The Promise of Everything - Garner-Willoughby Brothers Book Three

by Blaire Broderick

  “I’m glad you and Jude got to reunite,” she said.

  “I wish I could’ve seen Julian one last time,” I said, my voice catching in my throat as I began to choke up.

  “I’m sure he was there in spirit.”

  “I’m sure he was.”

  “You did the right thing, you know,” she said, wrapping her arm around mine and leaning in. She rested her head on my shoulder as I drove into the night. “Coming here. Saying goodbye to your mom. Reuniting with your brother.”

  “I never would’ve done any of that without you,” I said. I’d have kept my walls up and cut my losses. I knew that much about myself. “Thank you.”

  She sighed. “We’re really good for each other, you know that?”

  “I know.”

  25

  SOPHIE

  Two days later, we’d returned from Kansas and welcomed our normal routines with open arms.

  “See you tonight,” Jamison said as he slipped his coat around his shoulders and grabbed his coffee off the island. His eyes took me in greedily as if he suddenly recalled our quick roll in the hay before bedtime the previous night. I squeezed my legs to fight my arousal knowing full well I’d be torturing myself for the next ten hours.

  “You’re going to be late,” I said, tossing him a knowing smirk and brushing my hair from my eyes. He leaned in for a kiss leaving a hint of coffee on my lips.

  The second he left, I headed to the bathroom to get ready for work. As soon as water spurted from the showerhead, my head began to pound. I stood in front of the bathroom mirror gripping the sink as my reflection faded in and out. My heart began to race as my stomach churned. A million horrible what-if scenarios flashed through my mind.

  I rushed to the kitchen, my eyes squinting as I ransacked my cabinets for my meds.

  I haven’t taken them yet today. Maybe that’s it.

  The base of my skull throbbed as if someone had sliced a hot knife right through me. I fought off the tears that wanted to flow as I realized how alone and helpless I was in that moment. Had Jamison left a few minutes later, he’d have been there with me.

  I unscrewed the cap and counted out two pills using my fingertips before washing them down with a glass of tap water. I reached for my phone, fingers shaking as I dialed Mia.

  I cleared my throat and took a deep breath not wanting to alarm her when I told her I wouldn’t be coming in that day. In all our years working together, I’d never called in, and I’d only ever missed work because of surgery.

  “Hey, I’m not coming in today,” I told her, banning all emotion from my voice.

  “What? What’s wrong?” Mia knew.

  “My head is throbbing. I have an appointment later today, but I’m going to call and see if they’ll take me earlier,” I said. “I’ll keep you posted.”

  “What does Jamison say?”

  “I haven’t told him yet,” I said. “He’s probably on the train to Brooklyn, anyway. I’ll text him in a minute.”

  “Jesus, Sophie,” Mia sighed. “I’ll close down the gallery. I’m coming over.”

  “No, no,” I insisted. “I’ll be fine.”

  I set my phone down and lifted my hand to the part of my head that felt like it was on fire. The space around me began to dim as pain radiated from the back of my head, and my vision became even more clouded.

  The room darkened even more, and I squinted my eyes in vain as if that would help me see better. My arms flew out to the space around me, clinging to the familiar hardness of my kitchen island and feeling around for my phone.

  Dark.

  Darker.

  Darkness.

  Just like that, my vision had left. My eyes widened, repeatedly blinking as if each new blink would remove the blackness. I collapsed to the floor in a heap of despair having never felt so helpless in my life. The last time my vision had faded, it came back with the help of Bledsoe’s meds. Bledsoe said I was lucky, and he compared it to a check engine light. I remembered laughing at his analogy at the time as if I’d somehow skirted past danger and slid safely into home.

  Wet teardrops fell landing on the flesh of my hands and making them cold and itchy. I wiped them on my pants and felt around for something solid to pull myself up with. I gripped a barstool with both hands and steadied myself up standing slowly and leaning against the island.

