by Lissa Del
The words are desperate and frantic and I meet his need with a deep desire of my own. Passion, fury and regret meld into one, blazing hot through my body. This could be the last time I feel his lips on mine, feel his body, lean and hard, pressed against me, feel his fingers trailing liquid lava across my skin. I seize his hair, crushing my chest against his, pulling his mouth to mine. I sob into his lips, my breath becoming his breath and my heart beating fast enough for both of us.
Leo grabs my shirt and jerks it over my head, but even that infinitesimal separation is agony. My skin is burning, my breath coming fast and hard, and, as our lips collide once more, my tooth draws blood from his lip. Neither of us is prepared for the fire that sparks between us fanned by the fuel of an impending loss.
It’s still dark when I wake to find the bed empty. I know a moment of blind panic thinking he’s left without saying goodbye, but as I stretch my hand toward his side of the bed, I feel the warmth lingering there and I feel weak with relief.
I find him sitting alone on the sofa, his head in his hands.
“Leo?”
He turns to look at me, his eyes black orbs in a shadowed face and I tiptoe closer in the dark. When I get close enough he reaches for me, pulling me onto his lap and, like a blind man, he traces my face with his hands.
“Why are you doing this to me?” he gasps against my neck and I pull his head to my chest, feeling the shudder of his body beneath my hands.
“Because I love you. Because I need to know.”
“I’m scared, Sarah,” he admits. “I’m scared of losing myself and I’m terrified I’m going to lose you.”
“You could never lose me, Leo,” I whisper, pressing my lips against his forehead, kissing the raised ridge of his scar. “I’ll always be here. And if you decide that’s not what you want, then I guess you haven’t lost anything.” I don’t mention that I’ll lose everything. I don’t want him to be any more afraid than he is and I fear that if I tell him, I might never summon the courage to do what needs to be done.
I gently release him and get to my feet, my legs shaking with every step as I fetch his keys from the kitchen counter.
Leo takes them from me with an inhuman sound that comes from deep within him.
“I think it’s time for you to go,” I say. My lips are pressed so tightly together to keep from crying that it hurts. He gets to his feet, gazing down at me.
“I can’t imagine my life without you in it.”
“Yes you can,” I remind him, “it’s the life you had before.”
“I don’t want it. I want you, I want this.”
“Shhh,” I press my finger to his lips, steeling myself to stick to my course of action. “Tell me after.”
CHAPTER 35
“So he’s really going through with it?” Jess asks. We’re sandwiched on my sofa, a giant-sized bag of crisps between us. It’s been three torturous days since Leo left my apartment, three days since I said goodbye, and so far all I’ve managed to do in that time is watch two seasons of Grey’s Anatomy reruns.
“Yes. The surgery is scheduled for Tuesday.”
“And you haven’t spoken to him at all?”
“No. I asked him not to contact me until after.”
“He’s going to come back,” Jess insists.
“I don’t think he is, Jess.” I want her to argue but she doesn’t. Instead, she offers me the bag.
“Well, I guess there’s nothing you can do but wait and let the chips fall where they may.”
“Yeah.” I set my glass down, not much in the mood for drinking. I haven’t set foot on campus for the past three days and I know I shouldn’t let my personal life, or the fact that I’ve lost the Burke & Duke internship affect my career, but I’m wallowing in a pit of self-pity that feels like home. I also haven’t had the guts to face the consequences of my attack on Noah. I’m not sure whether he reported it or not, but since I haven’t been called in for a disciplinary hearing, I suspect the fear of his own involvement in the Burke & Duke selection process being made public might be my saving grace.
“Tom’s coming over later,” Jess says, “let’s make him dress up like a girl and do some cabaret.”
“Sounds good,” I smile, grateful for her effort to cheer me up.
“What should we do this weekend?” Jess is desperate to keep my mind off things but her words remind me that I have somewhere to be this weekend.
“I’m going to my parents on Saturday,” I groan, “I’m spending the night.”
