by Jade Kerrion
“What?” Maggie blinked in surprise. When had they changed the topic?
He held on to her hand and drew a deep breath, as if bracing for what he had to say. “Your father had a heart attack. I’ve got a cab waiting downstairs. We have to go.”
“My…” Maggie pressed a hand to her mouth. “But…”
He led her to the couch. “Sit. I’ll pack an overnight bag for you.”
But… She stared at his back as he walked away from her. Daddy? Maggie pulled her smartphone from the pocket of her denim jeans and turned it on. It buzzed as messages scrolled across her screen. Buried among missed calls from reporters and tabloids were messages from Liane Haas, her father’s personal assistant, and a dozen or more missed calls from Drew who had apparently been trying to reach her for the past hour.
Her hands trembling, Maggie called Liane.
“Oh, Maggie,” Liane answered immediately. “Thank God, you called. Did Drew—”
“He’s here now. My father?”
“He’s at Phelps Memorial Hospital.”
“Is he going to be all right?”
“We don’t know.” Liane’s voice quivered. “I found him at 4 p.m., but the doctors say he had the heart attack hours earlier, and that it was a miracle I found him alive at all. I called your brother. He’s on his way in from San Diego. Your mother is trying to catch a flight out of Venice, but you’re closest, and—”
“We’ll be there in an hour.” Maggie looked up as Drew returned to the living room with a duffle bag. “We’re leaving now.” She shot to her feet. “Why didn’t you tell me the moment you walked through that door, damn it?”
“Because sometimes, you need to get over one challenge before dealing with the next.” He took the keys out of her hand and locked the door when she would have marched straight into the elevator without closing her door, never mind locking it.
The paparazzi still crowded around the main entrance, but with Drew shielding her from the most intrusive cameras, Maggie pushed past the paparazzi and into the backseat of the cab waiting at the curb.
The driver looked over his shoulder as Drew slid in beside Maggie. “All set?”
“Yeah. Thanks, Johnny,” Drew said.
“And we’re off.” The driver tapped on his GPS, which had been programmed with the address of Phelps Memorial Hospital.
New York City whizzed by, a blur of lights against the dark of the night. Her eyes dry and her throat clogged with unshed tears, Maggie stared out into the darkness, grateful for the solid presence of the man beside her. She did not look at him, but he drew her close and held her tight.
She cleared her throat. “Do…do you think he heard about the…the—”
“Don’t go there, Maggie.”
“But what if I—?”
“Shhh.” His grip tightened around her shoulders. “Let it go, for now. One thing at a time.”
She rested her head against his shoulder. “Did you…?”
His body tensed against hers. He hesitated before replying. “Yes.”
Maggie shuddered. “I’m sorry.” She didn’t know what else to say.
Several moments passed before he responded with a kiss against her hair.
She could almost believe that he had forgiven her, but she knew it would not be that easy. Drew was doing what he had always done best—avoiding difficult conversations by simply not talking through them. Maggie and Drew said nothing else to each other as the cab eased its way through Manhattan’s heavy traffic and then sped north to Westchester. At that moment, it was enough to be together, united in purpose. They were both going home.
CHAPTER NINE
The florescent lights in the intensive care unit of Phelps Memorial Hospital reflected off the white tiles and pulsed a migraine through Maggie’s head. She gritted her teeth against the pain as she hurried to the counter. Drew carried their bags but was never more than two steps behind. She leaned on the desk. “I’m Maggie Ferrara. I’m Dylan Smith’s daughter. I want to see him.”
Drew spoke up. “Who’s the attending doctor? We’d like to talk to him too.”
The nurse checked her records. “I’ll page the doctor, and he’ll meet you in the room. This way.” She stepped out from behind the counter and led the way down the corridor. “He’s in here.” She glanced at Drew. “I’m sorry, the ICU is family only.”
Maggie opened her mouth to protest—she needed Drew beside her—but the nurse looked firm.
“I’m right out here,” Drew promised. “Go on. Go see him.”
