I am startled awake by a symphony of alarms, shouting, piercing the silent night. Nurses rush into the room and I shuffle out of the way, dazed.
“There is a DNR!” I blink and desperately wipe the sleep from my eyes. Every machine in the room is going off. The heart monitor pierces with a flat line. The ventilator screams, the pump noticeably still, unmoving. My heart leaps into my throat as I watch the nurses. They move seamlessly, unplugging machines and resetting alarms. In their purple scrubs, the oldest and most senior among them carefully removes my grandmother’s IV and the oxygen monitor that is clipped to her delicate fingertip and crosses her hands over her heart.
“I’m sorry, dear,” she offers with a warm smile and a pat on the hand, before giving orders to the others and calling for the doctor to declare the time of death.
Anchored to the spot in shock, I fear if I move I will sink to the ground from the waves of grief that are building. Threatening to level me, like a tsunami. It is coming. The alarms blare in my head, and I watch my grandmother. Her heart is still, mine is breaking. The weight of a strong hand on my shoulder comforts me. The smell of citrus and salt water soothes my aching chest. I close my eyes and surrender to the hallucination, happy to be anywhere but the tiny hospital room.
“Sophie.” A litany whispered from the heavens. The strong hand coaxes me, centers me, and I open my eyes.
“Rhys?” Reborn by the sound and feel of his name passing my lips, I close my eyes and say it again. “Rhys.” When I open my eyes, he looks forlorn, his face is dark and wary, sleep deprived. He is disheveled in a white long sleeve tee and dark, wrinkled jeans.
“I’m here, Beautiful.” He opens his arms and waits, offering me a place to disappear, a respite from the outside world. Without a second thought, I accept his offer of safe haven and melt into his strong embrace. He presses me to his heart, his arms wound tightly around me, comforting and protective. His hand fists in my hair, cupping my head so tenderly, it’s almost painful. I surrender to his strength, and tears fall in a deluge. His capable hands allow me to bathe in the grief. I let it wash me clean. I sob into his chest, vaguely aware of his steady heartbeat and strong hands. They hold me tightly and soothe my aching heart. By the time I find my voice, his shirt is soaked, saturated with my hot, salty tears, the planes of his chest just visible behind the damp, translucent fabric. Resting my hands upon his chest, I press my forehead to his heart and listen for the steady beat, something to ground me, keep me centered. I find it and focus on it. Letting it pulse through me, the rhythm of his heart steadies my own. Once I have filled my lungs with the deepest breath I can muster, I look up into his waiting eyes, clear green, soft and concerned. Could he really exist in this moment?
Everything is crashing in around me. My fractured heart is breaking to pieces in front of him. He is the relief I need, and the painful reminder that will pull me down into the deep. I didn’t want to bother him with my troubles, I didn’t want to assume that he would be here. But, I would be a damn, dirty liar if I tried to convince myself that I wasn’t happy to see him, beyond happy. I can breathe again. As I let the flood gates open, I realize the grief I have been tamping down, hot on the heels of my relief. It all floods through at once; grief over the loss of the last person I love, pain from the broken heart I had tried to bury, happiness from being enveloped in his strong arms, and terror at the thought of being utterly alone.
“I’m all alone,” my voice cracks, the whisper is so faint, I’m not sure I said it out loud. The pain in his face is all the confirmation I need that he heard me.
“No,” he insists, kissing me gently on the top of my head. A gentle kiss, before he sits me back down, turning his attention to the nurses that teem around the central desk of the ICU. I watch him with dead eyes, I feel almost nothing. The faint beat of my heart is all I can hear, it floods my ears, drowning out the life sounds of the remaining ICU patients. Rhys passes the nurse his card and speaks to her emphatically. He is quiet, reserved, but his intent and determination radiate throughout the ICU. He is commanding and it is soothing.
