by Meli Raine
With love.
“So for all those years I beat myself up. I told myself I’d never let it happen again. And then it did.”
No.
“I failed you.”
No!
“But worst of all, I failed myself. And when you fail yourself, you have two choices. You make it right, or you give up. Please don’t give up, Lindsay. Come back to me, but come back to me because you want to. Do it for yourself. Make it right for you. I’m here. I’ll be here to hold you up. Hell, if I could breathe for you, I would.”
He lets out an intense sigh, his eyes darting left and right, like he’s struggling. Then he looks at me again and says, “But I can’t. And I won’t. Because if you don’t break through this for you and do it yourself, then I’ll have robbed you of even more parts of yourself than have already been taken. I am not going to be that man, Lindsay. I won’t take any more from you. When you’re ready to connect, though, I’m here to give.”
A sound comes out of me, a breathy protest from deep in my chest, like my heart needs to speak but can’t figure out how. It’s a sound of yielding, a quiet plea.
This is what invisible shields sound like when they give way.
Chapter 14
Drew
She squeezes my hand.
Her mouth tightens as her shoulders relax, her legs sinking into the mattress, her body releasing some pent-up tension I didn’t know she had. Her eyes won’t leave my face and that little sound she just made is the best form of I love you that I’ve ever heard.
She’s looking at me, really looking. I sense a change in her. A part of me gives a victory shout, except it ricochets in my heart, coming out as a thin tremor in my hand, excitement filling me.
Lindsay is coming home.
To me.
“You didn’t fail,” she whispers. “I did. I failed.”
“Oh, baby, no. No, no, you were a goddamn warrior. Always have been.”
She squeezes my hand. A thousand angels sing in my head.
But there’s only one angel on earth – and she’s talking to me.
“I don’t know how to be,” she confesses. Emotion overwhelms me. I know that feeling.
“You don’t have to be any specific way. Just let it all unroll in due course.” Having her look at me, talk to me – it’s sweet glory. I control my breathing because if I don’t, I’ll start gasping like I’m running the last mile of a marathon.
“Drew,” she whispers, looking at me like my soul is hanging out of my body, “it hurts.”
I look at her shoulder. “I know. I should have tackled him before the gun went off, but -- ”
“Not that. Being. Being hurts.”
“Not being hurts more. Because if you decide not to be, Lindsay, then they won.”
She frowns.
“Every second feels like eternity.” She’s confessing. I’m honored.
“I know. I remember.”
She gives me a sharp look, her brown eyes narrowing. “You remember? You felt it, too?”
“The black hole.”
“It’s worse than that,” she admits. “Like -- ” Her heart rate shoots up suddenly, spiking. The machine behind me starts to beep.
“Hey, hey,” I soothe.
“Too much,” she whispers, her voice filled with anxiety. “It’s too much.”
Without hesitating, I stand up, still holding her hand, and stretch out on the narrow foot or so of mattress space at the edge of the bed. She’s shivering, but she doesn’t tense. Doesn’t freeze. Doesn’t push me away.
In fact, Lindsay curls into me as much as she can, given her immobilized shoulder. Her good hand goes on my chest, finding my heart.
Like it’s a guide for her own beat to follow.
Instantly, the sensors stop their crazy chatter. Lindsay’s breathing settles, her eyes closed.
I’m so fucking happy.
Through the window, I see Silas’s worried face. As he spots us, his face goes slack. Blank with surprise.
Then a gradual smile takes over his face and he gives me a thumbs up.
“Drew,” Lindsay says, her mouth against my shoulder.
“Yes?”
“How did you get through it? The distance? The darkness?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I just did.”
“No. Not good enough.”
“Not good enough?”
“You don’t get to avoid my question.”
Jesus. I wasn’t kidding when I said she was a fucking warrior. It starts to really sink in that I’ve chosen a woman who has brass balls when it comes to emotional issues. She expects me to be as vulnerable as I want her to be.
That’s a tall order.
Only one person in my life gets to see that piece of me.
So I might as well show it to her.
Lindsay has earned it.
“Mostly revenge fantasies,” I admit with a shaky sigh, hating the sound coming out of me. This is my time to be strong for her. I count the little holes in the drop ceiling panels above us, ignoring the fluorescent lights. “And being trained to kill. You know – the same way most people do.”
She lets out a single laugh. “That’s not funny.”
“No. It’s not. None of this is. I got through it by realizing I was in hell and the only way to get out of hell is to walk until you find the doorway out. Having Mark as a commanding officer helped.”
“How?”
“He got it. Saw how screwed up I was. Channeled my energy.”
“And the nightmares?”
I go still. How do I answer this?
With honesty. That’s how.
“They don’t go away. They just come less often.”
She sighs, her body pressing against mine with more weight. More of the burden of just being is transferring from her to me. I take that as a sign of trust.
“How do you interact with people? I feel so...” Her voice drops off.
Tap tap tap.
She sighs before she even looks up. “Here come all the questions.”
I start to climb off the bed. She clings to me.
“Don’t go,” she whispers urgently. “I don’t want to talk to anyone but you.”
