Take My Breath Away (The Every Breath Duet Book 2)

by Faith Andrews

  “Baby. I’m so sorry.”

  “Sorry?” I asked, laughing as I cried. “What are you sorry for?”

  She clutched my hand, albeit a weak attempt, and started to cry as well. “I’m sorry I scared you like that. I’m so sorry I made you worry.”

  “Oh, Mom.” I lunged forward and wrapped my arms around her as best as I could with her in this position. “I’m just so happy you’re back.”

  The arm that wasn’t tethered to IVs and tubes found its way around my body. She patted my back in soothing strokes, telling me she loved me and coaxing me to stop crying.

  But I couldn’t. I was so damn relieved, but still spooked by the possibility of what could have happened. Over the course of the past few days all I could think about was losing her, and now here she was. I was fully cognizant of how precious life truly was, and being reminded of its fleeting essence rocked me to the core.

  “Come on, baby. It’s okay.” Her raspy whispers were reminiscent of her ever-present motherly ways. The countless times she dried my tears after something as small as scraping a knee to being there for me after losing Hunter.

  “If we’re being honest.” I pulled away from our embrace and wiped my face with my shirt sleeve. “You scared the shit out of me, Ma!”

  She released a slight laugh and then raised her eyebrows. “If we’re being honest, you need a shower.”

  Immediately self-conscious, my fingers crawled into the rat’s nest on top of my head and I bent to sniff my underarms. “That bad, huh?”

  She nodded and scrunched up her nose as if she could actually smell the three-day-old deodorant not doing its job. “But I love you anyway.”

  I laughed it off, shrugging. “Well, you’ll have to deal with it a little while longer because there’s no way I’m leaving until I hear from Doctor Bronson and catch Sam up to speed.”

  At the mention of his name, Mom’s eyes brightened. “How is he? I want to see him. I need to—”

  I pressed a hand to her shoulder, stilling her. “Whoa, hold your horses, there. You just woke up from a coma. You’re not going anywhere. If Sam’s up for a ride in his wheelchair and the doctors say it’s okay, I’ll bring him down here. He’ll be thrilled to see you awake. He’s been worried, too.”

  “Talking about me behind my back, huh?” His voice startled us, but it was a welcome shock.

  “Oh, my God, what are you doing here?” I rushed over to him, bending to his level to kiss him.

  Sam was set to go home in another day or two, pending the progress of his mobility. This morning, he’d tested out the wheelchair for the first time and was dealing with his pain management like a champ. His nurses were amazed by how quickly he was bouncing back, but I knew better than to question it. Sam was the most resilient person I knew. He would do anything to get back on his feet, especially as I needed to lean on him while Mom was in the coma.

  If my eyes could’ve smiled, they would’ve as they scanned him from head to toe. Even in a wheelchair, two days post-op, he was as handsome and virile as ever. Dark stubble shadowed his face, his complexion a healthy olive tone thanks to the remnants of his summer tan. God, I loved him. Not only because he was a knee-buckling sight to look at, but because he was everything and anything I could’ve ever asked for in a man.

  “When I got the news Ella was awake, I had the nurse bring me down. I’ve been waiting two whole days to get my thank you from her and I couldn’t wait any longer.” Sam’s eyes glistened as he chuckled.

  It was the first time either of us had really laughed since before the surgeries. And it felt so damn good to be back to some semblance of normality.

  I gave him one more kiss before walking behind him and wheeling his chair to Mom’s bedside. “Hear that, Mom? He’s come to collect.”

  The moment their eyes connected, my own flooded with tears. They held each other’s hands and smiled, a silent exchange so beautiful, so touching, there was no use even trying to contain my emotions.

  How often did a transplant patient get the opportunity to thank their donor? While it wasn’t unheard of, it was rare. And I wasn’t privy to an ounce of what must’ve been running through either of their minds, but they didn’t have to utter a word because I could sense it. These two would forever be joined, not only by blood, but by faith and gratitude.

  “Thank you seems inadequate,” Mom finally whispered as she cried.

