by Jade Kerrion
She paused at the door and glanced back, her fur coat draped over her arm. “Are you sure you’ll be okay? I don’t have to go.”
“Of course, you do. Your career’s important.”
The smile she flashed him was so delighted that he knew he had done the right thing by letting her go.
For the second time, he watched the woman he loved walk out of his life, her eyes dazzled by visions of her high-flying career in Milan. For the second time, his heart broke, and he knew there would not be a third chance for Maggie and him.
~*~
The spotlights and camera flashes kicked off a vicious migraine, but Maggie kept her smile in place as she was invited into group photographs with StilEterno’s designers and models. She made the social rounds on the arm of Luca Alosi, the young and dashing CEO of StilEterno, and smiled when he introduced her as Marguerite Ferrara, the “brilliant designer and stunning model we hope will join StilEterno next year.”
She smiled through the wrenching feeling of vertigo and the certainty that her world was spinning out of control. The sick sensation in the pit of her stomach was oddly familiar, although not something she had felt recently. The fact that she couldn’t place it bothered her.
If Drew were there—
Awareness slapped her in the face. Drew wasn’t there, and that was the problem. It was the moment of her triumph, and he, more than anyone else, had helped her attain it. Of course she knew he was happy for her, and they would celebrate some more when she returned home, but—
She suddenly recalled the last time she had felt that sick sensation in the pit of her stomach.
Only thirteen years old, she had stood at the door of Drew’s bedroom and stared at his broad shoulders, hunched beneath the covers. Her parents waited in the car to take her to the airport to catch her flight to Milan.
She pressed a trembling hand against the doorframe. “Drew?”
“Yeah?” he grunted without turning to face her.
“I’m going to the airport. I wanted to say goodbye.”
“Yeah. Bye.”
She pressed her lips together to keep them from quivering. Why wouldn’t he look at her? After all the time they spent together in the few months since his accident, she thought they had become friends. She even accompanied him to his physical therapy sessions. He had made a great deal of progress; he had taken his first unaided step earlier that week, and they had celebrated over pizza and coke.
Maggie swallowed hard and blinked back her tears. Nausea churned in the pit of her stomach—a sickening awareness that she had lost his friendship somehow, and she could do nothing about it. “Goodbye, Drew.” Her voice broke.
“Maggie, wait.” Drew twisted around in the bed. Pain flashed over his chiseled features, and he reached down to grip his injured knee. He held up his other hand to keep her away when she would have run up to him to soothe the pain. A muscle twitched in his smooth cheek when he looked up and met her gaze. “Goodbye, kid.” The words were brusque, his tone gruff. He said nothing more, but he stared at her as if trying to imprint her image on the inside of his eyes.
God knew, she had tried to do the same.
Maggie had retreated from Drew’s bedroom, her final glimpse of him blurred by the tears brimming in her eyes. The sick feeling in the pit of her stomach lasted through her entire flight to Milan and for several weeks thereafter until the sharp pain of losing Drew’s friendship subsided into a dull ache. The lingering sense of loss surfaced abruptly whenever she met someone who reminded her a little of Drew, but she learned to live with it.
That ache vanished when she returned to New York City for college and realized that Drew had also, serendipitously, relocated to Manhattan. It was back, though, sharper than it had been. She had far more to lose now.
In fact, she had already lost.
Maggie pressed a hand against her stomach, as if it would keep the pain from spilling out of her. Oh, God, what had she done? For the second time, she had turned her back on Drew and walked out the door. This time, she hadn’t jumped on a plane to Milan, but she might as well have. She was leaving, wasn’t she?
Wasn’t she?
Not without Drew.
And if he did not want to go to Milan, she wouldn’t either. It wasn’t just her life and her career. It was now their lives and their careers.
She had to get home to—
“Maggie.”
She spun around. Drew wore a sports jacket over a black turtleneck and black pants, and looked classy enough to blend in at an event that featured celebrities in ten-thousand dollar suits and dresses. He balanced against a cane, and his face was pale and tight-lipped.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“This is important to you, and I wanted to be here for you.”