  In the stark darkness, I tried to remember how many paces it would take to get to my bed. My place was a mess. Even living with Jamison hadn’t changed that, though I suspected his Type-A tendencies would only put up with it for so long. Even if I tried to feel my way back across the room to my bed, I’d surely trip over a heap of dirty laundry or a pile of shoes or a box of old paint supplies resting in my path.

  My fingers traced the smooth glass top of my phone. Without my vision, I’d have no way of knowing who the hell I was calling or what buttons I was pushing. I pressed and held the voice command button.

  “Call Jamison.” My voice was shaky, hardly recognizable, and tinged with ripe fear that sent my nerves into overdrive.

  My phone didn’t understand me. I tried again.

  “Call Jamison.” I forced ice water through my veins, keeping my voice stoic and monotone. Within seconds, it was ringing.

  “Sophie?” he answered after four long rings. “I’m just heading into the hospital. Everything all right?”

  The sound of his voice, so comforting and strong, made me lose it. “Jamison?”

  My voice shook, and my thoughts wobbled. I slid down to the ground again fearing I’d fall over if I weren’t careful.

  “I can’t see.” Three words. Three terrifying, earth-shattering little words.

  Enveloped in a cocoon of void, I felt myself unraveling. My senses heightened as my fingers raked the hard floor, and hot tears trailed down my cheeks.

  “What do you mean, you can’t see?” I heard fear in his voice as well.

  “Everything’s… black.”

  “I’m coming home. Don’t move.” An audible beep told me he’d ended the call, and the tiniest sliver of relief washed over me at the thought of him coming to save me.

  Each long minute that ticked by brought another horrid scenario playing out in my mind. The darkest part of me, the part I kept hidden away, the part I rarely brought out for others to see, was taking hold and slowly sinking its gnarly teeth into me.

  This is what you get.

  It’s karma.

  You don’t deserve happiness.

  You don’t deserve a happy ending.

  You’re finally going to die…

  I gasped for air as unrecognizable sobs escaped my mouth. I lay on the scuffed floor of my loft scratching my fingers into the wood until the white of my nails bent back, and my fingertips became numb. I cried until my throat was raw and my tonsils ached, and I cried until I’d drained every last ounce of energy that remained in my tired bones.

  Eventually, the metallic din of a key entering the lock and the door handle rattling open jerked my attention toward the direction of the sounds. I wasn’t sure how long it had been. The minutes had all blurred together into one never-ending loop of pitch-black infinity.

  “Sophie. Oh, God.” It was Jamison. His footsteps were steadfast and grew nearer with each second, and eventually, his arms hooked under mine and raised me up into a standing position like a strongman lifting a paper doll. The sensation of his hand sweeping across my cheeks and wiping away tracks of dried tears made my chest burn. If desperation were a tangible object, it resided in the thumping of my stinging heart. I wanted to see his face. I wanted to take solace in his pale blue eyes the way I always did when I was quietly feeling low. “I’ve called the hospital. They’re expecting you. I’ve got a cab downstairs.”

  I clung to his arm, my nails digging into hard muscle as he escorted me down the stairs and out the lobby where sounds of a busy city sidewalk, chirping songbirds, and the harmony of morning traffic casually reminded me that life was still going on.

  “Careful now
,” he said, shielding the top of my head with his hand as he guided me into the back of the cab. He crawled in next to me and took my hands as the cab jerked forward pressing me backward into the seat. Warm sunlight beat through the window beside me and heated my skin, but it may as well have been midnight outside. “We’ll be there soon, Sophie.”

  “Spinal tap?” I asked, turning to the direction of Jamison’s voice.

  “I’m sorry, Sophie,” he said. “That’s what Dr. Bledsoe is ordering. It’s what I’d order for you, too, if I were your attending.”

  “Can you go with me?” I asked, hating the childish whine in my voice.

  “I can’t. You know that.” He reached down taking my hands in his and lifting them to his lips as if he could calm me. “Everything will be okay. I’m not leaving your side.”

  “God, you’re going to lose your job because of me,” I huffed.

