by Jade Kerrion
Greg scribbled his signature on the piece of paper as Maggie and Brandon stared wordlessly at the distinctive light blue box mixed in with Drew’s wallet, keys, and smartphone. Greg dipped into the plastic bag and pulled out the box. He flipped it open and stared at its contents. A bittersweet smile spread across his face. “I’m guessing he got this for you.” He turned the box toward Maggie.
A diamond engagement ring glittered in a pale blue velvet pad.
“Oh…” Her lips parted.
Greg placed the box in her trembling hands.
Brandon and Greg communicated through wordless glances. Greg went to the door. “I’ll ask if the nurses can bring in another bed, or at least a more comfortable chair.”
Brandon sighed. “Maggie—”
She stared at the ring. Drew had loved her. He had wanted to marry her. “I wish you’d told me.”
“Drew would never have told you.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The steady hum of the machines buried the quiet sounds of Drew’s breaths. Maggie looked up from her computer tablet to stare at his chest. She needed to know he was still breathing. On the wall across from her, the hands of the clock moved through time.
Hours passed, but Drew did not wake.
Hours passed, and Maggie did not leave. Greg, Brandon, and Drew’s parents looked in on her frequently. The nurses brought trays of food to her. Day became night, and the bustle of the hospital subsided. It was nearly midnight when Maggie glanced at the knock on the door. “Felicity?”
Felicity Rivers, Drew’s former girlfriend, stood by the door and glanced at the bed, her eyes swollen and red-rimmed. “How…how is he?”
“We’re not sure yet,” Maggie said. She uncurled from her seat on the corner of the couch and pushed to her feet. “Do you want to come in?”
Felicity took a few steps into the room and stopped several feet away from Drew’s bed, as if she were afraid to go any closer. “The doctor said he might not be able to walk again. Is it true?”
Maggie’s heart clenched, and she struggled to keep her tone even. “We don’t know yet. How did you find out about the accident?”
Felicity twisted her fingers into the strap of her handbag. “I…” She closed her eyes and exhaled shakily. The words rushed out of her. “My brother, Darrell, was driving the truck.”
Maggie’s breath whooshed out of her. “Your brother?”
“I’m so sorry.” Felicity’s eyes filled with tears again. “I…I don’t know what else to say. I’m just…so sorry.”
“Is your brother all right?”
Felicity swallowed hard. “He’s…he’s dead.” Her voice broke.
Oh, God. Maggie threw her arms around Felicity. The other woman wept against her shoulder. “He was coming back from a party,” Felicity said between heaving sobs. “He was drunk. I don’t know what happened. He never drinks. It’s just not like him.”
Maggie stroked Felicity’s back as her thoughts churned with turmoil. Felicity’s brother had crippled Drew, but at that moment, it was impossible to feel anything except sympathy for his devastated sister. They were all victims of life’s cruel hand.
“Do you have someone to go home to?” Maggie asked after Felicity’s sobs stilled into periodic hiccups.
Felicity shook her head. “Our parents died five years ago. Thank God,” she said, her tone filled with irony. “Or this would have broken their hearts.” She sniffled. “It was just the two of us. Not anymore.”
“You shouldn’t be alone,” Maggie said. At that moment, she was painfully aware that Felicity would not have been alone if she had not taken Drew away from Felicity. In fact, if she had not staked her claim on Drew, he would never have been in that cab with her. He would never have been in the accident. Perhaps Felicity’s drunk brother might have made it past that intersection safely. Perhaps he might even have made it home safely. Perhaps no one would have gotten hurt…crippled…killed.
How much of it was her fault?
“I’ll be fine,” Felicity said, though her voice lacked conviction. “You’ll let me know, won’t you, how Drew is doing?”
Maggie nodded.
“Please tell him I’m sorry.” Felicity asked.
“He’ll want to see you when he wakes.”
“Maybe.” Felicity pressed her lips together and looked away. “You’ll take care of him, won’t you, even if he…”
“Yes, of course, for as long as he’ll let me.”
