Poked (A Standalone Romance) (A Savery Brother Book)

by Naomi Niles

  I shook my head. Both his parents were dead, and they had no other children. Penny was the only other person he had been close to, and if he died, the two of us might be his only mourners.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Penny

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have gone off on him like that. I don’t know. But after the week I’ve had, you can’t really blame me for being stressed and upset with him. A good boyfriend calls you every now and again, especially when your dad is dying.”

  I was lying in Nic’s bed staring up at the ceiling. I hadn’t wanted to talk about Dad or Darren, so we had played a board game and eaten some leftover fried rice before retiring to bed for the night.

  But when I awoke next to her in the warm light of morning, all the troubles of the day before were still there waiting to be sorted. Soon, I would have to begin making arrangements for Dad’s funeral. And after the fight we had had the night before, I wouldn’t have blamed Darren for thinking we had broken up.

  “I feel like this is at least partially my fault,” said Nic, who had been putting off doing her morning exercises for the past hour so that we could talk. “He told me he wanted to go visit you in the hospital, and I told him it would be better to wait because you were already dealing with so much. Maybe I should’ve asked you first, but you had mentioned feeling overwhelmed and wanting to put everyone at a distance.”

  “I can see how it would be confusing because I both wanted you to be there and I wanted to be left alone,” I said fairly. “I suppose I would’ve been upset either way, but I’m over it now and I’m not in the panicky place I was in last week. I felt this sense of lingering terror in my tummy knowing that Dad was about to die. But once he finally passed on, the terror subsided, and I began to feel a sense of peace—like, ‘Okay, the worst is over. Now we can begin to deal.’”

  “Isn’t that the worst, though?” said Nic. “Sometimes the waiting for a dreadful thing is worse than the thing itself. There’s a sense of release when it finally happens—even though, in this case, you can never get your dad back.”

  “Yeah, but I think he was ready for a long time. That’s what his brothers kept telling me last night: that I was probably dreading his death more than he was because now he gets to be reunited with Mom.”

  I reached for my phone on the nightstand and scrolled through my texts looking for new messages. There were none. “I guess I had better find Darren and apologize,” I said gloomily, staring at my phone as though it was somehow to blame. “He just needs to understand that sometimes I’m not an entirely rational person, and it’s something he’ll have to deal with.”

  “Given the fact that you just lost your dad, I think he’ll understand,” said Nic. “There’s a certain measure of grace that comes with grieving.” She winced in pain as she rose from the bed.

  “Nic, it’s already ten o’clock,” I pointed out, holding up my phone. “You’re not actually going to work out this morning. Give up the dream.”

  “I suppose not,” she said with a sigh. “Do you want breakfast? I don’t think I’ve eaten since lunch yesterday.”

  We ate a lavish breakfast of gluten-free waffles, raspberries, strawberries, granola, and scrambled eggs with cheese and toast. Nic was scrolling through the morning news on her laptop when she turned to me and said, “Did you hear about this?”

  “No, what?”

  She turned the computer around to face me. I set down my tea and took it from her. “Apparently there was an accident yesterday at the drag strip.”

  My immediate instinct was to wonder whether Darren was okay, but of course he was; I had seen him last night. As I scanned the article, my hand flew to my mouth in surprise. Dickie had been horribly injured. He was currently in critical condition at Medical City.

  “I hope he’s okay,” said Nic anxiously. “In my experience ‘critical condition’ is a polite way of saying he’ll probably die.”

  “Oh, I hope not.” My stomach turned at the thought. I shoved my plate away, having lost all desire to eat. “Him and Darren are best friends. Think how devastated Darren would be if he died.”

  “I’m sure death would be pretty devastating for Dickie, as well,” said Nic with a smirk. “Anyway, we ought to go visit him. I bet Darren is already up there keeping watch over his bed.”

  “Maybe so. I’ll go and text him just to be sure. Maybe he’ll actually answer this time.”

  While I texted Darren, Nic rose from the table and began gathering up the half-empty plates. “Do you think we’ll ever again have just a normal week,” she asked, “where no one dies, and there are no accidents, and we can just sit at our windows drinking tea?”

  “I doubt it. I led such a calm and untroubled existence before I met Darren. I don’t think I even appreciated how good I had it.”

  “You didn’t,” said Nic. “You were always complaining about how lonely you were. If you ever want peace to return to your life, I suppose you’ll have to break up with him.”

  “Which I will probably never do,” I replied, and drained the last of my tea.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Darren

  That night was the most miserable night in recent memory. I sat in a chair beside Dickie’s bed wishing he would wake up so that we could talk. A weight of guilt lay on me that I couldn’t shrug off no matter how hard I tried. The night seemed unnaturally dark, the lights overhead harsh and unyielding.

  It was one of those nights that you just have to live through, knowing that the only relief for your misery is time. I wished time would move ahead two or three days when Dickie had woken up and Penny had calmed down. But for now, all I could do was wait. In the past when I was miserable I could usually go to sleep and know things would look better in the morning, but tonight even that was no help. I kept waking up every few minutes with a pain in my side, remembering anew how I had put Dickie into a coma and being pummeled by fresh waves of guilt.

