Because sometime during the night, through a haze of muddled thoughts and half-dreams, I allowed myself to admit that I’m a good writer. With or without Niles Russell’s influence. For sure, this sounds ridiculous because if I weren’t a good writer, I wouldn’t have gotten published, right? Well, that rationalization doesn’t matter when you’re an artist. You can create something gorgeous one day, then two breaths later hate every single thing you’ve ever done. It just goes with the territory, and it can be very debilitating when you let it.
Like with Niles and his new album.
But instead of freaking out like he did, I’ve decided to turn this completely around. Erin says my fans are getting impatient for Book Two. So, I’m going to give them Book Two. And it’s going to be the best damn book I can write because I’m going to take all the good and the bad that’s happened over the past few weeks and craft it into a story people can relate to—but with the much flashier personalities and circumstances of Nash and Emily.
This book doesn’t have to be a journal of the experiences between Niles and me. It just has to be a story I want to tell and that others will want to read. That’s it. Nothing more, nothing less.
So, I’ll do it.
I sit on the porch and flip open my laptop’s lid, positioning my fingers over the keys so the magic can begin. It doesn’t. I reread some of my particularly inspired earlier paragraphs. Still nothing. I get up and run three laps around the cabin, thinking maybe I just need to get some blood flowing. I try to draw inspiration from the trees, the birds, the rustling of critters in the woods. Zip, nada, nothing, zilch.
What the heck is wrong with me? Why can’t I get my shit together? It’s just a story. It’s just words. I know Nash and Emily better than I know Niles . . . or myself.
Or do I?
What would my readers want right now? Love. They’d want love. Maybe some hope and a dash of passionate excitement.
But what am I experiencing right now? Heartache. And lots of it.
Super.
Okay, sitting here is useless. Maybe a walk to the little coffee shop I passed on the way up will help. I head inside to spruce up and grab some cash. Out of habit, I reach for my phone and check for messages. I must finally have good reception because there are plenty from the usual suspects (Sara, department stores, coupon sites, and now the local media), but none from Niles. I notice there is a voicemail, though, and figuring it must be Lucy following up on an email (which asked me to call her so she can debrief me on the marketing meeting), I dial in.
I hold the phone with my shoulder and pull the door closed behind me, growing more excited about my impending coffee walk by the moment. (Coffee! Yay!) My excitement doesn’t last long, though. Because although the voicemail is scratchy and barely audible, there is no question I hear a panic-stricken male voice gasping into the phone pleadingly and hauntingly.
“Kallie?” it says. “You need to get here immediately. It’s Jilly. She’s been in an accident.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Baby, Mine
I play the voicemail again. And again. And once more. There is no mistaking—it’s Brad’s voice and he’s telling me that our daughter is hurt. Oh my God.
With hands so shaky I can barely poke the keys on my dial pad, I call him back. My ears are met with incessant ringing, but no human voice to interrupt it. I immediately consider which hospitals are near Brad’s parents’ and grab my car keys in preparation to leave.
But without Brad answering, I have no idea where to go. Why isn’t he answering?
Wait. What if he’s just messing with me? Maybe he got really drunk last night and decided to yank my chain. That’s probably why his voice sounds so weird. And who knows what time this voicemail came in? Maybe this is his way of getting back at me because of those photos. He knows that the one thing that will punch me in the gut is my children. He wouldn’t do that, though, would he? Maybe. The way he’s been talking to me lately, I guess it’s not out of the question. And I swear, if that’s what this is, I’ll strangle him with my bare hands. I absolutely swear I will.
I dial his number again and again, until he finally picks up, breathless.
“Kallie, poor Jilly.” He’s definitely crying. This must be for real—and really bad.
“What’s wrong with her?” I fire. Every nerve in my body is shaking. My lips can barely move.
“We were horseback riding. You know how she loves that. He bucked and she fell off. She hit her head on a fence post on the way down. Knocked her out cold. Taking X-rays for broken bones. She’s in rough shape, Kallie.”