“Don’t sound so glum,” Jess teases, “your mom’s cooking will do you the world of good.”
“Yeah,” I agree half-heartedly. My phone rings from the kitchen counter but I ignore it.
“Aren’t you going to get that?”
I shrug, non-committal, but Jess jumps to her feet and fetches the phone. It stops the second she hands it to me, but starts ringing again almost immediately.
I don’t recognise the number and my greeting is hardly enthusiastic.
“Hello.”
“Is this Sarah Holt?” A man’s voice - abrupt, professional.
“This is she.”
“Miss Holt, my name is Jeremy Langford. I’m an associate director at Burke & Duke Developments.”
My heart gives an out-of-synch lurch. “Yes, Mr Langford, how can I help you?”
Jess raises her brow but I shake my head at her to wait.
“Jeremy, please,” he insists. “It’s come to my attention that you applied for our advanced placement program this year through the Holmes Institute. Your application was unsuccessful, is that correct?”
“Yes,” I refrain from making excuses or screaming that Noah Allen sabotaged me.
“That’s a pity. I’m sorry to hear it.” I wonder if he’s phoning simply to offer his condolences which, of course, makes absolutely no sense.
“Not as sorry as I was,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Well, be that as it may, Miss Holt…”
“Please, call me Sarah,” I interrupt.
“Sarah,” he concedes. “I don’t have much time, but I’d like you to come in for an interview next week. Would that be possible?”
“Um… of course, I can be there whenever you need me.”
“Wonderful. Shall we say Tuesday at ten?” The mere mention of Tuesday sends a pang of heartache through me. Tuesday is the scheduled date of Leo’s surgery.
“Absolutely, I’ll be there,” I reply after a small pause, and then, “has something happened to Samantha Simpson?”
“Samantha Simpson?” There is not a trace of recognition in his voice.
“She was awarded the advanced placement position.”
“Ah, yes, I thought her name sounded familiar,” he says, “but no, that position is still hers.”
“Then, why do you need to see me? If the internship is hers then…?”
Jeremy Langford’s chuckle is infectious.
“You misunderstand me, Miss Holt. I’m not offering you an internship, I’m offering you a job.”
My mouth drops open and, for a moment, I am incapable of speech. Jess jabs me in the stomach.
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand?” I wrack my brain and only one person springs to mind. After all Dianna had said about not calling in a favour would she really get involved after all?
“Did Dianna Marchant contact you?”
“No, although I know Dianna well. An amazing woman,” he adds fondly. “We have another mutual friend, Miss Holt, and he put in a very good word for you.”
My hearts stutters. Leo. It could only be Leo. No one else I know would have these types of connections, nor would they go to the trouble.
“The interview is merely a formality,” Jeremy continues, oblivious of the emotional chaos he has wreaked upon me, “and the position is a junior one, although slightly more exciting than the advanced placement. Of course, it will only come into effect in the new year.”
“I… I don’t know what to say.”
He allows himself a small chuckle. “You don’t have to say anything. From what I hear you have exceptional talent and I know that nepotism isn’t something Leo would stoop to. I’ve checked your submitted portfolio and, quite frankly, I’m not sure why the internship wasn’t awarded to you in the first place.”
“Thank you,” I reply humbly, “that’s incredibly kind of you. And thank you so much for the opportunity.”
“No need to thank me, Miss Holt – Sarah,” he corrects. “It’s the least I could do. Two years ago Leo Russell saved my son’s life.”
The emotional upheaval of Jeremy Langford’s call is no way good enough to excuse myself from lunch with my parents, much to my dismay, and so, on Saturday morning, I wash my hair, get dressed and put on make-up for the first time in days.
My parents are naturally concerned about me and for the first time in my life they are treating me with kid gloves. I arrive early on Saturday morning and spend the better part of the day being waited on by my mom, while my dad attempts to draw me into conversations that are far better suited to Dylan.