I smile. I breathe. I ignore the insistent rapping on the door.
“I wish I could lay here with you forever, Lindsay. Not now, but soon.”
Her grip on me tightens. “Promise?”
“I never stopped promising.”
“Stay with me while they grill me?”
“Of course.” I kiss the top of her head, then pull back just as Dr. Higgs walks in, eyes curious.
“Hi Lindsay,” he says, giving a pregnant pause, waiting.
She looks away. “Hi,” she whispers, squeezing my hand -- hard.
So hard she’ll turn it into a diamond. Soon.
Lindsay
This is the part where I’m supposed to snap out of it, let Drew kiss me madly, and we ride off into the sunset to make passionate love on the beach or in a remote cabin in the woods, the stars twinkling in the sky as we consecrate our love.
Instead, I’m getting my blood pressure checked and the doctor says, “Open your mouth and cough for me.”
How romantic.
The doctor tries to make Drew move, but I’ve got a vise grip on his hand. He is my rock. He is my anchor. I reached out and he was there and I didn’t keep falling into the eternal vacuum of nothingness.
I’m here.
I’m still here, and it’s all because of him.
And me.
Me.
“Lindsay, can you say something?” Dr. Higgs asks, his eyes kind but searching.
“Something,” I respond.
He laughs. Drew joins him.
“You know where you are? The year? Your birth date?”
“Yes.”
“And you want Drew here with you?”
“God, yes.”
He nods. “Okay, then. By now, someone on your security team has contacted your parents.
I’m sure they’ll be here shortly.”
I groan.
“Vocal cords back to normal,” Drew jokes.
I look at the doctor. “I do not need to go back to the mental institution.”
He looks uncomfortable. “You knew about that?”
“I know my parents. I know how they think.” My voice cracks on the last word. I haven’t spoken for eight days, so I’m a little rusty. Drew lets go of my hand, stands up, grabs a pitcher, and pours me a cup of water. I sip it, grateful.
I can’t grab his hand and drink at the same time, so I hurry. Not holding his hand makes me feel weightless.
Like I’ll drift back off.
I don’t want that.
A gnawing sensation grows inside me. The room feels big, cold, impossibly empty and clinical. I check my body again. Clothed in a hospital gown, my bad shoulder bare but bandaged.
Bedsheets and blankets cover the rest of me.
The nightmares leave me naked and bereft, the line between reality and dream so thin, so fragile.
Drew’s strong hand takes mine without comment.
The gnawing abates.
Dr. Higgs seems troubled by my words, the pensive look on his face remaining. “You’re twenty-two, yes?”
“Twenty-three next week,” Drew adds. He swallows, then smiles. “We’ll have to celebrate in a special way.”
Too much.
Too much to imagine. The room starts to spin, my emotions turning an invisible wheel around and around, like I’m a merry-go-round and his words are a source of power.
“Sorry,” he adds in a low voice, squeezing my hand. “Let’s talk about something else.”
“Is it that obvious?” I ask.
“Your face turned the color of milk when I said that.”
“I can’t think about anything but the next few seconds.”
“Got it.”
The way he says it makes me believe him.
Dr. Higgs scribbles a few more notes, then gives me an evaluative look, a sigh of contemplation escaping. He crosses his arms, the chart still in his left hand, and he looks at me.
“Lindsay, we have a full psych eval scheduled for you tomorrow. We didn’t know when you would start to communicate, so...”
“It’s fine,” I say. I don’t look at him. “I can talk to them.”
This pleases him.
For a moment, I feel like I’m talking to Stacia. I cringe at the thought.
“Good.” He smiles. “Welcome back.”
Welcome back.
He leaves. Drew lays down next to me again, this time on his side, his hand caressing my face. I let him.
I like it.
But it’s so hard to look at him. Intensity radiates out from those sharp brown eyes, gone to a deep, rich chocolate swirling with emotion. I know he’s spent eight days holding back.
I’ve spent eight days finding my way back.
“If this is too much -- ”
I turn to him. “It’s fine. I – it’s a little unreal.”
“I know.”
“I can’t stop feeling naked all the time.”
“Is that why you did a body check when the doctor was here?”
“Body check?”
“You looked at yourself. Looked down. Like in a dream, where you realize you’re naked in public.”
“You have those dreams?”
“Everyone has those dreams, Lindsay.” His face softens, going sad. “And after what you went through with the live feed in Tiffany’s apartment and being on all the major cable channels like that, in the middle of trauma in a life-or-death situation, I’d be surprised if you weren’t constantly body checking. Your brain has to weed out the stress imprint from what happened. It’ll take time.”
I am so tired. A yawn escapes me. He doesn’t react.
“I keep having this nightmare,” I say, surprising myself. Sharing the weird dreams isn’t what I want to do. Not consciously, at least. I guess a different part of me has taken the internal steering wheel.
“About being naked in public?” he asks.
“More than that. You’re in the dream. I’m on this stage -- ”
“And I’m in the audience,” he chokes out, astonishment lighting his features.
I jolt. “Yes.”