As a parent, there is nothing worse than hearing your child is hurt. And not knowing the extent of it is crippling. Is she conscious now? Is her body broken? All I can think about is my itty-bitty seven-year-old, one of the smallest in her class. There’s no way she could come out of a fall like that unscathed. This is serious.
“Where is she? Which hospital? Is she conscious now?”
“Duke. They took her right to Duke. And no, she’s not conscious. How fast can you get here? Where the hell even are you?”
I pause.
“I’m here,” I say, the guilt rising to the top of my voice. “I’m about an hour from your parents. Let me Google directions to Duke and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Wait, what? What do you mean you’re an hour from my parents? You’re here? In North Carolina?” With every sentence, Brad’s voice rises higher and higher.
“I just got here last night. Rented a cabin in the woods to get some writing done. I was planning to call you next week. To meet up with the girls.”
“So you’re telling me you’re in the fucking mountains right now and you didn’t bother to tell us? Oh wait, that shouldn’t be a big surprise considering you’ve been all over the East Coast and the only way we knew that is because the big mouths at home saw it in the freaking tabloids!”
“Brad . . .”
“And you were going to call us next week? What exactly were you going to do the other week? Oh yeah, write. Pfft. I highly doubt that. More like you were going to tag your rock star boyfriend where no one could see you or take your pictures and splash your lovesick faces all over the fucking Internet.”
“Brad!” I don’t know if I expected him to be thrilled that I’m nearby or what, but I certainly didn’t expect him to flip out. And I really, really didn’t expect to discuss Niles right now. My freaking daughter is injured. Christ.
“You really are a piece of work, Kallie. What happened to you? You are not the girl you used to be.”
I blink in disbelief. Well, no shit I am not the girl I used to be. That was the exact reason for ending our marriage. But none of that is here nor there right now. Not one bit.
“Brad, our daughter is hurt. Can we concentrate on that please?”
“Right, keep denying it, Kallie. As if I haven’t seen and heard all about your steamy little romance. It’s sickening.”
“I’m not denying anything, Brad. What I am saying is that I do not give one single fig about any of that right now. I want to get off this phone and get in the car to see my daughter. Now, text me later with her room number. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
I hang up on him and immediately Google directions to the hospital. I stagger out to my car, only narrowly remembering to grab my purse on the way. I try so hard not to cry because I know tear-clouded eyes are not good while navigating down a mountain road. My fears are so secondary, however.
Getting to my baby is all that matters.
***
I walk into her room and see her little body, all tucked into a sterile bed that’s not her own. Her blonde hair, which has gotten even lighter from the summer sun, frames her face on the pillow beneath her. There’s an IV running into the top of her little hand and machines that are making pumping and bleeping sounds. Her eyes are closed and her face, though scratched and puffy, is sweet and peaceful.
“Baby girl.” I reach out my hand, but am afra
id to touch her. She looks so fragile, as if a gust of wind could shatter her into pieces.
“You made it,” Brad says, walking in behind me. He extends his arms like he wants to hug me, but drops them immediately.
“She looks awful,” I say, looking up at him. “What’s going on?” I want to ask prodding questions, get more details, formulate intelligent sentences, but as usual, my tongue does not cooperate.
“Couple broken ribs, possible fractured pelvis. Arms are fine, surprisingly. The big worry is the blow to her head. They’re keeping her heavily sedated for now until all the tests have come back.”
My poor, sweet little daughter.
Brad moves closer to me and puts his hand on top of mine, which is resting on the bedrail. It’s warm and scratchy, just like I remember. “I’m glad you got here as fast as you did. She needs her mama.”
Those words send my tear ducts into overdrive. She does need her mama. Thank God I was close. Thank God I could get here so quickly.
“What now?” I ask. “What’s next?”
“More testing, more waiting. That’s all they can do.”
