by Louise Bay
“Harper,” I said, nodding at them.
She went over to Grace’s mother, then gave her the clipboard, as if the responsibility for Grace’s welfare had been passed from me to them.
That was how it should be.
I had no business in Grace’s life. I’d taken things too far.
The electric doors opened for the first time since Grace had gone through them. I stood to speak to the person who walked through, but it was only a courier and of no use to me.
“Sit down, sir,” my nurse said, pushing me toward my seat and handing me a white plastic cup of water. “Take small sips.”
She shouldn’t be here, wasting her time on me when there was Grace to look after. “Can you see about Grace?”
“They’re still doing tests,” she said, resting her hand on my shoulder.
As she left, her parents approached me. What could I say to them? I’d failed to keep their daughter safe. “Are you okay?” her mother asked me.
“I’m sorry,” I stuttered.
Harper moved down a chair and Grace’s mother sat beside me and patted me on the knee. Her father paced in front of us.
“I should have stopped her.”
“It wasn’t your fault. Harper said a car ran into the side of the cab,” Grace’s mother said.
How did Harper know that? Had I told her?
I nodded. “She was getting out. I should have made her get out of my side.”
“Hush,” she said. “There’s nothing you could have done. Have they given you an exam? You should insist on a CT.”
“I’m fine. It’s Grace—”
“Shhh,” she said, “everything’s going to be okay.”
She spoke with authority and if I hadn’t understood what came with death, I would have believed her. Nothing was going to be okay if Grace didn’t make it.
Seconds, minutes, hours passed. I resisted every urge I had to burst through the doors and find Grace. What were they doing?
Finally, the doors slid open again and this time a nurse came out, clutching a clipboard. “Grace Astor,” she called out.
The four of us surrounded her, desperate for information. “Grace is doing well. She’s lost some blood but she’s conscious and asking for Sam.”
It was as if I hit the drop of a roller-coaster ride—fear and excitement tumbled about in my belly. “She’s alive?” I asked.
“She’s a little banged up, but fine,” the nurse said. “Her CT was clear.”
She was going to be okay.
“She’s bruised, and has a mild concussion. She’s broken her leg in two places.” I heard Grace’s mother cry out but I smiled. A broken leg? That was it? “They’ll reset the break this afternoon, then do the cast. We’ve given her something for the pain. She’s conscious and you can see her, but no more than two of you at a time. Sam, shall I take you through?” I should have been magnanimous and offered to let her parents go first, but I had to see Grace, to know for sure she was okay. I followed the nurse without looking back.
We passed down the first corridor and then turned into a bay of beds. I scanned the room, looking for Grace. The nurse led me to a curtained-off bed and for a split second, before she pulled back the partition, I imagined I’d find someone other than Grace in the bed. I couldn’t quite believe she was okay. They must have mistaken her for someone else.
I steeled myself as the curtain went back, but almost threw up again when I saw that it was her. Her eyelids fluttered and, finally, Grace opened her eyes and looked at me. “Sam,” she said, her voice croaky.
I rushed forward, then stopped. I wanted to pull her toward me, but I was almost too scared to touch her. I stepped forward and she lifted her hand. I glanced back at the nurse.
“She’s fine,” the nurse assured me.
I slipped my palm under hers and kissed her on her forehead. As I pulled back, she winced. “I’m so sorry, Grace.” For the kiss, for the accident. I wanted to take away her pain.
She gave me a small smile. “I love you.”
Just a few hours earlier, those words had sent my soul soaring. Now they felt inappropriate. She shouldn’t love me, because I couldn’t love her. It wasn’t how it was meant to be.
I pulled a chair up so I could sit beside her. I needed to study her beautiful face, remember how warm her hands were, memorize her smell.
But I couldn’t protect Grace, and I had to protect myself.
For a moment, I’d allowed myself to love her, thought it possible for me to be loved. I should have known better. I wasn’t strong enough.
I had to walk away.
Chapter Twenty
Grace
I looked down the bed, amused by the different sizes of my legs. I remembered being told my leg would be reset, and then nothing after that until I came around in a different room.
I’d never broken a bone before.
“Are you okay, sweetheart?” my mother asked, holding out a cup of water.
I shook my head. “I’m fine. Where’s Sam?”
My mother glanced at my father on the other side of the bed. He patted my hand. “Just relax.”
“I’m perfectly relaxed. The drugs are taking care of that. Where’s Sam?”
“I don’t know, honey,” my mother said.
He was here; I remembered from before they reset my leg. “Harper?” I asked. “Is he hurt?” She was sitting on a chair by the window, playing with her phone.
She looked up at me and put her cell down. “No. Not at all. I think he went to collect something. I’m not sure. I’ll try to call him.” She stood up and left the room.
Where would he be? The Sam Shaw I knew would want to be right by my side when I woke.
“How are you feeling, darling?” my mother asked me.
“I’m fine, Mom.”
“You’re not fine. We were very worried.”
“I was lucky,” I said. When I was coming back from the anesthetic, I’d heard Harper say that if the car had stopped a few inches later, things would have been much worse.
But it hadn’t and they weren’t.
I had a broken leg that would heal.