Felicity shook her head. “He won’t let you, not if he’s too badly hurt. You know that.”
Maggie did know that, and she had no idea how to work around Drew’s damnable compulsion to protect her, especially from himself.
~*~
Drew awoke into a world of dampened sensation. Colors blurred into shades of gray. Sounds echoed quietly as if from far away. His surroundings stank of mass-produced disinfectant.
From his waist down, he was a mass of pain.
Pain was good, he reminded himself. Sometimes, just feeling something, anything, was a win.
A familiar fragrance wafted toward him. It blasted alertness through him. Beautiful. Maggie…
He tried to raise himself up on his elbows, but shards of pain shot up his spine and tore a gasp from his lips.
“Drew.” Maggie shifted into the frame of his vision. She blinked repeatedly, as if she had just woken up. Tendrils of blond hair had come loose from her ponytail to frame her face. “Don’t move. I’ll call the doctor.” She pressed a call button on the side of the bed. Her blue eyes roved over his face, as if trying to memorize his features. Her slow smile widened. “You woke up, thank God.”
“You weren’t sure I would?” his voice rasped as she placed his glasses on his face. The world leaped back into focus. How long had he been out? “What happened?”
“A drunk driver in a truck hit our cab.”
“You okay?”
She nodded. “The cab driver too. You got the worst of it.” Maggie’s gaze flicked away briefly.
She was lying, but he did not have to energy to ferret out the lie. “How bad?”
“You were in surgery for a while. How do your legs feel?”
“Hurts like hell.”
“But you can feel them.”
A chill passed through him. Had she been worried that he would not be able to feel his legs? “Maggie—”
A middle-aged doctor walked into the room. “I’m Dr. Hendricks, the orthopedic surgeon who handled your surgery. I also have the medical records related to your prior accident. I’d like to examine you.”
Drew nodded.
Maggie scooted to the head of the bed and slipped her hand into Drew’s as the doctor turned back the sheets. The poking and prodding started out gentle, but escalated quickly. By the time the doctor was done, Drew was pale and sweating. His fingers dug into the sheets, his knuckles white.
The doctor tugged the sheets back over Drew’s legs and stepped back from the bed. “Your lumbosacral injury is classified as a B on the ASIA—American Spiral Injury Association—Impairment Scale. What it means is that you have sensory, but not motor function below the waist. Not what you wanted to hear, I know, but the good news is that B-category injuries frequently improve with significant physical therapy, and possibly additional surgery.”
“So, he’ll have a full recovery?” Maggie asked.
“Can’t promise that,” Dr. Hendricks said. “Spinal injuries are especially tough, and he’s got a preexisting knee injury to work through. Best I can promise you is that if he goes to PT and sticks with it, he’ll see some improvement.”
“When do I start?” Drew asked.
“Probably within a month, once the inflammation subsides.” Dr. Hendricks hesitated. “I’d caution you not to push too hard too fast. I know your type. You think you’re invulnerable—”
“I stopped thinking I was invulnerable ten years ago.” Drew’s chuckle was ironic.
“The key to long-term improvement is steady progress. If you try to do too much
too early, you may only injure yourself and set back your recovery.”
Drew nodded. Focus. He had to focus on the present. His past was too despairing, and his future too bleak to give him anything to go on. Just get better.
“I’ll send the nurses in to remove the IVs. I’m sure you’ll want something real to eat,” the doctor said. “Visitors are fine. Just take care not to get overtired.”
“When can I be discharged?”
“Probably within the week. I suggest you practice with the wheelchair as much as you can. We’ve got patient care assistants who can help.”
Wheelchair.
Drew squeezed his eyes shut.
Ten years ago, he had left the hospital on crutches. He would not even be as lucky this time.