My brother’s arrival just before lunch is a welcome relief, but the sight of Hannah hanging on his arm sends me straight back to purgatory. Even her slight connection to Leo brings it all back.
“How are you holding up sis?” Dylan asks, with none of his usual sibling rivalry banter. Uncharacteristically he pulls me into a hug and I can sense his concern. Unlike my parents who have been studiously avoiding the topic of Leo, Dylan gets straight to the point. “Have you heard from him at all?”
“No,” I shake my head. “And I don’t expect to, for a while, at least.” I steel myself and face Hannah, who now knows exactly who Leo is and why she recognised him. “How are you?” I ask.
“Good,” she smiles. “I’m so sorry for what you’re going through.”
“Thank you.”
I can barely finish my lunch with all the tea and biscuits Mom has plied me with this morning, but I eat as much as I can, conscious of her scrutiny. I know I’ve lost weight over the past few days, existing on a diet of wine, caffeine and the occasional packet of crisps, but I’m confident that, at the rate Mom’s going, I’ll have picked it all back up by the time I leave tomorrow. In comparison to my pale lethargy, Hannah is practically glowing. Her cheeks are flushed and she can’t tear her eyes from my brother. Her adoration is plain to see and I’m happy for Dylan, but it only serves to highlight my own misery.
Dylan waits for Mom to serve dessert – her legendary peach cobbler – before he drops the bombshell.
“I have something I’d like to tell you all,” he announces. I don’t imagine the nervous glance he gives me and I think I know what’s coming. “Hannah and I are engaged,” Dylan finishes. Dad gives a grunt of surprise. Mom covers her mouth with her hand, tears springing instantly to her eyes. I’m about to offer my congratulations when Dylan continues, looking straight at me. “I’m sorry sis, I didn’t want to do this while you’re going through such a tough time, but I also didn’t want to leave you all in the dark.” His eyes are genuinely apologetic and my face flames.
“Are you mad?” I squeak, leaping to my feet and rounding the table. “This is amazing news!” I pull his head into a head-lock and plant a kiss on his blond head. “I’m so happy for you! My sympathies,” I add, winking at Hannah with a hint of my old flippancy, “are you sure you know what you’re getting into?”
My delighted response serves as a catalyst and everyone relaxes, ooh-ing and aah-ing as Hannah shyly produces the ring from her purse. It glitters on her finger, to be examined by all and sundry and Dylan looks absurdly proud of himself.
“We need champagne!” Mom announces, clapping her hands together. She scuttles into the kitchen and returns a few minutes later with a bottle of sparkling wine. “Close enough,” she laughs, the sound tinkling around the room.
I manage to keep up appearances until Dylan and Hannah leave. I am thrilled for my brother but the announcement has also sent me into a spin, a poignant reminder of what could have been. I help Mom clean up and then I head upstairs to my childhood bedroom, collapsing on the bed in a flood of silent tears.
It’s not long before a gentle knocking sounds at the door.
“Yes?” I call, frantically wiping my eyes on the sheet and leaving a black streak of mascara as evidence.
Mom takes one look at my face and gives a small sigh.
“Did you really think I didn’t know, sweetheart?” she asks, coming to sit beside me. She pulls me against her chest as easily as if I am a child and I give an audible sniff.
“I’m really happy for them,” I say, desperate for her to believe me.
“Of course you are; there was never any question of that! But you can be happy for them and sad for yourself at the same time.” She rubs my back, her small hands strong and reassuring.
“I don’t know what to do, Mom,” I gulp, choking back sobs even while the tears run freely down my face. “How will I live without him?”
“I can’t answer that, honey. I wish I could and I wish I could take away your pain. More than that, I wish I could force him to choose you, but he has to make the decision on his own.”
“Jess says I should fight – that I should be there, at the hospital, reminding him what he’s giving up.” I feel her chest rise and fall with a small giggle.
“Why am I not surprised?” she says. “Jess has always been a fighter.”
“Do you think I should?” I ask. “Fight, I mean?”