She searched his face. “Is that all?”
Drew gave a small shrug. He said nothing else.
His silence was always telling. He was here to see if he could fit into her life. Maggie turned back to Luca with a smile on her face. “Luca, my boyfriend, Drew Jackson. Drew, this is Luca Alosi. He’s the CEO of StilEterno.”
“Always a pleasure to meet Maggie’s friends.” Luca extended his hand.
“Likewise.”
Luca relinquished Maggie’s arm. “There are others I must meet, so I bid you goodnight for now. I will see you in Milan in the new year?”
Maggie bit back the “yes” on her lips. “I’ll let you know as soon as I can.”
Luca darted a glance at Drew before looking back at Maggie. “StilEterno will be a wonderful career opportunity for you. I hope you will accept.”
“Will you go to Milan?” Drew asked after Luca waded back into the crowd.
“Will you come with me?” Maggie asked.
Drew reached into his jacket pocket. “I—”
“Marguerite!” Leon Kinrath’s voice boomed. He grabbed her waist, swung her into his arms, and smacked a kiss onto her lips. “It’s so good to see you again. Have you heard about my latest role? I just signed with Paramount.” He looked at her askance as she pushed against his chest. “What are you doing?”
“Let go of me.”
Leon eyed the gathering crowd. “Why, Marguerite?” He raised his voice for the benefit of the listeners. “You were much friendlier when we were at your place.”
“That’s not how I remember—”
Drew cut in. “The lady has asked you to let her go.”
Leon looked at Drew as if he were a piece of lint on his dinner jacket. His grip on Maggie’s waist tightened possessively. “Who are you?”
“Drew Jackson.”
Maggie took advantage of Leon’s distraction to bring her stiletto heel down on his toes. The man yelped and released her. “What the hell, Marguerite?”
Drew held out his hand. “Maggie, let’s go.”
She latched on to Drew’s arm as if it were a safety line.
“Maggie?” Leon echoed incredulously. “Why do you let him call you such a common name?”
Irritation flicked through her. “Just a minute,” she told Drew. She went back to Leon and leaned close to his ear. The man smiled in anticipation of what he probably hoped was a kiss or a secret.
Maggie offered the latter in a stage whisper, clearly audible to the closest eavesdroppers. “The men who make love to me get to call me Maggie. Everyone else calls me Marguerite.”
Leon’s hands clenched into fists. His glare locked on Drew, and he sneered. “If you weren’t a cripple—”
This time, Maggie didn’t bother to whisper. “You’re such a sore loser, Leon. Who knew?” She reached for Drew’s hand again.
Drew yanked her sharply aside. Maggie blinked in time to see Leon’s fist fly past her face. Drew ducked beneath Leon’s attack, and drove his fist into Leon’s stomach.
Leon stumbled and doubled over. He wrapped his arms over his waist, and looked up at Drew. A snarl contorted his face. He lunged forward but bystanders pulled him back. “Take it easy, man,” someone said, as he
gripped Leon’s shoulder firmly. “Not worth it.”
Too late, Maggie thought, as the cameras flashed. She darted a glance at Drew. His dark eyes were focused, watchful. His stance was that of a man prepared to fight, his bad leg notwithstanding. Maggie pressed her lips together and blinked hard to hold back her tears; she was so proud of him, she thought her chest would burst.
“Come, darling.” She slid her hand into his and pulled him away. Cameras flashed again, and she did not doubt that the reporters in the crowd were frantically researching “Drew Jackson” on their smartphones.
It was snowing hard when Maggie and Drew stepped out of the Waldorf Astoria, but they quickly got into a waiting cab. Maggie leaned forward and gave the cab driver the address of Drew’s apartment complex, and then relaxed back into the vinyl seat. She glanced sideways at Drew and slid her hand over his. “If you were hoping for a low-key introduction into my world, I’d say you didn’t find it.”