“How did you know?” we say in unison.
The bleak blanket that has been my only source of warmth and comfort, the heavy, weighted cloth that I’ve carried as a burden these days, turns to lightweight down, to sunshine in woven form, featherlight and exquisite.
“Drew? What did you say at the end of the dream? When you picked up your phone?” I beg, my voice desperate, my plea profound.
His mouth trembles with emotion, his eyes big and loving.
“I said, ‘She’s back. Lindsay is back.’”
Chapter 15
Drew
We just let time do its thing for a few minutes. As I stare at her, unblinking, my face muscles relax. My eyes narrow. The meaning behind it all doesn’t matter any longer.
The insanity of the past two weeks fades as Lindsay’s features come into true focus, sharp and acute, diffuse and ethereal. I hold my space, knowing she needs hers.
She rotates in the bed, sitting up slightly, and leans in toward me. I’m still holding her hand.
“Can you forgive me?” she asks.
She might as well have slapped me.
“For what?”
“For not trusting you. For turning into an animal with them. For doing unspeakable acts in your apartment as I tried to survive. I even made myself kiss John because I felt like I had nothing to lose, but I also needed time, so I used the element of shock. Tried to fool him, tried to — I don’t know. And then just when I gave up on you, you appeared! I should have believed you’d come, Drew. Forgive me for not believing it until the very end. For lying to you. For -- ”
I gently press my fingers against her lips, avoiding the big spot where her face is streaked with a laceration, a long red line that still looks angry.
“No. I won’t forgive you.”
Trepidation fills her face.
“Because there is nothing to forgive. You did what you needed to do to protect your own wholeness, Lindsay. No one ever needs to apologize for that.”
“But I -- ”
“In fact, I’d be disappointed if you didn’t do all those things.”
“Let me finish!” Her eyes shine with tears, her voice still off-kilter, scratchy. “I know I don’t need your forgiveness, Drew. I want it.”
When too much emotion hits me at once, I wall it off. Human beings only have so much capacity for processing. For action. For reaction.
My instinct is to retreat.
I have to override instinct and remain. Be in the present moment.
Show up.
“Then I need to ask for the same from you, Lindsay. Will you forgive me?”
She nods once, tears spilling over her lower eyelids, the drops rolling down, magnifying the plethora of healing cuts and scrapes across her beautiful, beautiful face.
“I do.”
Oh, those words.
“And I do, too, baby.” I want to reach for her, pull her into my arms and hold her forever. The space between us narrows, emotion deepening.
“Come here,” she beckons, her good hand patting the space on the bed. She shifts as much as she can, then wipes her tears from her face, wincing. “Be close to me. Be as close as you can.”
I comply. That’s the best order anyone has ever given me.
And good soldiers obey good orders.
Awkward and clumsy, we twist and turn, trying to find a good way to be in each other’s arms. She snort-giggles, I sigh in frustration, and our faces bump against each other, the lightest brush of nose against nose, until suddenly I’m tasting her, and Lindsay’s good hand is on my jacket lapel, clutching it hard.
No kiss has ever been so needed. No kiss has ever tasted so divine. No kiss has ever bridged so many miles, too many tra
umas. I want to let her lead the way but desire clings to me like her hand and I give in. My body moves against hers. She’s pressing into me, her mouth eager but careful. Soon we’re lost in the swirling vortex of each other. Giving in to the dizzy divine is a relief.
No restraint.
No walls.
No shields.
Just us.
Lindsay pulls back with a tiny cry and holds her fingers up to her swollen lip. Her eyes are an apology. “Sorry. It split.” She gives me a crooked grin, then just looks at me with raw tenderness, vulnerable and real. I hate the torn lip. I hate the bruises. I hate that her face looks like a calico cat, orange and yellow, mottled – yet her eyes glow with an alert love that I hope I’m sending back to her, amplified.
I brush her hair off her forehead and smile right back, blood racing, heart strong and true.
“She’s back,” I whisper, low and sincere. “Lindsay really is back.”
Chapter 16
Drew
Lindsay and I are standing outside Harry’s office, about to go in for the monster of all debriefings. So is Monica, along with Silas and Mark Paulson. The hospital discharged Lindsay yesterday and we spent a quiet night at her house. Monica and Harry were in D.C. I slept in Lindsay’s bed, just holding her.
Neither one of us had nightmares.
Harry’s public relations strategist, Marshall, is in the meeting. And, of course, two guys with faces made of putty who could be anyone and no one at the blink of an eye.
Lindsay reaches for my hand for support – needing it, offering it? Who cares? The difference doesn’t matter. She eyes a tray of pastries in front of Monica.
We walk into the room, all eyes on our linked hands. I don’t blame them. Between my broken finger and Lindsay’s sling, we’re a sight.
The first person I stare at is Marshall.
He looks away.
Not a single piece of paper is in the room. The curtains are drawn, and Marshall has a projector with a USB drive attached to it. Silas will be given the USB drive after this meeting, then he’ll be put on a plane for D.C.
Nothing we’re learning isn’t common knowledge to a certain level of insiders in power.