~*~
Drew said little to Maggie. It was easier to let her believe he was tired, which was the truth. She had wanted to stay with him, but he sent her away. Shadows bruised her eyes, and caffeine was probably the only thing propping her eyelids open. Brandon, fortunately, had taken his side and dragged Maggie away after swearing to bring her back once she had eight hours of sleep.
When Maggie left, she took all the light with her. Darkness swarmed into the room. Drew was certain the suddenly dismal physical environment reflected his mood, but logic provided little comfort.
A knock sounded on the door. “Hey.”
Drew glanced up. His brother, Greg, wore a hesitant smile. “Brandon called and said you’d woken up. Mom and Dad wanted to come too, but I persuaded them to hold off for an hour or so. I figured we’d give you a chance to process visitors one at a time.” He glanced around the room. “Where’s Maggie?”
“I sent her home with Brandon.”
“Oh. Your stuff is in the drawer.”
Drew glanced at the side table. It was too far to reach for someone who could not even turn onto his side without getting tangled in IV tubes and sending screaming pain shooting down his spine.
Greg moved to the side table and slid the drawer out. A light blue box, sealed with a white ribbon, lay next to Drew’s wallet, keys, and smartphone.
Maggie’s engagement ring.
Drew sucked in his breath. His head felt swollen, as if stuffed with too many thoughts he had begun but left unfinished. He couldn’t think. If he tried, the ache in his chest intensified until he thought it would burst.
It was easier to do what he knew, instinctively, was right.
Let her go.
His hopes of recovery were slim at best. He could not saddle Maggie with a cripple.
Let her go.
Her career was on the brink of breaking out into something greater. He could not get in her way. He could not hold her back.
Let her go.
“Take it away,” Drew said.
“What?”
“The ring. Take it away. I don’t want Maggie to see it.”
“You’re going to give it to her, aren’t you?”
“No.” In that instant, something broke in him. Drew had to shut his eyes and grit his teeth to keep the stab of anguish from doubling him over in pain.
Greg was silent for a moment. “You’ll never find anyone else like her.”
Drew shook his head. “It’ll take me months…maybe years…to learn to walk again.”
Greg stared at him. “I’m surprised you’re handling this so well.”
“I lived with a bum knee for ten years. It’s worse, but not different.”
“It shouldn’t make any difference to Maggie, then.”
“She’s going to Milan.”
Greg’s eyebrows shot up. “Again?”
“She got a contract to design and model for one of the fashion houses there. It’s huge for her career.”
“And you were going to follow her to Milan,” Greg said. It was a statement, not a question.
“I was, but I can’t. Not anymore. Not like this.”
“If you asked her, she’d stay for you.”
“And that’s why I can’t. Her career matters to her.”
“I’d say, so do you. There are physical therapists in Milan, you know.”
“If—” Drew caught himself. “When I’m better, I’ll go to her.”
“You just said it could be months or years.” Greg shook his head. “You are bat-shit crazy, you know that? You’ll let the most amazing woman you’ll ever meet walk out of your life, and you’re not going to fight for her?”
Drew looked up and met his brother’s eyes. “I don’t know if I’ll be better, and unless I am, I can’t ask Maggie for more than friendship. It’s not just my legs, Greg. It’s everything from my waist down.” The crack in his heart widened and deepened; the fragments left him bleeding. His voice trembled. He could not say more.
Greg stared at Drew, his face paling. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think—damn it, man. I’m so sorry.” He yanked his fingers through his hair. “Does she know?”
Drew nodded. “Two months,” he said, his voice scarcely a whisper. “I had her for two months, but the dream is over and our time together is done.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
A week later, Maggie followed along behind Drew as he steered the wheelchair into his bedroom at his parents’ Westchester home. She steadied the chair as Drew lifted himself from the wheelchair and onto the bed. She tried to smile through the nausea swirling in the pit of her stomach. “Do you want me to help you arrange the pillows?”
Drew shook his head. He did not meet her eyes.