  “You shouldn’t be worrying about that right now. Let’s focus on finding out what’s going on.”

  “All right, Miss Salinger, I’ve come to take you back,” a woman’s voice said from the foot of the bed. My heart raced. I may have been seeing black, but in my mind’s eye, all I could picture was a huge needle puncturing my spine and sucking out fluid. I wanted to throw up. I wanted to pass out.

  The nurse led me to a procedure room where she laid me flat on my stomach and pulled apart the back of my gown.

  “All right,” she said. “I’m going to clean off your skin, and we’ll be giving you an injection of localized anesthetic.”

  I heard the ripping of packets and towelettes and smelled the strong scent of rubbing alcohol as she and a man exchanged quiet words. The procedure ended as soon as it began, and the nurse told me to lay flat for an hour.

  One more hour until I could be with Jamison.

  “I called your parents,” he said later that night as he spoon-fed me some god-awful lime Jell-O. I wasn’t allowed to eat or drink much as they might have to wheel me back for surgery at a moment’s notice. “They’re on their way in.”

  “Thank you,” I said, hoping they weren’t freaking out but knowing they probably were.

  “I also called my father,” Jamison said, clearing his throat as if the mere mention of Dr. Jim Fowler still made him nervous. “He’s flying in tonight in case you need surgery. He should be here any minute.”

  “Really?” I asked, humbled by the fact that he’d call in another favor from his father, and also by the fact that his father was a busy man making time for me once more.

  “He’s been working on some research lately,” Jamison said. “He’s not seeing patients right now, so he didn’t have to miss any appointments.”

  “Let me guess, he made all of this very clear to you.”

  “You know him as well as I do,” Jamison said.

  “Still, very nice of him.” I silently wondered if Dr. Fowler’s effort was more of a peace offering to Jamison than a valiant attempt to save the day.

  “Hello, Sophie. Dr. Garner.” I’d recognize Bledsoe’s voice anywhere. “Sophie, how you feeling?”

  “I’ve been better,” I said dryly. “Wish I had my vision…”

  “So, we got the results of your spinal tap,” he said. “It seems your aneurysm is bleeding, so we’re going to be taking you back for surgery here shortly. Dr. Fowler is in the building, and he’s just gone over your results. The OR is being prepped, and Dr. Fowler will be performing the surgical clipping procedure I’d told you about before. Do you remember that?”

  I remembered being in a daze when he was going over everything. That was about it.

  “This is where they’ll have to remove part of your skull…” Jamison said. We’d discussed treatment options before as well, but I’d always tuned him out the moment he went into detail about how things were performed. He didn’t mean to upset me. It was just the way his surgeon’s brain worked.

  “Will I get my vision back?” I asked. At that point, I was willing to do whatever it took. I wanted to see again. I wanted to paint. To stare into Jamison’s eyes. To live the life I’d been meant to live.

  “You should,” Bledsoe said. “The hope is that if we stop the subarachnoid hemorrhaging, it should release the pressure on your optical nerve and restore your eyesight.”

  Jamison squeezed my hand. “It’s going to be fine, Sophie. This is a common procedure. My father can do this in his sleep. I could, too.”

  I blinked away tears, afraid I might go to sleep and never wake up to Jamison again.

  “I’ll be here when you get back,” he said. “Promise.”

  My eyelids parted and the back of my skull radiated with remnants of surgical pain. Fluorescent light filled my pupils, and I scrunched my eyes. My hand shot up to shield them but got caught on a wire hooked to a machine.

  “Welcome back, Sophie,” a nurse with gray hair and kind eyes said as she recorded my vitals. “Surgery went well. You’re in the recovery unit, but we’ll be moving you to the NSICU soon. Your family is here. Dr. Fowler is talking to them now.”

  I stared around the room never so grateful to see the stale white of a hospital room in my life.

  “Where’s Jamison?” I asked, my mouth parched beyond belief.

  “Only nurses and attendings are allowed in recovery,” she said. “You’ll spend twenty-four hours in the NSICU, and then we’ll move you to an inpatient room in our neuro unit. You can have visitors after that.”