  “Thank you is more than enough,” Sam responded, bringing her hand up to his mouth to kiss it. “How do you feel?”

  “Tired, believe it or not, but . . . different. I’m sure it’s not actually possible, but I can feel it, Sam. I already feel . . . cured. Maybe that makes me sound like a batty old lady, I don’t know.”

  “Doesn’t sound crazy at all. Sounds about right, if you ask me. We’re talking about a quality Goodwin kidney, after all.”

  I laughed away my happy tears as I watched the two of them talk, allowing them this time with each other as a bystander, a witness to the bond that had been created because of Sam’s selflessness and his love.

  By the time the doctors had come and gone to answer our questions and give us a rundown of what to expect going forward—Henry had arrived for the tail end of it—Mom was yawning and Sam was in desperate need of another dose of pain medication.

  I leaned over to kiss my mother good-bye and offer Henry a friendly nudge as I made my way back to Sam. “I’m gonna take him back upstairs and then head home for a shower.”

  “Thank God!” Everyone shouted in unison, all eyes on me.

  “Really, guys?”

  Sam arched a brow and came to my defense. “You are kinda ripe, but you’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

  I wheeled him out into the hallway and started toward the elevator. “Yeah, whatever. Can’t say I’m not looking forward to washing these days away for good.”

  “And I can’t say I don’t wish I could be there to help.”

  “Easy, Samuel. You have quite a way to go before you should even think about anything like that.”

  “Sureeee. Thinking about all the things I want to do to you is nowhere on my list of restrictions. Neither are naked sponge baths, foot rubs, or strip teases.”

  From the sound of the snickers coming from the nurses’ station, I could tell at least one of them had overheard our conversation. “Oh my God. Would you shush? They heard you.” I picked up the pace and rolled him through the open door of the elevator.

  “So?” he chided. “You think I care what anyone hears? I’m not done screaming it from the rooftops yet, babe. London Monroe is mine! You hear that, everyone? This gorgeous woman is all mine!” His fists were in the air, his voice loud and over-enthusiastic.

  “Lotta good that’s doing you.” I giggled. “We’re in an empty elevator.”

  “You’re here,” he said, commanding my attention with his loving gaze and a strong squeeze of my hand. “That’s all that matters. And I want you to hear me loud and clear because now that all of our worries are behind us and the surgeries are done, there will be nothing but smooth sailing from here on out. I’m not letting anything or anyone hold us back. If you thought I was wild about you before, just wait until I get my clean bill of health. You better save up your sick days and vacation time. I’m banking on at least one uninterrupted week with you . . . all to myself.”

  God, did I love the sound of that. It already felt like ages since his hands were on my body. “Don’t you wish we could fast forward? I’m so ready to be back in your arms and to put this all behind us.”

  Oddly enough, up until that very moment, I almost forgot about Memphis and Hunter coming back to town. Part of me thought about mentioning it to Sam now, seeing as he was recovering so remarkably. But the rest of me needed to selfishly enjoy this tiny bit of relief for a little while longer.

  Because truth be told, as happy and relieved as I was, I had this insistent nagging feeling that Sam was wrong.

  It should’ve been nothing but smoot
h sailing and clear skies from here on out. I wanted that, we all deserved that. But I knew the second Memphis stepped back onto New Bedford soil with Hunter, the shit would surely hit the fan.

  London

  MOM NEEDED A few things from her house, and although I was dying to take a shower in my own house as I hadn’t seen the inside of one in three days, I couldn’t be picky about where I showered.

  I took in all the mail, opened the first floor windows to let in fresh air, and then tuned the Pandora app on my phone to one of my favorite stations. Shedding my clothes, I kicked the ball of clothing to the corner of the bathroom and stepped under the steaming hot stream of water with a long sigh.

  “Oh my God, this feels good.”

  I stood directly under the showerhead for at least ten minutes before even thinking of doing anything else. The steady flow of the water and its perfect temperature hypnotized me into a deep, far off daze. How amazing it was to clear my head into a blank slate with nothing weighing on my mind. I knew it was only temporary, but I basked in it. I deserved that much after everything I’d been faced with.