Chapter 7
Moments pass in a blinding storm of papers and instruction. Rhys converses with the nurses and hospital administrator while I stand silently stunned. The vague memory of being shuffled into the back of the Town Car is all I can recall as I awoke in my own bed, the darkness of the night swallowing everything around me, cradled in Rhys’ strong arms. It takes a minute before everything comes rushing back into my conscious mind and an incredible weight crushes my chest. My body is racked by a bone deep sob. I arch my back against the force and press into Rhys’ warm chest. With his arm around my shoulder, he pulls me closer, tighter. I cannot stop sobbing, tears trickle down my face and fall to the sheet below. I don’t remember feeling this empty all those years ago when I lost my parents. This is a new degree of empty. A new mass of weight sits on my chest, threatening my every breath. A cold, empty stone crushing my heart, making it hard to breathe, hard to think, hard to be. I feel his face in my hair. He kisses my crown and holds me tightly.
“You go ahead and cry, I’m here to hold you and wipe your eyes.” I am vaguely aware of his fingers stroking my hair as he creates a hypnotic rhythm that makes my puffy lids heavy and forces me back to sleep.
Everything is black. All around me, black is all there is. The smell of the black invades my senses, the pounding sound of the black echoes loudly in my head. I am surrounded and completely alone, overwhelmed by the weight of my desolation, crushed by the very void that threatens to swallow me whole.
I couldn’t say if it had been a few hours or a few days the next time I open my eyes. But he is still there, right next to me, propped against a bank of pillows with his laptop on his knees. He taps away, his fingers flying furiously across the keys, his eyes narrowed and focused. I watch him, not wanting him to know that I am awake. Wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs, he is beautiful, like an angel, here to guide me through to the other side. His bare chest glistens and his wet hair tells me he has had a shower. I wonder when the last time I had a shower was. I roll over and look up into Rhys’ waiting face. I wonder how long he has been watching me. Opening my eyes burns, my lids are still heavy with unshed tears, my face puffy from the river of tears that have already fallen. The sight of him fills me with hope. Hope that he can plug the growing hole in my chest. Distract me from this all-consuming grief that threatens to pull me under and trap me forever. I could run. Run away with him to New York and everything would be different. And in that moment I am committed.
“Will you take me to New York?” My voice is hoarse and quiet, my throat having been locked and fighting back sobs for what must be days. A light shines in his eyes before he wrinkles his nose and considers me.
“Absolutely, Beautiful. I will take you anywhere you want to go. You just say the word.” Pushing the laptop from his legs, he rolls over and pulls me to his chest. “What brought this on?”
“I just want to get out of here. I don’t want to be here anymore. I don’t want to feel like this.” Running a finger down his chest, I skip on the ripple of muscle under his ribs and let the sensation of his skin spread through me like a calm fog. A stone core wrapped in the finest silk, he is soft and hard and the perfect distraction. “When can we leave?”
“After the service in the morning. Are you sure about this? Because, I will make the arrangements right now and we will go as soon as you say the word.”
“Yes, I am sure. Do it. I don’t want to stay. I want to go with you.” A consuming smile spread across his face as he takes my face in his hands and pulls me closer.
“I am going to make it my job to make you feel better, Sophie. You just wait.” Our lips dance in a slow, languid kiss, my lips still full from crying and stung by his passion.
“I want to take a shower.” I slide off the bed as he pulls the laptop back to him and reaches for his phone,.
“Ok, Beautiful. I am going to get us ready for tomorrow.” I close the b
athroom door as he rings up Nina. I turn the shower on, peel myself out of the T-shirt I have been living in and drop my panties to the cool floor. I flip the light off, surrendering myself to the darkness and step under the scalding hot water, pulling the glass door shut behind me. I let the hot water sting me, every part of my body cries under the heat and a strange numbness wraps around me like a blanket. I let the dark and the hypnotic heat pound on me until I cannot feel a thing. Surrounded by a dark steam, my senses are jumbled, my sense of direction guided only by the falling water. In the dark I can feel so much more. Every rivulet of water sliding down my body, the rhythmic beating on my sensitive skin, it all melts together washing everything away.