  I finally fell asleep at around four and woke at around eleven. Doctor Ware stood over his bed reading some inscrutable numbers on the monitor. She beamed when she saw me stirring.

  “Did you sleep well?”

  As though in answer, I tried to stand up and found that my foot was asleep. A painful feeling of pins and needles shot through me, and I fell back into the chair, wincing.

  “We have patients who do that a lot,” she said. “Just give it a few minutes, and when the nerves decompress, the feeling will return to your feet.”

  “Thanks.” I motioned to the sleeping Dickie. “How’s he doing?”

  “Still unconscious, but that’s by design. Right now, this coma is the safest place for him. It’s going to be a few days until we can bring him out.”

  “And then will he be okay? Will he be alert and able to talk?”

  “That I couldn’t tell you,” she said with a shake of her head. “It’s going to be touch-and-go here for a while, but I’m holding out hope that we haven’t seen the last of him.”

  She turned and left the room without elaborating, and I sat there watching him for a few moments in silence. His eyelids fluttered rapidly as though he was dreaming. I reached for his hand and held it in my own for a moment—something he would never have let me do under normal circumstances. It felt cold to the touch.

  I was startled out of my thoughts by the sound of a knock on the door. It was a shock to see Penny peering through the window looking nervous and hopeful.

  Confused, I motioned for her to come in.

  She was wearing a low-necked sleeveless shirt the color of guacamole and a pair of knee-length shorts. I could tell she had been crying on her way over because her mascara was running.

  “You mind if I come in?” she asked quietly.

  “Please.”

  Looking encouraged, she crept in and shut the door slowly as though fearful of waking Dickie. “Hey, I read about what happened. How’s he doing?”

  “Lucky to be alive,” I said, “though we don’t know how long that will last. The onl
y good news is that the doctors are the ones who put him in a coma, and they’ll decide when they want to take him out of it. After that, he should wake up, though it’s anyone’s guess whether he’ll be coherent enough to talk.”

  “Oh, I hope so,” she moaned, staring sadly down at his prone form. “There have been enough medical emergencies this weekend.”

  “I just feel so bad.” I had wanted to say this to someone all night; speaking the words felt like an exhalation. “I was on the strip getting ready for the race when I heard the news about your dad. I came running over here as soon as I heard. If I hadn’t encouraged Dickie to take my place, this would never have happened.”

  “Yes, but you didn’t force Dickie into that car,” Penny pointed out. “You can’t blame yourself for his accident any more than I can blame myself for my dad’s death.”

  “It’s not the same.” I wiped my face with the back of my hand. “Your dad had cancer.”

  “And you don’t think I found ways to blame myself for that? You’re not the only one feeling guilty here.”

  “But that’s totally irrational,” I told her, not for the first time. “You didn’t give your dad cancer.”

  “No, but I still feel massive amounts of shame and guilt over it. You don’t think I’ve been blaming myself this entire week, wondering what I could have done to prevent him from dying? In the end, it was Nic who brought me out of it. She said it wasn’t productive and there was no use blaming myself for things I had no control over.”

  “But it’s different,” I said, “because if I had made different choices yesterday, we wouldn’t be standing here talking over his unconscious body. Dickie was never the best racer, but I still thought he had a decent chance of beating Adam and winning that two hundred thousand, or I wouldn’t have pushed him to take my place. I let my greed get the better of me and look where it landed us.”

  “Well, you both did,” said Penny. Setting her purse down in the chair where I had slept, she came over and stroked my arm. “I’m sure Dickie wanted some of that money, or he would never have agreed to be in the race. It was a silly mistake, but one that I don’t think either of you is likely to make again. I think now would be a good time for you to give up racing before it gets you imprisoned or killed.”

  “Maybe.” I didn’t want to commit just yet, especially not now when I was weak with emotion and could easily be pushed into making a decision I might regret later. “I don’t like what it did to him, but I’m careful. I would never have wrecked the car like this.”

  “There’s a reason they’re called accidents,” Penny said softly.

  Neither of us spoke for a moment. Finally, she added, “I’m going to go back home and make some breakfast. Would you like me to bring you something? Just go ahead and say yes because I’m doing it anyway.”

  “Please.” It felt wonderful to bathe in her kindness again. “I haven’t eaten since breakfast yesterday, and I don’t plan on eating out of the vending machine.”

  “Well, you don’t have to worry,” she said. “I’ve always got you.” She turned to leave, but before she had taken more than a few steps, I grabbed her by the arm and pulled her close to me. Her fear and surprise subsided quickly when she saw the look in my eyes, all gratitude and hunger.

  “It’s good to have you back, girl,” I said and kissed her warmly on the lips and face.

  We pulled back for a moment, and I studied her face. Her eyes, already dilated in the half-light, widened with unspoken emotions. Her lip trembled, and tears formed in the corners of her eyes. Then, before I really knew what was happening, she had pulled me tight into a hug and was sobbing into my chest.

  “I know I sent you away yesterday,” she said, “and I’m so sorry. I’ll never, ever do that again.” She sniffed loudly, her small body shaking against mine. “You’ve no idea how much I missed you.”