  Taking my time, I shampooed and conditioned my hair . . . twice. I lathered and shaved my legs with slow and careful precision, even reaching beyond my knees and all the way up my thighs. Squeezing an absurd amount of cherry blossom body wash onto a loofa, I washed every nook and cranny of my body until I was certain there wasn’t a single trace of hospital on any particle of my skin.

  By the time the water started to cool, I was renewed. Thankfully, I had left a few items of clothing behind when I moved into the house with Sam. So, I dried off and dressed in a pair of clean black leggings and an oversized sweatshirt that hung off one of my shoulders.

  Sam always commented on how he loved my casual, lazy-weekend look. I brushed my wet hair and parted it down the middle, deciding to let it air-dry so it fell into natural waves the way Sam liked it best.

  I smiled at myself in the full length mirror, imagining the softness of his lips on my bare shoulder, almost feeling the way his stubble tickled my skin when he kissed the coveted spot.

  Maybe Sam had been right. Maybe there was no reason to worry now that the surgeries were over and they were both on the road to recovery. As for everything else, Hunter would’ve eventually learned about Sam and me, and Memphis was sure to return home at some point, too. So what if they were coming together, under not-so-perfect circumstances? I’d survived so much turmoil over the last year, at this point I was certain I could handle anything life threw my way. Especially now that I had Sam. Of course, I’d always had him, but it was different now. Now we were together, and I was certain his love was enough to help me overcome any conflict, no matter how big or small.

  As I hung up my towels, I ignored the tired ache of my bones. How I longed for a few hours to lounge around the house and relax, but I was eager to get back to Sam and Mom. Although neither of them would begrudge me the tiny break, I couldn’t shake the guilt of not being there with them. If the shoe were on the other foot, I was sure Sam would’ve camped out next to me every second of my stay in the hospital. He was loyal like that. I wanted to prove that kind of loyalty to him, too.

  Backtracking through the house, I tidied up the bathroom, grabbed some clean clothes and an unread book from her nightstand for Mom, and shut off all the upstairs lights. I decided to make myself something to eat before heading to my house for some things to hold Sam over until he was discharged in another day or two.

  I scrolled through my phone as I devoured the last piece of a lasagna I found in the fridge and warmed up. Just as I got up to wash my plate, the doorbell rang, surprising me.

  Everyone knew about the surgery—well, everyone important to us. I wondered if I should ignore it, as it was probably a solicitor. But what if it was a delivery? Mom had a little obsession with online shopping and her doorstep was constantly littered with random boxes. I imagined she’d clicked and ordered to her heart’s content before being admitted into the hospital, so I headed for the door with a smile, ready to thank the delivery man and sign for Mom’s package.

  Only, when I swung the door open there was no delivery man, nor was there any package to sign for. No, standing on my mother’s doorstep staring back at me was none other than my ex-husband, whom I hadn’t locked eyes with in over a year.

  “Hunter?” I gasped, so many long-forgotten but familiar emotions flooding me at once.

  “Hey, Lon.” He flashed a crooked smile—the same crooked smile that used to melt my clothes clear off my body. But it was forced; he did it out of habit. It didn’t have the same charming effect, and I couldn’t focus on that smile because the rest of his face was covered in blotchy, yellowing bruises. And his eyes . . . they looked so damn tired, sunken in with purple bags beneath them. Those beautiful blue eyes I used to love so much lacked the luster they once had, the mischief I fell for, the liveliness that used to jump out at me with just one look.

  My breath was trapped in my lungs as I took in the sight of him, disheveled, lost, different.

  “What are you . . . what happened to your . . . why are you . . . ?” I had so many questions and yet I couldn’t seem to get any of them out. I was afraid to know the truth and even more afraid because I cared to know the truth. It was obvious he’d been beaten—we’re in trouble—but by whom? And why? I wasn’t supposed to care about the answers to those questions. How Hunter spent his time no longer concerned me. Hunter no longer concerned me. We were divorced and I was in love with another man. He couldn’t have forgotten about one, but there was no way he could’ve known about the other.