Maggie pushed the door open. The overhead lights in the room were dim, although the blinking machines emanated their own glow. In spite of the tubes and wires trailing over his body, her father looked robust and healthy, as if he were merely asleep as she had so often seen him, on a deck chair by the pool.
She crept close and wrapped her fingers around his. “Daddy? I’m here.”
Did his fingers tighten around hers, or had she only imagined it?
“Drew brought me here.” She drew in a deep breath. “I’m so sorry I didn’t come earlier. I did something stupid, and I was trying to hide from Drew and from everyone else. But I’m here now. I’m sure Drew’s furious with me, but he found me anyway, and he didn’t even yell at me.”
Maggie held back a sigh. Her head hurt. Her problems blurred and blended into a single aching hole where her heart was supposed to be. Her voice caught. “I screwed up so badly with him, and I don’t know how to fix it. And worse, I don’t think he wants me to fix it. I know it’s crazy, but sometimes, I get the feeling he wants me to push him past the point of no return so that he can walk away and not feel guilty about it.”
She sniffed back a sob. “It’s crazy, isn’t it, Daddy? I don’t know why he would feel that way. I know I’m difficult, but I’m not that horrible.” Or was she? She sniffled again. “I love him. I’ve loved him for years. I need you to get better so that you can tell him to stop being an ass.” She raised her father’s fingers to her lips and kissed them. “Get better, please, Daddy. I need you.” I don’t want to lose you.
~*~
“Drew!”
Slouched against a wall, Drew glanced up at the sound of his name. A man in a rumpled business suit strode toward him. A smile spread across Drew’s face. He straightened and extended his hand to his former high school classmate. “Brandon.”
“Where’s Maggie?” Brandon Smith, Maggie’s older brother, asked.
Drew jerked his head at the closed door.
Brandon frowned. “Why aren’t you in there with her?”
“ICU’s family only.”
“Bullshit. Where’s the doctor?”
“Haven’t seen him.”
Brandon scowled. He beckoned, a clear gesture that Drew was to follow him, and then pushed open the door to his father’s hospital room. “Maggie.”
She spun around. “Brandon!” She threw herself into his arms. “You made it.”
“Yeah, and what the hell is this? Dad aced his last physical checkup. What happened?”
“Shit happens,” a clear female voice cut in.
Drew glanced over his shoulder.
The doctor who entered the room looked much too young to be trusted with patient care. Apparently, Brandon had reached the same conclusion, though less politely. “Who the hell are you?”
“I’m Dr. Larson. I was on call in the ER when they brought him in. I stabilized him and moved him to the ICU. And you are?”
“Brandon Smith, his son. My sister, Maggie.”
The doctor looked at Drew, her eyebrow arched inquiringly.
Brandon spoke before Drew could. “Drew Jackson, Maggie’s fiancé.”
Drew wasn’t certain whether to laugh or sigh. Brandon, a trial lawyer, could lie like a champ. To Maggie’s credit, she didn’t bat an eyelid at her brother’s fib.
If the doctor didn’t believe it, at least she didn’t bother to challenge it. “Have you spoken to Dr. Keller yet?”
“You’re the fi
rst doctor we’ve spoken to,” Brandon said. “Will he make it?”
“Hard to say. He’s lucky to be alive, but it could go either way with little warning. I’m sorry I don’t have better news for you.” She shrugged. “Anyway, I’m at the end of my shift. I just wanted to look in on him. I’d tell you not to worry, but I know that’s impossible. Just know that he’s in good hands here in the ICU.”
She turned and walked away.
Brandon frowned. “Negative seven for bedside manners. Maggie, how are you doing?”
She flicked a glance at Drew. “I—”
Dylan Smith stirred. A low grunt whispered from his throat.
Maggie, Brandon, and Drew rushed to the bedside.
“Daddy?” Maggie clutched his hand.
Drew spun around. “I’ll get the doctor.”
“Drew…”
He twisted back to face Maggie’s father. The older man’s eyes, dark and intense, locked on him. Dylan’s lips moved, shaping words, but only one was audible. “Promise…”
Promise? Promise what?