  “Don’t think anything of it,” I whispered, breathing in the scent of her, the scent of jasmine and lilacs. “Now we’ve had our first fight, and it wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  “It was, it was awful,” moaned Penny.

  “I didn’t like it, either. But we got through it, and today is going to be better than yesterday.”

  “No day will ever be as bad as yesterday,” she said, and I realized she was shaking with laughter.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Penny

  “So did you finally kiss and make up?” asked Nic as I stood in the kitchen making breakfast the next morning. “After the fight, I really thought this might be The End.”

  “Not yet.” I turned over the pancakes with a spatula; once again, they were slightly burnt on the bottom, and they hadn’t formed the perfect circle I wanted. “I think he understands that I had just gone through a very painful experience and I wasn’t handling it well.”

  Nic was sitting at the wooden table in the dining room in a t-shirt and blue velour track shorts, peeling an orange. She hadn’t offered to help with breakfast, but for once I didn’t mind; I was glad just to have her in the house. Without her, it would have been unbearably lonely.

  “Ever since you and Darren started dating,” she said, “I’ve had a good feeling about you.”

  I froze in the middle of reaching for the butter. “Oh yeah? Why?”

  Nic shrugged. “Because you’re so loyal, and because once a person has earned your devotion, you never let go. Also—and I think this is a big part of it—you’re the sort of girl who was always holding out for the right person. Look at me, for example: I’ve dated three or four boys just in the past year. I once told Dickie I thought there was a very good chance you would marry the first boy you ever dated.”

  “Oh, Dickie.” I dropped the butter into the skillet and stirred with a melancholy feeling. “He always wanted to be that boy, didn’t he?”

  “He did.” She set the peel of her orange on the edge of a paper towel. “Once or twice, I tried to get him to go out with me, but it didn’t take long for me to realize he only had eyes for one woman.”

  “Sometimes I think, maybe if he had been a bit less interested in me—” I shook my head. “But then I think, no. There’s no universe in which Dickie and I end up together.”

  “It’s never a good idea to go out with someone who dotes on you that much,” said Nic.

  “Except now I feel bad because he’s in a coma, and I sort of wish I had treated him better.”

  “Don’t. You did the right thing by not getting his hopes up. You and Darren being together will be good for him in the end, I think, because he’ll realize he has to move on with his life.”

  “I just hope he gets the chance. Today the doctors are taking him out of his coma. Darren is still over there keeping vigil. He asked me to bring him breakfast.”

  Nic took a sip of her lingonberry juice. “He’s been there, what, three days now? I hope he hasn’t tried to kiss you.”

  I turned my face away so she couldn’t see how hard I was blushing. “I didn’t mind too much,” I said quietly.

  After our talk the morning before, I had returned in the afternoon with a homemade pizza—cheese and veggies unevenly distributed—and a couple board games. We spent most of the day there at Dickie’s bedside playing the Harry Potter version of Clue and talking about nothing in particular. He still maintained that Star Wars was better than Lord of the Rings, a statement that might have been a deal breaker a month ago, but now I didn’t mind so much.

  “He’s not the sort of boy I ever imagined myself with,” I told Nic. “Growing up I always thought I was going to marry a pastor’s kid or a missionary. He would be clean-cut, neatly dressed, carrying a guitar in one hand and a Bible in the other. But life hasn’t worked out that way. There are days when I still wonder if that man is out there, somewhere.”

  “Maybe,” Nic said with a shrug. “But I think maybe you’re not seeing the extent to which you and Darren are good for each other.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I mean you both share a certain sens
itivity and love of imagination. Darren is one of the most sensitive men I’ve ever met, and you—well, you once cried because you read in a book that a baby had been abandoned by her parents.”

  “It was a baby!” I exclaimed. “Good parents don’t abandon their own children.”

  “See? And you’re both playful and love to pretend, and when you’re together, you tend to retreat into your own world that probably only makes sense to the two of you. Do you remember when you were in high school and you started your own lunch club?”

  “Yeah, the Cook Lunch Clan. We would make our own lunches and share stories and poems we’d written.”

  “I think you’ve always wanted to create this space where imagination could flourish without any restraints. And that’s what you have with Darren. I used to worry that anyone you dated would discourage your love of play and try to mold you into being a more conventional person, but he encourages you like no other.”

  “It’s true,” I said shyly. “I could do a lot worse than marry Darren.”

  “He couldn’t do any better than you,” said Nic. “So if you end up together, it will be—” she bit into the last of her orange “—ideal.”

  I took the finished pancakes and set them down in the center of the table. They were lumpy and misshapen, but Nic didn’t seem to mind. I sat down across from her and reached for the syrup, thinking over what she had said about Darren.

  “Sorry,” she said after a short pause. “Is it okay that we’re talking about this?”

  “Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?”

  “Because I know your dad just died, and I feel bad talking about something so lighthearted.”

  “It’s a relief, honestly.” I closed the lid on the syrup and handed it to her. “I’m just glad you’re not one of those people who feels we have to be talking about it all the time. ‘Are you okay?’ ‘You poor, poor thing!’ And they make such a fuss about it that you go away feeling worse than you did before.”