The panic that clutched at her stomach almost sent her running to the toilet to throw up. The awareness that Drew was emotionally and physically backing away was like a throbbing, open wound. Worse was the knowledge that nothing she said or nothing she did seemed to make any difference.
He leaned down to lift his legs onto the bed—a pitiful movement that emphasized his crippled state—and then leaned back against his pillows. He turned his face away from her to stare out of the window.
She had never felt less welcome. “Drew, can we talk?” she asked.
“What about?”
“Us.”
Drew expelled his breath in a soft sigh. “Ten years later, we’re back where we started. I’m stuck in this bed, and you have a plane ticket to Milan. Go to Milan, Maggie. You know you owe it to yourself, your career—”
“But what about you?”
“We’re friends; that doesn’t change. I’ll still manage your money. If you come back to visit, we’ll talk about your budget over roast pork buns.”
Maggie stared at Drew. He was smiling at her. That bastard was smiling while breaking her heart.
Then she looked into his eyes and realized that he was in as much pain as she was.
“What will you do?” she asked.
“Go to physical therapy. Focus on getting better.”
“And when you are, is there a future for us?”
He looked away. “I can’t ask you to wait.”
“No? Is that your answer? Do you want a clean break? Does that mean you won’t even stay in touch with me when I’m in Milan?”
He said nothing.
Damn him. Maggie did not know whether to scream or cry. Neither would move him, the stubborn fool. Everything he did shrieked of his love for her, but he had never spoken the words.
She raised her gaze from his face to the window on the other side of his bed. The view outside his window opened onto snow-covered fields and icicles dangling from bare tree branches.
The feeling of déjà vu made her recoil.
She blinked hard and forced herself to see not just the background, but also the window that framed it.
Months ago, on their first real date, Drew had given her a photograph of a lovely winter background on the far side of a wood-paneled windowpane framed on either side by dark blue curtains.
It was a photograph of his window. The words on the photograph, inscribed in silver, had read, “I lost the view when I found you.”
In his deliberately obscure way, Drew had sa
id, “I love you.”
A faint smile curved her lips. Her path forward was finally, perfectly clear. “Goodbye, Drew,” she said, her voice steady. She spun around, her skirt swishing about her legs, and walked to the door.
“Maggie.”
She glanced over her shoulder.
Drew looked alone, and in that moment, vulnerable. “I want you to be happy.” His farewell was as much an apology as it was a profession of love.
Maggie arched an eyebrow. “Oh, I will be.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Drew unlocked the door and maneuvered himself and his wheelchair into his apartment. The muscles in his back, sore from that day’s physical therapy session, protested as he reached up to flick on the light switch.
Alone, at home, with no need to pretend that he was stronger, more capable, or happier than others imagined him to be, he sighed, his shoulders sagging from weariness.
After his accident, he spent a month and a half in his parents’ home before the doctors judged him competent enough with a wheelchair to return to his solitary life in the city. Another two months had passed since, each day blending into the next. He spent hours in physical therapy and the rest of his time working on his clients’ investments, including Maggie’s. Each night, he collapsed into bed, physically and mentally exhausted. Fatigue, however, bought him no relief from the dull heartache embedded in his chest. He had too many memories of Maggie to escape unscathed.
His glance fell on the light blue box on his bedside table. Others might have thought it reckless to leave an expensive diamond engagement ring out in plain sight. To Drew, however, the ring represented hope, however slim. When he woke each morning, his back and legs leaden with stiffness and pain, it gave him the strength to get out of bed and head to his grueling physical therapy session. Each night, he stared at the box until sleep dragged him down. Thinking of Maggie kept his grinding loneliness at bay.
Perhaps one day, soon, he would call her. He missed her voice.
How was she doing in Milan? Perhaps she was dating again; Maggie never lacked admirers. Drew could have followed her through the news and social media channels, but that was too masochistic, even for him. It was easier to separate his Maggie from the Marguerite Ferrara the world knew. The former might have loved him, but the latter had too many celebrity admirers to waste her time on a man who could not walk.