The only thing wrong was the fact Sam wasn’t with me.
“Can someone give me my phone?” I asked, trying to move to sit myself up.
“Stay still,” my mom said. “I don’t know where it is. Harper’s gone to call him. You need to concentrate on getting better.”
No one was listening to me. I wanted Sam. “Will they let me go home tonight?” I didn’t like the thought of staying here overnight. Sam and I were supposed to be spending tonight in his apartment. The bed was arriving. Shit. The bed. Had Sam gone to take delivery? Surely he wouldn’t leave me like that. Where was he?
“I don’t think so. They want to keep you here for observation.”
“The nurse said they did a CT scan, so what’s the problem?”
Harper walked back into the room, her eyes glued to the floor.
“Did you speak to him? Where is he?” I asked.
She glanced at my parents and then back at me. Whatever it was that she had to say, she didn’t want to say it in front of my mom and dad.
“Dad, would you mind getting me a magazine or a book or something for me to read when you’re gone?”
“Of course, honey. Your mother and I will go do that now.”
My mom scowled at him. “I’ll stay here. You go.”
He pulled at her elbow, knowing that I wanted to speak to Harper in private. “No, come on, Cynthia. She’ll be fine here with Harper.”
My mother rolled her eyes but grabbed her purse. My dad winked at me. Thank you, I mouthed.
Harper continued to avoid my gaze as my mom and dad left the room, closing the door behind them. As soon as they were gone, I said, “You need to tell me what’s going on. Where’s Sam? Is he okay?”
Harper’s chest rose as she took a deep breath. She finally looked at me as she moved from the chair by the window to the one closer to my bed. “I
don’t know, Grace. I really don’t. I’ve got Max trying to call him.”
“I don’t understand. He was here before, wasn’t he?” I was sure he’d been by my side before my leg had been reset. He’d kissed me on my forehead and held my hand and told me he loved me.
“Yeah, but when he’d seen you he told me that he had to leave.”
“Did he say when he was coming back?”
She shuffled her chair closer and clasped her hand over mine. “I’m sure he’ll be back soon. I think he’s feeling bad about the accident—guilty.”
Why would he be feeling bad? He hadn’t caused it. “It wasn’t his fault.”
“I know,” she said. “But you know how guys are. They like to think they control the universe.” She shrugged. “And they like to protect the people they love.”
And Sam only had Angie and me.
He was feeling bad, not guilty. The accident would have been a trigger for him, bringing back all the memories from when his parents died.
Shit. He would be hurting far more than I was. I needed to see him, to comfort him, make him feel better.
“His parents died in a car accident. It must have brought back some memories for him.” More memories. Connecticut had been hard enough. “Do you have my phone? I need to call him.”
“I don’t. Maybe Sam has it?”
“Harper, I need to see him. Tell him I’m okay. He’s hurting, and he doesn’t have anyone. I need to be there for him.” I needed to get discharged. I tried to pull myself up using the rails of the bed.
“What are you doing?” Harper asked.
“I need to find Sam.”
She stood up and pried my fingers off the bed. “Lie back. You’re not going anywhere. You’ve just been in a serious car accident and you should relax. Are you crazy?”
“Are you?” I asked her right back. “I love him, Harper. I need to find him.”
“He’ll be back. Just give him some time to cool off.”
Something deep in my gut told me that giving Sam time was the last thing I should be doing. If I knew Sam like I thought I did, he was shutting down. Shutting me out. He’d said he’d had no choice in how he felt about me, but what if the accident had changed all that?
“Have you seen my phone?” I asked Harper as she came back into the living room from putting the babies to bed. Harper had collected me from the hospital, insisting I go straight back to Connecticut with her as soon as I’d been discharged.
“Would you like a glass of wine now that you’re just on Tylenol?” In the three days since I’d last seen Sam, I kept expecting him to turn up, explain that he’d had to take delivery of the bed and take me from the hospital.
But he never came.
“Yeah, that would be nice, but have you seen my phone? I thought I had it right here.”
My purse, with my cell and wallet, had been returned to me in the hospital. I wasn’t sure how and I didn’t care enough to question it. I was just grateful to have it back, even if Sam wasn’t answering my calls.
“You think Sam’s phone was damaged in the crash? Maybe that’s why I can’t get through,” I asked as Harper handed me a glass of wine and my cell.
She shrugged. “Even if it was, why wouldn’t he have come back to the hospital?” Harper had stopped asking if I’d heard from him since we’d been back in Connecticut.
“It’s totally understandable that he needed a break from everything after the accident. It must have been a lot to take on considering what happened to his parents and the car crash. Don’t you agree?” I wanted to know he’d come back to me—I needed to know it was going to be okay.
“Do you need a hand?” she asked as I leaned forward.
My stomach lurched at her so obviously avoiding the question. Surely it was understandable that he would freak out. “No,” I said, pushing myself up. “I’m fine when I’m up. It’s just standing in the first place that’s hard. I’m not used to balancing on one leg.” I took a few tentative steps. “Walking on crutches has got to be good for my core, right?” I was trying not to just sit down all the time. The doctors had told me I was going to be in a cast for a couple of months, so I had to get on with my life. I’d hired a temp to keep the gallery open this week, but I wanted to be back at work on Monday.