  Hunter shook his head and then looked down at his feet. Returning his gaze to me, he asked, “Didn’t Memphis tell you we were on our way?”

  I clenched my teeth and sucked a deep breath in through my nose, remembering the abrupt nature of Memphis’s call and how he managed to suck me into this “trouble” just by coming back and bringing Hunter with him.

  Suddenly, I was angry. Did either of them consider what seeing Hunter this way would do to me? Did either of them care that my sanity had been tested time and time again in the last eighteen months? Did either of them even give a shit about me at all?

  “Of course, he did. How could I forget? But then again, I kind of gave up hope . . . like I always do when it comes to my brother. I just assumed he flaked on me . . . again.”

  Hunter dragged a hand through his now chin-length hair. It hadn’t been this long since high school. I cried when he cut it the first time, sad that I could no longer run my fingers through the thick blond waves. Those days seemed like another lifetime ago. Hell, everything about Hunter seemed to have happened in another lifetime. It was almost as if his ghost was standing in front of me rather than an actual person. A person I used to love with every ounce of my soul. A person who was now a stranger. An unwelcome one, at that.

  “What do you want, Hunter? Why did you come back?”

  I heard the hard swallow of saliva, saw his Adam’s apple bob with the motion. “Do you really want to talk about this here, on your doorstep? Won’t you let me in?”

  “It’s not my doorstep anymore,” I corrected him as a surge of spiteful defiance came over me. “I moved out a few months ago. I have my own place now.”

  My admission shocked him. I could tell by the way his jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed into tiny disbelieving slits. And that flicker of remorse in his gaze, that was impossible to miss, too. “Well, that’s . . . wonderful, London. I’m . . . happy for you.”

  Oh, yeah? Was he really? Would he be happy when he found out who I was living with? That Sam and I were together now?

  I wanted to tell him right then and there. I wanted him to hurt the way he hurt me when he ruined our marriage and drained our savings, leaving me with nothing but debt and a broken fucking heart.

  But I owed it to Sam to not cheapen the way I told Hunter about us. I had to do this the right way, even if it meant swallowing my anger, pushing away the hurt, and being th
e bigger person.

  “Come in, Hunter,” I said on a huff. “But you can’t say long. I have to get back to the hospital.”

  Hunter had sat at my mother’s kitchen table more times over the course of the last ten years than I could even count. But this was the first time I felt alarmingly uncomfortable. More so even than when my mother invited him over for dinner after he asked me to be his girlfriend.

  My ex-husband had been my brother’s best friend first. Long before the days of playing footsy underneath the table or sneaking winks at each other behind my mother’s back, Hunter sat at this table with Memphis to share an after school snack or a slice of pizza following a baseball game.

  I hadn’t been around for any of those visits, however. Those were the days when Sam and I were inseparable. Which was kind of funny when I thought about that now. History was repeating itself, just in a more potent form.

  Today, as I stared back at him, a different version of his former self, I felt the urge to say so much and yet my tongue was tied, an invisible force knotting the muscle so words had no power to be spoken.

  “You seem . . . different,” Hunter said as he sipped on a glass of sweet tea. Mom always kept a pitcher of the drink in our fridge, making it a staple in the Monroe household for as long as I could remember.

  I was sure that irony was not lost on Hunter. But the taste of the ice-cold beverage was the only familiarity in this situation. Everything else was vastly different. Including me. Like he’d noticed.

  “That’s because I am, Hunter. A divorce will do that to you. You’re plenty different yourself, and I’m not only talking about your appearance.” At first glance when I opened the door to him, he looked tired and worn out. But as I examined him now—the bruises, the overgrown hair, the slump in his posture, the grief in his eyes—it was clear that I wasn’t the only one who’d been through a hell of a year. There was no denying he’d been through a lot, too. More than he was admitting. Was that the reason he was here? For my pity? Or for my help?