly, his eyes moving over my features like he’s trying to memorize them. “You need to heal.”

  “I’m fine,” I murmur, but I can hear the drowsiness in my own voice.

  “Shh.”

  My eyelids slip closed, despite my best efforts. “Chase?”

  “Yeah, sunshine?”

  “Are you staying?”

  He pauses a beat. “Always.”

  I let the beauty of that single word sink into my bones.

  “Then, why are you still on the chair?”

  I hear him chuckle seconds before his arms slide around my frame as he climbs into bed with me.

  “This is definitely going to get me in trouble with the nurses,” he whispers against my hair.

  “Tell them I coerced you. That you’re powerless to resist me.”

  I feel his lips twitch against my temple. “That, Gemma Iphigenia Summers, is the truth.”

  My eyes snap open and a horrified gasp erupts from my mouth at the sound of my middle name.

  “How do you know?!”

  He grins shamelessly. “I read your chart.”

  I groan in mortification. “Nooo. Please tell me I’m still unconscious.”

  “Sorry to disappoint,” he bumps my nose with his. “And, for the record, I think it’s cute.”

  “For the record, you’re a loon.”

  “Don’t worry, sunshine. Your secret is safe with me.”

  I don’t challenge that statement. I just sigh, snuggle into his arms, and let my eyes slip closed once more. Because I know Chase’s arms really are the safest place on earth.

  ***

  “She’s still sleeping? Are you sure there isn’t permanent brain damage? It can’t be healthy for her to be sleeping this much.”

  “Shhh, Shelby! You’ll wake her. And wheel me closer — the baby brigade won’t let me out of this damn chair, but I don’t have to be shoved into the corner like some distant cousin.”

  “Chrissy, we aren’t even related to Gemma. A distant cousin has more rights to be in here than we do.”

  “It was a figure of speech. Now, wheel me closer!”

  A sigh. “Fine. But seriously, do you think Chase was lying when he said she woke up this morning? Maybe the grief did something to his head. Maybe, he’s delusional and she’s really a vegetable.”

  “Shelby. Don’t call Gemma a vegetable.”

  My eyes peel open and pin the two of them with a glare. “Honestly, the coma was preferable to this.”

  “You’re awake!” Shelby squeals, racing forward and grabbing one of my hands. Over her shoulder, I see Winston is fast asleep in his baby backpack, sleeping soundly against her body with his thumb in his mouth. “See, Chrissy, I told you she wasn’t a vegetable.”

  “Yeah, that’s exactly what you said, Shelbs.” Chrissy rolls her eyes. “How are you feeling, Gem?”

  “I’m fine. Sore as all hell. And thirstier than that time you guys made me eat that pot-laced brownie, before Chrissy’s bachelorette party.”

  “Here.” Shelby passes me a cup of water from the nightstand beside my bed. “Drink.”

  I down the entire glass in one gulp, feeling instantly better.

  “Are you okay?” I ask Chrissy, once I’ve swallowed. “You, and Winnie, and—”

  “And Summer.” Chrissy finishes for me, tears in her eyes and a grin on her lips. “Our new baby girl. She’s fine — she’s perfect. We’re all perfect.”

  I pause, my eyes wide. “Summer?”

  Chrissy nods. “A
fter her godmother — the best friend-slash-getaway-driver a girl could ever ask for.”

  “Chris…” I trail off, my eyes filling with tears. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “You don’t have to say anything.” She wheels her chair forward, next to Shelby, and grabs my other hand. “Do you want to meet her?”

  “Hell yes, I want to meet her.” My tears overflow.

  “Well, the next one you have is definitely going to be named Shelby.” Shelby glares at Chrissy. “Right?”

  Chrissy glances at her, grinning. “What if it’s a boy?”

  “Shelby could be unisex.”

  I snort.

  Chrissy scoffs. “Do you want my son to get the shit beat out of him on the playground?”

  “Oh, whatever,” Shelby mutters. “You better pray it’s a girl, then.”

  Chrissy rolls her eyes again and turns her head toward the door. “You can come in now, boys!”

  My tears drip faster as Chase steps inside, his eyes locking on mine immediately, followed by Mark — who’s got a tiny, pink bundle cradled in his arms.

  “Babe,” he says, his eyes finding mine. “Glad you’re not dead.”

  “Mark!” Chrissy huffs. “That is not what you say to a girl after she’s nearly drowned as the target of a sociopathic billionaire intent on revenge.” Her eyes slide to Chase. “No offense.”

  “None taken,” he says, grinning.

  Mark sighs. “Sorry, Gem. How are you feeling?”

  “I’ll be better when I’m holding that baby.” I pull my hands from Shelby and Chrissy’s grasps and reach for her. “Gimme.”

  Mark laughs as he passes her into my arms. I hold her delicately, like one wrong move might break her, staring down at her tiny pink-bowed mouth and fluttering, whisper-thin eyelashes in awe.

  “She’s amazing,” I breathe, fighting tears again. I look up at my friends, my eyes moving from Shelby to Chrissy to Mark. They’re all practically glowing with happiness – love shining from their eyes as they smile at me – and I can’t fathom how I got so lucky. These three people are more than just friends – they’re family.

  My heart is so full at this moment, I think it might burst. I look automatically for Chase, wanting to share this with him… and realize he’s still standing by the door. He’s set himself apart, leaving me to this moment of bliss with my friends.