I wiggle my hand out from underneath his and run the backs of my fingers along my daughter’s cheek. “She’s such a good girl,” I whisper. “She’s a fighter. She’ll be just fine.” I feel tears slip down my cheeks and make no effort to wipe them away. “Right, Jilly?” I sniff. “You’re going to be just fine, sweet love. Right?”
Brad turns me and pulls me into a hug. I want to resist it, but I don’t. It feels odd but comfortable at the same time. I allow my face to rest against the same grubby T-shirt he’s had for years and squeeze my eyes shut in an attempt to stop the tears. I envision my daughter springing up in bed, healthy, and raring to go. I envision all of this being a dream. A bad one. I envision walking out of here, holding her hand, setting us free from this nightmare.
“What do you see in him, Kallie?” Brad whispers, interrupting my thoughts.
“What?” I try to pull away, but he pulls me in closer.
“Is he really worth losing your family over? We miss you.”
“Brad . . .” Is he seriously bringing up Niles right now? I can’t believe this.
“I can’t help but think this was maybe meant to be. Our daughter getting hurt while you’re only two hours away. This has to be a sign. Or some cosmic intervention or something. Don’t you see it that way, too?”
I straighten up as though someone just poked me with a cattle prod. “Do I think that our daughter getting bucked off a horse is a sign that we’re meant to be a family again?” Though I wish it wouldn’t, my voice rises. “No, I don’t! How could I? This has nothing to do with us, Brad. She’s a sweet little girl whose body is a broken mess. How does that have anything to do with you or me or Niles or anyone? It doesn’t!”
I pull away from him and sink down into the recliner that flanks Jillian’s bed. “You lambaste me over text for weeks, and on the phone just two hours ago, and now you’re trying to tell me this is a sign that we should all be together again?” I shake my head. “Unbelievable.”
He doesn’t respond.
“Our daughter is what’s important right now, Brad. This really is not an appropriate time to talk about anything else.”
“I bet if you think about it long enough, you’ll see what I mean.” He rests his hand on my shoulder. “She needs you home. We all do. You got to live your little fantasy. You got to follow him around like a puppy, have your picture all over the Internet, and make all the small-town mothers jealous. Now it’s about time for you to come back to us.”
“Brad,” I say quietly, “there really is no us.” I raise my eyes to meet his, expecting to see anger. But he looks nothing but sincere. My heart tugs a little.
When he again says nothing in return, I shake my shoulder from his grip and stand. “Can I have some time alone with her?”
“Of course. Alana and my mom are in the waiting room. I’ll go sit with them.” I nod. “And Kallie?”
“Yeah?”
“You don’t need to make any decisions right now. Just think about it.”
I close my eyes in an effort to show him exactly how much I want to be having this conversation right now. Or ever. I’m livid. How can he even be thinking this way at all, let alone when our daughter is lying here, unconscious? And why on Earth would he think I’d flip a switch and come crawling back? Why would he even want me? He truly seems to think that Niles is the impetus behind our split, but that’s simply not the truth. There’s so much more to it. How have I failed in showing him that?
I open my eyes and narrow them. “Can you go? And send Alana in after a few minutes. Please?”
“Yeah. Sure.” He tries to put his hands on my shoulders again, but I’ve already turned away from him.
When he’s gone, my eyes take in my daughter, lying still, completely oblivious that her mother is by her side. I should have been with her all along, shouldn’t I? I should have seen the horse getting agitated, yelled for Jilly to hold tighter, zoomed through the air to catch her with my SuperMom arms. What kind of mother am I?
“I’m so sorry, my love,” I whisper. “Mama should have been there.” I squeeze her little hand and swear I see her eyelids flicker. “Atta, girl. Come on back to us, Jilly. You can do it. We need to get you out of here.” I pull my fingers gently through her hair. “It’s time to get you out of here.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Dream Weaver
I am certain that I no longer know my own name. For the past two days and nights, I have not left Jillian’s side. I sleep in the recliner next to her bed, eat cafeteria food in her room, and brush my teeth in the tiny attached bathroom. I’ve been encouraged to shower, to head to a hotel for a good night’s sleep, to join Brad, Alana, and Brad’s parents for lunch in a restaurant. I refuse it all. I refuse to leave.