“Who cares? I don’t have a core. My children ripped it from my body along with my dignity when I gave birth.”
I laughed and then swayed a little on my crutches. “Stop it. You love your girls.”
She grinned. “I do. But they need to understand the price I paid to have them.”
“The problem is when I’m hobbling on crutches, I can’t drink because I have no free hands.” I leaned on one of the kitchen stools by the counter and Harper brought my glass over and sat down. “You think he’s okay? He could have had an accident …”
“I don’t think he’s been in an accident, Grace, and neither do you, if you’re being honest.” She took a sip of her wine.
“You think he’s being an asshole?”
“It’s pretty weird that he’s left without so much as a word. And it’s been days. You’ve been discharged and he’s still not here for you.”
“He’s hurting.”
“Maybe,” she said. “But so are you. This accident could have been a lot worse.”
“But it wasn’t.”
“I just think you should prepare yourself for the fact that you may never hear from him again. He seems like he could be ghosting you.”
A stab of pain hit me in the chest.
“Are you okay?” Harper asked.
I nodded and steadied myself against the counter. She thought Sam’s silence was him walking away. Ending it. For good. I’d just assumed he was hurting and couldn’t share whatever he was going through with me. I’d expected that in a couple of hours or a few days, he’d come around. But I was getting impatient. And Harper clearly thought he wasn’t coming back.
The thought that I may never see him again, speak to him, touch him, kiss him—it was horrifying. I finished off my wine. “Can I get a top up?” I asked. It wasn’t possible, was it? He’d said he would try to build a future with me. That’s what I thought he’d said. He couldn’t, wouldn’t just walk away from that … would he?
“We’re happy together, Harper. Why would you think that he’d just disappear and never want to speak to me again?”
“You know as well as I do that logic doesn’t apply when it comes to men.”
“But Sam’s not like that.” Other than my father, Sam was the best man I’d ever known. He was thoughtful and kind and cared about what should be important in this world. He’d been through so much in his life yet remained decent and honest at his core. He was special. And he loved me. He’d told me and I knew what a huge thing that was. He wouldn’t let me go so easily, would he?
“Come on. We all think they’re not like that until they are. You haven’t known him that long.”
Harper was right, Sam and I hadn’t known each other very long, but she didn’t understand how far we’d come. We were committed to each other—he said he’d try for me. That he wanted to be the man that deserved me.
I knew I just needed to see him, to reassure him. “I need to go to Manhattan,” I said as Harper poured more wine into my glass.
“Let’s see how you feel on Sunday. And when you do go back you should stay at my apartment in the city. Cab fare will be a lot cheaper than if you go to Brooklyn. You can’t take the subway for a while.”
I shouldn’t need to take a cab at all.
Sam was supposed to be hiring a driver.
Why was I having to make plans that didn’t include him?
“I want to go into Manhattan to see Sam.”
“Grace, I don’t think that’s a good idea. He’ll call you or he won’t. You’re in no state to be running after him. You need to be concentrating on getting better.”
“You don’t understand how I feel about him. This is it for me. I will never love any man the way I
love him.” I twisted the stem of my wine glass, the alcohol lapping at the edges, trying to get free. “Will you come with me? Or do you think I’m being such an idiot that—”
“Idiot or not, of course I’ll come with you.”
“Monday then.” Monday would mark a full week since the accident. A full week since I’d seen Sam. “We can go to his office and I can prove you wrong.” I tipped back my glass. “But if you’re right and he’s walking away from me, for whatever reason, then he’s going to have to say it to my face.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Sam
“What is it?” I barked into my phone as I walked into my apartment. I’d spent as little time as possible here since the accident. I couldn’t avoid thinking about Grace when I was here—from the art to the sofa. The place was all about her.
Christ, I could smell her. I thought the scent would have waned by now. Thoughts of her were still as strong as ever, but those I could shut down. I’d done it before and I could do it again. That way I’d survive, and she’d go on to have a happy life without me.
“So you’re not dead. Thank you for finally answering your God damn cell.” Angie had no right to be angry. I was the one who should be pissed.
She’d been calling me and messaging me on and off since the accident. I hadn’t wanted to speak to anyone. I’d needed to be alone. I’d walked from the hospital for hours and hours until I’d found myself at the diner. I vaguely understood that time was passing but it hadn’t applied to me, as I’d disconnected from the rest of Manhattan going about their daily lives.
“I’m busy, Angie. What is it?” I shrugged off my jacket, throwing it on the floor, and went into the kitchen. I was anything but busy. I’d called in sick. I never took any time off, not even for vacation, so no doubt people were starting to get jumpy. I’d have to go back. I put my phone on speaker and found my calendar.
Tomorrow. I’d go back tomorrow. It was Monday and I could just pretend that the last week hadn’t happened. I’d erase it from history.
“Are you fucking kidding me? You and Grace were in a car accident on Monday and you didn’t think to tell me?”
“How did you find out?” I opened the kitchen cabinet and pulled out the first thing capable of holding alcohol.