A slight sliver of light shreds the darkness for a moment before I hear the shower door open and Rhys steps up behind me. “We are all set to go tomorrow,” he whispers before kissing the back of my neck. I bow under the weight of his lips, my knees swaying as I clutch the slick shower wall. He turns me around so the water is at my back and I feel the bar of soap in his hands. “Let me wash you.” I stand still in the dark while his hands skate over my skin, covering every inch of wet flesh with flowery sweet lather.
“Yes. Please. I don’t want to feel like this anymore. I don’t want to feel anything.” I hear him put the soap down, then his hands are all over me. Washing and spreading the lather, paying homage to every hidden inch of my skin. Between my legs, his hands slide behind my knees and he kneads my calves. I place a hand on his back as he lifts one foot and then the other, washing me, touching every inch of me. Covering me with his brand of grief relief, and it’s working. There is nothing in this dark but me and Rhys, his soapy hands and my racked body. His fingers slide across my hips, over my belly and he cups my breasts. They heave in his hands, glad for the support and attention. Round and round his palms swipe across my nipples, as they reach for him, tight and aching for his mouth. Wiping the soap away, he takes me into his mouth and pulls me deep and hard. With a nip of his teeth, he releases me and the sensation rings down the length of my spine. Wrapping my hands around his neck, he takes my other breast into his mouth and laves my nipple with the flat of his tongue, twisting and twisting until he bites down and I cry out.
“Turn around.” His low voice resonates around the shower enclosure and down my back. I turn into the water as he presses and pulls the muscles in my shoulders, covering my back with the heady flower scented suds. Around my belly and under my breasts, he rolls his hands around my body like a discoverer exploring new places, places now shrouded by the dark. We feel each other because we cannot see each other. I feel him more deeply than I ever have. I trust his hands and his instincts. His hands come around my back and slide down my backside, his fingers meeting in the crevasse, pushing a river of suds down my crack. Pulling the cheeks of my ass apart, he runs his soapy fingers over my hungry slit, back and forth, spreading soap and my sticky arousal all over.
His hands rest on my hips as he drops to his knees behind me. I feel his breath brush the base of my spine and then his tongue. He runs his silky tongue along my back before planting a soft kiss at the base of my spine. His hands slide down between my legs, seeking out the heat at my core while he kisses the dimples on my back. Sliding his finger beyond my folds he slips slowly into my body as he stands up. With his front pressed to my back, he pushes me against the wall and slides his finger to the knuckle.
“What do you feel, Sophie?” he whispers.
“You,” I breathe into the heavy steam that has settled around us, “nothing but you.”
“Good.” His chest rumbles against my back and I press my cheek to the cool shower wall. Everything he does feels so good. The heat and his fingers conspire and I feel light headed, like I am floating. His hands cover me in a veil of quiet relief. Rhys spins me around and I flop against the wall, unable to hold myself as he wraps his arms around me and picks me up. I am grateful for the reprieve, my legs no longer able to support me. Rhys holds me flat against the wall and slides his long cock into me so slowly I almost lose my mind. Inch by inch, he sinks into me and wipes my mind clean. There is nothing but skin and water and the throaty sound of his pleasure as he takes me in the dark. Hot salty tears rain down my face. I taste them as they fall into my mouth and dance with the streaming water. I am grateful for the dark, for the chance to feel it all. Maybe if I let it wash over me it won’t feel so bad. If it all comes crashing together the pain will get lost. The first wave sneaks up on me and I quiver and spasm quietly.
“Oh shit, Sophie, you feel so good. Your whole body is humming. I feel every part of you, Baby.” Panting, he continues to thrust through until his pelvis licks at my clit and I am pushed over the edge again. Free falling in the dark, my eyes full of tears, my heart full of something else entirely. It feels so good. “Don’t cry,” he whispers and finds my cheek with his thumb.