The machines screeched a warning. Nurses and doctors rushed into the room. They pushed Maggie and Brandon away from the bed as they scrambled to resuscitate Dylan. Drew backed up against the wall, watching helplessly, as the first attempt failed, as did the second, and the third.
Maggie sobbed in Brandon’s arms. Her brother stared, eyes wide with disbelief, as their father was finally declared dead.
CHAPTER TEN
The days following Dylan Smith’s death passed in a haze of inadequate condolences from friends who came to pay their last respects. Maggie accepted them with nods of thanks while leaning, literally and figuratively, on Drew. He anchored her through the upheaval, made certain she ate and slept, and took her out on long walks and drives through the surrounding countryside. He listened whenever she wanted to talk, and stayed silent when all she wanted was a hug. He was the first person she saw when she woke and the last person before she went to sleep.
By the time she buried her father, Maggie knew, for a fact, she did not want to live without Drew. She lay in bed that night, staring up at the darkened ceiling. Out in the kitchen, she heard her brother’s voice. Was he speaking to Drew? She tugged a robe around her silk pajamas and slipped quietly out of her bedroom.
She would never know what mischievous instinct caused her to pause outside of the kitchen to eavesdrop.
Drew was seated at the kitchen table, his back to her. His shoulders, usually straight and strong, slumped with exhaustion.
“Coffee for you?” Brandon asked.
“No, I can’t afford to stay up. I need sleep.”
“Why don’t you sleep here? After all, you’re here every morning before Maggie wakes and leave only after she goes to bed. You don’t have to keep walking back to your parents’ place. We have room here for you.”
Drew shook his head. “I don’t want to wear out my welcome.”
“Wear out your welcome?” Brandon shoved a bottle of beer across the table to Drew. “We couldn’t have made it without you. I couldn’t have made it without you. With the will and the probate to handle, I just didn’t have time for Maggie, but you did. Besides, you promised Dad that you’d take care of Maggie.”
Drew tilted his head back to take a long swig from the bottle. He set it down and stared at it as if it were an alien object. “Did I?”
“His last words—”
Drew shook his head. “Your dad heard you introduce me as Maggie’s fiancé, and he roused himself long enough to remind me of my fucking promise to stay away from Maggie.”
Maggie jolted. Drew rarely—never—swore, and to hear it from his lips, jarred her sense of rightness with the world.
“What do you mean?” Brandon demanded.
“Ten years ago, after my accident, Maggie started spending lots of time with me. She was supposed to go to Italy to model after the school year ended. I guess your dad got worried that Maggie would choose not to go if she got any more attached to me. He came to see me, and we had a long talk.”
“What about?”
“Maggie. Her dazzling career. Her brilliant prospects. And how I had none, after my accident crushed my knee.” His voice ached with bitterness and irony. “He wanted me to stay away from her, to not get in her way.” Drew shook his head. “It didn’t seem like a big deal to make the promise at that time, but….”
“But Maggie loves you.”
“Does she?” Drew took another sip from the bottle. “As a friend, sure. Not more than that. Look at all the other people she dates. Celebrities, actors, singers—”
“People with way too many Facebook followers. I’m going to sue Tyler’s ass once I sort out Dad’s will.”
“Good.”
“But you love Maggie, don’t you?”
Drew laughed. “You don’t lack confidence.”
“What does my confidence have to do with you loving Maggie?” Brandon asked.
“If you love someone, you’re probably convinced that you can love her better than anyone else.”
“Of course.”
“But it’s easy to love Maggie. Others can, and likely will, love her as much as I do. It leaves me precisely nothing to offer her.”
“But Maggie needs you. You can’t leave her now.”
“No, of course not. I’ll stay for a few days to make sure she’s back on her feet. And I’ll manage her money; I don’t trust anyone else to do it as well as I can.” Drew shook his head and expelled a sigh. “I wish she’d get married. I tell myself, time and time again, to walk away. Each time, she finds a way to pull me back. But if she’s married, I think I’ll finally be able to align what I feel with what I think, and move on.”