“It’s hard for me to answer that, Sarah. I believe in the vows of marriage and I believe that they’re not something to be taken lightly. This Clare girl – she’s done nothing wrong either and Leo made her a promise. At the same time, you’re my baby girl and I don’t want to see you hurt. It’s an impossible situation.”
“Why is this happening?” My voice breaks and she holds me even tighter, sweeping my curls off my face.
“Sometimes bad things happen to good people,” she replies simply.
We stay that way for long while, not saying anything, not needing to. I am almost asleep when she speaks again.
“Whatever happens, sweetheart you’ll get through it, that I can promise you.”
I nod against her chest, praying that she’s right.
CHAPTER 36
I should have known mom would call in the big brother police. When I let myself into my apartment on Sunday evening, it wasn’t even a minute before Dylan arrived.
“I don’t have any food,” I grumble as I let him in.
“I’m not here for food, sis.” His uncharacteristically serious tone stops me in my tracks and I swivel on the spot. His blue eyes are filled with concern, and that in itself brings fresh tears to my eyes.
“Oh God, I’m so sorry Sarah.” He crosses the space between us in two enormous strides and pulls me against him. Dylan and I have never been the hugging type, but I collapse against him, clinging to his shirt and wishing I could absorb even the smallest bit of his solid, quiet strength.
“I miss him,” I sniff.
“I know you do.” He rubs my back in the same way that mom used to when we were kids and our hearts had been broken by simple things like the loss of a favourite toy, or a bully on the playground. “But you are going to get through this. You’re a Holt, and we Holt’s don’t go to pieces in a crisis.”
I give a half-laugh, half-sob.
“Did you come up with that yourself?”
“I may have had a little help from Dad.”
We sit on the bar stools at the kitchen counter eating buttered toast, which is the only meal Dylan is qualified to cook. Still, it’s a welcome change having him feed me for once. When he sets a steaming cup of coffee on the counter before me I manage a smile.
“You must be really worried about me, Dyl.”
“I am,” he replies, in all seriousness. Clearing his throat, he pulls his wallet from his pocket. My curiosity is piqued when he starts rummaging through it and withdraws a
white business card. “Don’t shoot me down, okay,” he warns, holding it against his chest, “but I want you to go and see someone.” He slides the card across the counter and I stare at the embossed print.
“A psychiatrist? You want me to go and see a psychiatrist?”
“Yes.” He is unapologetic. “What you’re going through isn’t normal, Sarah, and I don’t think you realise how traumatic this whole situation is.”
“Of course I realise how traumatic it is, Dyl, I’m living it!”
“Just do this for me, okay? Hannah says he’s one of the best.” Hannah calls on enough doctors to have a lot of insight into the medical profession.
Gingerly, I pick up the card and squint at the name printed on it.
“You really think this Doctor Sheldon is going to wave his magic wand and make me feel better?”
“No,” he shakes his head as if he wishes it was that simple, “but I do think he can help you deal with it a bit better.” Sensing that I’m resigned to go and see this doctor, he relaxes. “I think they call them coping mechanisms,” he teases.
“Maybe Hannah should go and see him, then. She’s going to have to learn how to cope with your Godawful cooking.”
Two days later I find myself perched on the edge of a sofa that reminds me of Clare Russell’s. A petite young girl with a mass of dark hair pulled over her tear-streaked face emerges from the door behind me and I avert my eyes automatically so as not to embarrass her.
“Miss Holt?” The receptionist smiles politely at me, indicating the still open door. “Doctor Sheldon will see you now.”
Cark Sheldon looks like the grandfather every child wishes they had. Amiddle-aged,bespectacled man with a receding hairline, a kind face and a gentle demeanour, he greets me warmly as he shakes my hand.
“Miss Holt, please, have a seat.” I’m relieved to discover that, instead of the stereotypical sofa, he has two simple occasional chairs facing each other and separated by an oak coffee table. The box of tissues on top of the table, however, makes me baulk.