“You feel so good, Rhys. Please don’t stop,” I beg, pulling him closer, sliding my hips up his body.
His hands grip my ass and he pummels me. Rocking so deep my heart swells and I surrender to the final deluge as wave after wave rolls over me, under my skin, behind my eyes, down my spine. Every part of me rings.
“Oh, God!” he cries through gritted teeth, slowing his assault until he has slid to the tip. He hovers there for a moment, his breath heating my chest. His hands wind behind my back and over my shoulders. A delicate kiss on my collar bone and he pulls me down on his angry cock. In one clean motion burying himself, he pulls back and slams into me again and again. I ride him with my back sliding against the shower wall, my hands gripping his powerful shoulders. He pounds against me so hard that my pelvis rings and I know I will be bruised but I don’t care. The last powerful thrust finds him empty and panting against my neck. I feel his hand above my head, pressed to the wet tile. He braces himself as I cling to his wet body, still connected. The water stops and he pushes through the dark and into the bedroom. We tumble to the bed, wet and exhausted. A delirious giggle trickles from my throat as he slides from my body and that pesky emptiness comes quickly rushing back. But before it can swallow me, I fall fast asleep, curled in a damp ball against Rhys’ chest.
My hair is a crazy nest when I wake having fallen asleep wet and unbrushed, while Rhys is unsuitably perfect, as always. I find as I get myself ready for what is to come, the pain is slowly replaced by a soothing numbness. I can find comfort in the numbness. I am familiar and comfortable with being numb. And in the numbness the rest of the horrible day passes in a quiet flash while I stand calmly in the middle, unaffected and untouched by what is going on around me. Rhys has taken it upon himself to handle everything, well, actually it turns out my grandmother had everything already planned and paid for. There is a little of that old fashioned, war time mentality. She has had a cemetery plot and her last wishes recorded since my grandfather died. She is to be buried next to him, across from my parents. There is no real money to speak of, just a couple thousand dollars in cash that she had hidden around her house. Most of her assets were swallowed up by her long term care these last few years. All that remains is the house and I am pretty sure I will have to sell it, but Rhys says I shouldn’t have to worry about that now.
***
The Town Car pulls along the dirt drive of the little cemetery that is perched atop of the hill just outside of town. Gravestones from as far back as the late eighteenth century sit on the hill, looking down on the new residents of their sleepy little mining town. The day is cold and gray, a fitting send off, for both of us. A new, fresh grave sits just off the dirt drive. Rhys offers me his hand and we walk across the grass, between rows and rows of souls, hopefully at rest, before Rhys releases me into the arms of Father Don, my grandmother’s favorite priest. I feel myself being passed around, as I move from embrace to embrace; the little old ladies that she used to play bridge with, the women she worked with at her church, and few remaining people around town that she actually grew up with. There were more people than I expected. I take my place at the head o
f the grave, safely wrapped in Rhys protective arms and Father Don begins to pray. Every face is so sad and pity filled, their eyes unable to focus away from me, the sad girl who has no family to speak of.
Rhys tenses, almost imperceptibly, pulling me just a little closer. I look up from my personal hell to see Collin slowly making his way towards us, holding a bouquet of neon daisies, wearing dark slacks, a wrinkled white shirt and a smug sparkle in his falsely sympathetic eyes. I don’t even care that he is here. Looking into his face, I feel nothing. A comforting lack of emotion, he is nothing to me anymore. Rhys kisses the top of my head and is quickly gone. Quietly winding his way through the crowd, he meets Collin on the other side and pulls him away. I pull my eyes from them and turn to watch a butterfly skip across the tops of the gravestones in the next row. Clearly she is confused, or she would not be here. This place is no place for butterflies, but I watch her, focus on her slight movement as she flutters from stone to stone looking for sweet nectar. I focus on the butterfly and tune everything else out.
***
Speak (The Voice trilogy Book 2) Page 7