“I’m sorry, I—”
“Leon Kinrath is an ass, and you showed him. I’m glad you came, though I can’t believe you tried to attend a party with your knee hurting as badly as it is.”
“I figured it was the last chance I had to make it work.” Drew sighed. “I can’t lose you, Maggie. I couldn’t let you walk away from us. I know how important your career is to you, but we’re at a different place than we were ten years ago. I couldn’t follow you to Milan then, but I can now. I can work anywhere; I may have to travel more for meetings, but we can find a way to make it work.”
Her eyes glistening, Maggie smiled at him. She leaned over to breathe a kiss on his lips.
Headlights flared through the window into her eyes, momentarily blinding her. A thunderous jolt slammed through her. Metal ground against metal, screaming as they tore into each other. She did not even have time to scream before her world spun and twisted into darkness.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Maggie awoke to the glare of circular florescent lights overhead. Shafts of pain pulsed through her skull, and each breath made her chest hurt. The blur of her vision focused on a pair of broad shoulders by her bedside. “Drew?”
The man turned. “Maggie.”
“Brandon?” She struggled to sit up, but the tubes trailing from the IVs in her arm caught her by surprise. “Where…what happened?”
“Some dumb kid ran a red light. His monster truck smashed into the cab.”
“Drew?”
Brandon’s face tightened. “He’s alive.”
Maggie’s breath caught. “But…?”
“He’s still in surgery.” Her brother inhaled deeply. “He took the brunt of the impact. Emergency responders spent an hour cutting him out of the wreck.” Brandon reached out and grabbed Maggie’s hand. His warm hands seemed to burn against her cold fingers. “Hey, hey, you stay with me, all right? Breathe. You looked like you were about to pass out.”
“I…I want to see him.”
“You’re only badly bruised, according to the doctors, but you’ve been in a major accident, and you’re still going to hurt like hell. I don’t think the doctors will let you out of bed for at least another twenty-four hours. Besides, Drew’s in surgery. No one can see him.”
“Is he going to make it?”
Brandon was briefly silent. “We hope so.”
Maggie exhaled, her breath shuddering. She forced her mind away from Drew. If she lingered on him, she would not be able to think, let alone talk. “Did anyone else get hurt? The cab driver?”
“Shaken, but managed to walk away from the accident.”
“And the boy in the truck?”
“I don’t know, but if he survived, I’m going to sue his ass.”
“I want to see Drew as soon as he’s out of surgery. You have to find out how he’s doing.”
Brandon studied her. “Okay, I’ll do that,” he said. “You just rest. You’re not going to help him by worrying.”
Maggie pressed her face against the pillow as Brandon walked out of the room. Tears leaked from her eyes to dampen the sheets. Her thoughts whirled until, exhausted, she finally fell asleep.
~*~
The doctors did not permit her out of bed until noon the following day. When they did, Brandon escorted her down to Drew’s hospital room. Greg, Drew’s younger brother, was in the room and stood when she entered. “Maggie, are you all right?” He took both her hands in his. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”
She looked past his shoulder. “Drew. How is he?”
Greg and Brandon exchanged glances. Greg spoke, “The doctors managed to save his legs, but they can’t really tell how badly hurt he is until he regains consciousness.”
“He hasn’t yet?” Maggie sucked in a shuddering breath.
Surrounded by quietly humming machines, Drew looked like he was merely asleep. The cuts on his torso and upper arms had been bandaged, but the worst damage—the crushing impact to his back and legs—was hidden beneath the sheets.
“No, he hasn’t waken. The doctors think it may be a while before he does.” Greg grimaced. “It’s déjà vu…living the nightmare all over again.”
“You mean ten years ago? In Drew’s accident?”
“Yeah, it’s the same thing.” Greg dragged his hand through his hair. “You. Drew.”
“Me?”
Brandon shot Greg a warning glance.
Greg caught himself. “Nothing. I wasn’t thinking.”
“No.” Maggie shrugged off Brandon’s restraining hand. “You were saying…I had something to do with Drew’s first accident? But I wasn’t even there.”