“You’re crazy.”
“I’m realistic. Don’t you want your sister to marry well?”
“My sister can make her own money and support her own ass. I want my sister to marry happy.”
“I do too.”
“What if ‘happy’ is with you?”
Drew dragged his fingers through his hair. “How can it be? Your father regained consciousness not to tell you and Maggie that he loved you, but to tell me to stay the hell away from Maggie. It would be funny if it weren’t sick.”
“All he said was ‘promise.’”
“All we heard was promise, and I made only one promise to him—not to get in the way of Maggie’s career and prospects.”
“That’s not true,” Brandon said.
“What?”
“You made another promise to him, five years ago. I was there. I heard it.”
“When?”
“Before Maggie moved back to the U.S. for college. He asked you to keep an eye on her and take care of her.”
“Yeah, so?” Drew asked, his tone flat.
“I know you took a major financial hit when you moved to New York to be close to her.”
“So?”
“You’re good at keeping promises, Drew. I’d think harder though about which promises are worth keeping.”
Drew pushed to his feet, and then leaned down to grip his left knee. He had obviously moved too fast. “I’m tired. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“I’ll give you a ride back.”
“I’m fine. I want to walk. Clear my head.”
“Suit yourself. Just one last question, Drew. Do you love my sister? Yes or no?”
Maggie held her breath. She counted each excruciating moment, watching for the faintest movement of Drew’s head, straining to hear his softest whisper.
He shook his head. “I have to go.”
Maggie shrank back into the shadows as Drew let himself out through the kitchen door. Brandon remained at the kitchen table. He took another sip of his beer. “How much of that did you hear, Maggie?” he asked without turning to look at her.
She stepped out from behind the door. “Just about all of it.”
Brandon shook his head. “And all this time, I thought he was slower than a tortoise. I kept waiti
ng for the e-mail or phone call from you saying you were engaged to him. Never got it. I wondered why. Now I see I should have asked earlier.”
“Did Daddy really ask Drew to stay away?”
“Sounds like something Dad would have done. To be precise, if we combine both promises Drew made to Dad, Drew promised to stay close without getting in the way of your career and prospects. How the hell he was supposed to accomplish that, I don’t know.”
“But he did.” Maggie’s laugh was almost a sob. “It drove me crazy. I thought something was wrong with me.”
“Lots of stuff is wrong with you,” Brandon said with a smile. “But not where Drew is concerned. You’re not going to let him walk away, are you?”
“Drew? Hell, no. I’ll never find another guy who will buy roast pork buns for me.”
Brandon looked at her as if she had lost her mind. He shrugged. “Whatever floats your boat. Move fast though. I think he’s running out of strength to keep going.”
“What do you mean? Don’t you think he loves me?”
“You couldn’t see it, of course, but the look in his eyes.” Brandon shook his head. “Drew’s trying to find a way to step back physically, but emotionally, I think he’s already said goodbye.”
~*~
The sun was a sliver on the horizon, and the air had the crisp bite of morning dew when Drew returned to Maggie and Brandon’s house early the next morning. Stifling a yawn, he let himself in with the kitchen door key. The house was dark; Brandon and Maggie were likely both still asleep. He got the coffee going, and then settled down at the kitchen table to squeeze in some work before Maggie woke up.
He was deep into his fourth analyst report of the day when Maggie walked into the kitchen. “Good morning, Drew.”
He glanced up.
She slammed through his awareness harder than black coffee spiked with five shots of espresso. The red silk dress, the same one she had worn to their monthly meeting two months earlier, hugged her curves, and her golden hair draped like silk over her shoulders. The scent—uniquely hers—perfumed the air.
He exhaled unsteadily, grateful that the table concealed the bulge in his pants. He cleared the hoarseness in his voice with a cough, and then said, “Hey.” It would be too obvious, he realized, to point out that her dress wasn’t exactly suitable for mourning. “What are you up to?”