  “So, I have to go another day without seeing anyone?”

  “I’m sorry, sweetie,” she said. “It’s protocol.”

  “How’s our patient of the hour doing?” a man’s voice said bringing a new level of energy into the room. For a second, he almost looked like my Jamison.

  “Dr. Fowler, she just woke up,” the nurse said, nearly giddy in his presence, which reminded me of what a big shot he was in the world of neurosurgery.

  He came to my bedside staring down at me with a reserved smile. “You did well. Surgery went well. You’re going to be as good as new in a few weeks.”

  “A few weeks?” I asked.

  “You’ll be spending at least two or three weeks in the neuro unit, sweetie,” the nurse said before flitting back to the computer and typing in more notes.

  “Jamison will take good care of you,” Dr. Fowler said. “He’s a good doctor.”

  I couldn’t wait to tell Jamison what his father had said. Even something as simple as that would mean the world to him.

  “He’s a very good doctor,” I said, staring up into his eyes which held the same shape as Jamison’s. “You should tell him that once in a while.”

  Dr. Fowler laughed. “I’m sure he knows.”

  “It’s still nice to hear it, especially from someone he looks up to so much.”

  Dr. Fowler’s smile faded, and for the first time, I suspected someone was telling him something he didn’t already know. “Really? He looks up to me?”

  I rolled my eyes and threw him a half-smile. My energy was fading, and I wanted to sleep.

  He placed his hand over mine, the way Jamison sometimes did when he couldn’t find the right words, and I got the feeling he wasn’t usually this warm toward his patients.

  “You need to rest now,” he said. “Jamison needs you.”

  I wanted to tell him Jamison needed him, too, but by the time I summoned the energy to speak again, he was gone.

  26

  JAMISON

  “Welcome home,” I said, leading Sophie back into the apartment she hadn’t seen in over three weeks.

  “Feels good to be back,” she said, carefully stepping in.

  I pulled her coat off her shoulders and took her bag. “Take it easy, Sophie. You’re going to be off work for another couple of weeks. It’s very important that you take things slow until your next follow-up.”

  She blew her hair from her face and rolled her eyes. She hated being slowed down, and she’d been itching to paint something new for weeks.

  “Doctor’s orders,” I sai
d.

  She shuffled to the sofa, gently lowering herself and kicking her feet up as I tended to a knock on the door which ushered in Mia.

  “How’re you feeling?” she asked as she made a beeline for Sophie. She’d visited in the hospital several times but covering the gallery had kept her away more than she’d have liked.

  “Good,” Sophie said, her eyes lighting in Mia’s presence. “Ready for things to get back to normal.”

  “I have some news.” Mia bit the tip of her manicured nail before turning to me. “Jamison, do you think she can handle some excitement right now?”

  Sophie’s eyes pleaded with mine.

  I smirked knowing full well what the news was. “I’ll allow it.”

  “So, all of your paintings have been purchased,” Mia said, bouncing up and down.

  “By who?”

  “Mayo Clinic,” Mia said. “A doctor named Fowler came in and wanted to buy every last Sophie Salinger original we had hanging in the gallery. He’s going to put them in his neurology research facility.”

  Sophie stared over at me, and I nodded, validating Mia’s story.

  “He wrote me the check for a hundred grand and everything,” Mia said. “I’ll need your help shipping them… when you’re better, of course.”

  Sophie sat, beaming but stunned. “I’ll have to thank him in person. What would make him want to help me out like that?”

  I wasn’t sure what Sophie said to him after her surgery, but whatever it was brought out a different side of my father. He stuck around a bit after her procedure, and in the twenty-four hours she spent in the NSICU, my father palled around the city with me, catching up on decades-worth of the things he’d missed.

  I stepped aside letting Sophie and Mia catch up as I made myself busy and counted down the hours until I could have Sophie all to myself again.

  The second Mia left, I settled in on the sofa next to Sophie and placed her feet in my lap. “Glad you’re back.”