“Mom, please come get a burger with us,” Alana pleads. I feel awful. I don’t want her to think I’m choosing Jillian over her, but I am very superstitious and feel like if I leave Jilly’s room for more than fifteen minutes at a time, something will go wrong.
“Maybe tomorrow, sweets.” I tug at one of her curls and it springs back into place. I pull her into a hug and notice her hair needs a good scrubbing and detangling. I should take her back to Brad’s hotel, wash the bejeebies out of it, and condition it with a good hair masque. I should. But I can’t. Not yet. Maybe when Jillian makes some progress. I shove the guilt out of my mind and usher the whole brood out the door to go get their bite.
I settle into my recliner and grab my phone. It’s been on absolute fire with texts, calls, voicemails, and emails. After two days of noncommunication (four days, really, since reception was pretty spotty in the mountains), I stare at my device like it’s a python. But I know I have to deal with it.
I scroll through everything, my heart leaping when I see the only name that would make it react that way. It’s just a quick text, saying hi. No really, that’s it. It literally reads, “Just wanted to say hi. So hi.” With a smiley face. Of course.
I’d be flat out lying if I said I haven’t thought about him since I’ve been here. My primary focus, obviously, has been my girls. But through the long days and sleepless nights, with catnaps as my only source of rest, my mind has gone all sorts of places with all sorts of people. I’ve had dreams of telling Lucy that I quit all this madness, that maybe I’m not cut out to be a professional author after all. I’ve had dreams that I told Sara I wanted to date Jack and that she should break up with him so I can have him (what?!). I’ve had dreams that Brad and I reunited and patched up our little family, just like he wants. And, of course, I’ve had dreams about Niles. Dreams of us together and dreams of us apart. I like the together ones better. I really, really miss him.
I notice that his text was from early yesterday morning. How did I miss it? What should I do about it? Do I respond? Do I tell him that I’m here in North Carolina and that my daughter is in the hospital, unconscious and broken
?
No, of course not. I may miss him, but I have no business letting my head and heart go anywhere near him right now. My priority is my daughter. I’ll catch up with him later.
It occurs to me that tonight is the show I should’ve been going to. It would have been my chance to see him again. To hear him, to be in the same room with him. Maybe, in some weird way, Brad is right. Not about us coming back together as a family, because no matter how many pleading glances he gives me as we stand at Jillian’s bedside or how many times he tries to lure me away with him and Alana, or how many times his mom tells me how nice it is to see us all together again, I absolutely know it will never happen. We’re different people in different places. Well, maybe not him, but I am. There’s no dancing around that, despite how much he wants to.
But maybe missing Niles’s show is that one last confirmation that he and I are just not meant to be. I’d been letting my mind trick itself into believing we’d reconnect there and then we’d be back on track, just like that. That’s not going to happen now. It’s out of my control. I’d placed a lot of faith in fate, thinking that if I did everything to put myself in his path, the rest would work itself out. Well, now I’m not going to be in his path. And now there’s no way anything can be worked out. How could it?
Oddly, this revelation kind of puts me at peace. That’s one less thing I have to worry about. Although I am still hopelessly in love with Niles, there is no denying that I cried more with him, for him, and because of him than at any other time in my life. I felt like a weepy middle schooler most days. I didn’t even cry that much over my failed marriage. He brought out emotions in me that made me think and feel way too much. Maybe it’s better for me to be single and in my own world for a while. If I focus on my career and my daughters right now, that’s probably not a bad thing. I can still love him; I’ll just have to love him from afar.
All Access (The Fangirl Series Book 1) Page 21