“We don’t have to talk about it now,” Brandon said.
“Yes, we do,” Maggie said. “Tell me what happened ten years ago.”
Greg glanced at Brandon and then said, “What do you remember from the night of Drew’s accident?”
“It was almost Christmas. He was back for vacation.”
“Right, but you…what did you do that night?”
“I was at a party. But Drew wasn’t there.”
“Actually.” Greg inhaled deeply. “He was. You called me, drunk, and asked for a pickup. But I was asleep, and it was Drew who answered the phone.”
“He…” Maggie grew cold.
Greg nodded. “He picked you up from the party.”
“But I don’t remember seeing him.”
“You were piss-drunk.” Greg sighed. “You would have gone home with anyone who pointed you in the right direction and kept you from falling face-first onto the ground. Drew said he went into the frat house, found you almost passed out on the couch, and carried you back to the car. He took you home that night.”
Maggie did not want to hear the rest of story, but she had to. “And then…?”
“On his way home, a drunk driver—from the same damn party—plowed into his car. Sent it into a tree. And you know what happened after that.”
Drew had gotten into that accident because of her? “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
Greg glanced at Brandon, who took over the painful revelation of facts. “We decided not to.”
“What?” Maggie’s eyes widened. “Drew hurt his knee. He lost his football career because of me, and you decided not to tell me?”
Brandon held his hands up. “Drew made that call.”
Her jaw dropped. “He what?”
“When Drew woke up and realized you didn’t have any memory of what actually happened that night, he told us not to tell you. He insisted it wasn’t your fault—which, of course, it wasn’t—and he didn’t want you to be burdened by guilt.”
“He did that?” Maggie asked, her voice quiet.
Greg nodded. “I think he was already in love with you then. It was not something he could confess to, though, seeing how you and I were dating at that time.”
“Oh, God.” She sank into a chair and buried her face in her hands. “I wrecked his life…”
“Come on, Maggie,” Brandon said. “That’s exactly why he didn’t want you to know. Guilt’s just s
uch a nasty thing to have to live with. He didn’t want it tainting the relationship he wanted with you.”
“But I was responsible!”
“If you’re going to blame yourself for his accident, you might as well take credit for his recovery too,” Greg said firmly. “After the hospital discharged him, Drew became depressed. The doctors told him the damage to his knee was permanent.” Greg shook his head at the memory. “When Drew realized his football career was over, he talked less, ate less; he didn’t want to see anyone. He couldn’t work up the energy to get out of bed, let alone go to physical therapy. Then one day, you showed up with CDs, videos, and a pile of books, marched into his room, and closed the door. That day, after you left, Drew called me in and asked for the physical therapist’s phone number. No matter how bad each day got after that, he never complained. He just focused on seeing you again.” Greg tipped Maggie’s chin up and looked her in the eyes. “You got my brother through the single worst event of his entire life. He owes you. I owe you.”
“And no one holds you responsible for what happened to Drew, least of all Drew,” Brandon added.
“But this time—”
“It’s not your fault,” Brandon said.
“He came to the photo op because of me…because I walked out on him and let him think I was leaving for Milan. Oh, God. Don’t you see?” Maggie dug her fingers into her scalp. If only the physical pain were sharper, it might have distracted her from the stabbing ache in her chest. “It’s just like ten years ago. He came to take me home from the party. I wake up from the accident, practically unhurt, and he’s the one lying there in bed, hurt, unconscious—” She doubled over in the chair. Sobs tore her apart.
Brandon cursed. “I’ll take you back to your room, Maggie.”
“No, I’m not going!” She raised her tear-streaked face to him. “I’m staying here. I’m not leaving.”
A knock sounded on the door. A nurse cleared her throat. “Anyone of you a family member of Drew Jackson?”
“I’m his brother,” Greg said.
The nurse held out a clear plastic bag and an official-looking form. “These things were in his pockets. Can you please sign for them here?”