Within These Walls

by J. L. Berg

  I’d die never seeing his face again.

  “Lailah, breathe,” Marcus said gently, pushing my head to the floor, between my knees. “Deep, slow breaths through your nose,” he instructed.

  “I don’t know if I can do this,” I cried out.

  Every single procedure, surgery, and test came racing back at that moment. I remembered every minute of recovery time, every second of pain.

  “Oh God,” I moaned.

  Suddenly, I wasn’t staring at Marcus’s feet anymore but his face. Kneeling down, he grasped my chin and centered me.

  “You are the strongest person I know, Lailah. UCLA has some of the best surgeons in the country. You’re going to do just fine.”

  “Okay,” I said weakly, nodding my head.

  He cradled me in his arms like a child.

  My mother followed us as we walked to the car, and he tucked me in the backseat. I stretched out and rested my head against the cushion as I watched the two of them work in tandem, throwing bags in the car. Marcus drove and pulled out of the complex. My mother was bent over her phone, her fingers furiously dancing across the keys. I didn’t think I’d ever seen her use it for anything other than brief conversations.

  “Who are you texting?” I asked.

  “Grace,” she answered, stopping briefly, before continuing again.

  I realized, sitting in the back of that car, that this was probably the closest thing I’d ever have to knowing what it was like to go into labor. I’d watched my loved ones run around on my behalf, making frenzied calls and text messages, before the rushed late-night car ride to the hospital. The only difference was, at the end of the day, the only new life would be mine.

  What would I do with it?

  Within fifteen minutes, we were pulling into the UCLA medical plaza parking lot and walking through the glass doors of the transplant center. After signing about a zillion forms that I honestly didn’t pay attention to, we headed to a room and waited for the surgeon.

  Already dressed in scrubs and booties, a middle-aged man greeted us a few minutes later, shaking my hand firmly and introducing himself as Dr. Westhall.

  “Nice to meet you,” I answered softly.

  He turned and did the same greeting to my mother. Then, he perked up when he saw Marcus.

  “Good to see you again, Marcus.”

  “You, too, Todd,” he replied.

  “So, this is your niece?” Dr. Westhall said, taking a casual seat in the free chair near the door.

  “Yes,” Marcus answered. “She’s the closest thing I have to a daughter, so please take care of her.”

  He smiled and winked. “We’re going to fix you up good as new, sweetheart.”

  Well, at least one of us is sure.

  Dr. Westhall proceeded to go over the procedure in detail, outlining the length of time and what would happen during the operation. After questions were asked by all of us, he excused himself, and we were left to wait while they finished prepping for surgery.

  The waiting was always the hardest part, staring at the closed door while wondering how much time was left until it opened back up.

  An hour passed until a nurse finally came to retrieve me. After a teary good-bye with a long group hug, I was wheeled into the operating room and prepped. They scrubbed and shaved the fine hairs from my chest and set up my IV. A friendly motherly-looking nurse stroked my forehead as I looked up at the ceiling. Breathing through my mouth, I counted the tiles above my head.

  “We’ll take care of you. Go to sleep now,” she whispered.

  And the world faded to black.

  White clouds hovered above me as my eyes fluttered open for a brief second. I heard loud whooping and sharp beeps. Everything felt distant and out of place, like I was listening to myself from another room with cotton balls shoved in my ears.

  “She’s awake,” I heard my mother say. “Or at least she was.”

  “She can’t see me,” a deep voice whispered.

  “She won’t remember any of this. Just hold her hand, and talk to her. I’ll be outside.”

  A soft click added to the mechanical noises, and I felt a deep warmth spread through my fingers.

  “I miss you so much, angel.”

  I know that voice.

  “So much sometimes that it hurts to breathe.”

  He shouldn’t be sad. I’m right here.

  “I shouldn’t be here, but I couldn’t stay away, not today,” he whispered. “You did it, Lailah. You made it through, just like I knew you would. Now, you’ll have the life you deserve. It’s all I ever wanted for you.”

  I tried to speak, but nothing came out—no words, no sound. I had nothing but good intentions. I wanted to tell him that it would be us, together, not just me. We would have the life we deserved.

  “Please remember me when you look at the ocean waves or dip your toes in the water. Know that my love for you will never cease. It will only grow with each passing year. When you cross that last dream off your list, remember how we made pizza in the cafeteria kitchen and when we danced under the rain in your hospital shower. Remember late-night pudding debates, and when we made love for the first time, we felt our souls collide. Never forget the never-ending ways in which I love you and know that I will never stop fighting for you, no matter where I am or what I’m doing. I’ll always keep your wings in flight.”

  A chair creaked, and as I tried to force my tired eyes open again, I felt gentle lips brush across my forehead.

  “I love you, Lailah,” he said softly.

  I drifted deeper out of consciousness, wondering if my dream Jude would be there when I woke up.

  THE BAND FADED into the background as I stared into the dark recess of my glass. Hunched over a bar stool in the corner of the bar area, I tried to disappear from the rest of the crowd.

  “I’ll have what he’s drinking,” a feminine voice said behind me.

  I turned slowly and found Melody Scott. She was the reason I was sitting here and sulking over a glass of Coke, rather than hiding in my apartment like I did most weekends these days.

  “You’d probably be better off ordering something else,” I replied politely. “This is just soda.”

  She gave me a scrutinizing look and smiled. “There’s a story, but I’m quite certain you’re not going to share it.”

  That’s for damn sure.

  I turned back to the bar and watched as she slid onto the stool next to me. She continued to speak with the bartender, and her legs crossed in a slow, purposeful way as if she knew I was watching her. I turned back to my glass and checked my watch.

  Fuck, have I really only been here for an hour?

  “You know, you could try to be a bit happier, Jude. Look around, tonight is a huge success,” Melody commented, sweeping her hand in the direction of the grand ballroom.

  I’d hired Melody less than three months ago, and she’d managed to do everything I’d asked of her. When I’d returned from UCLA, I’d been broken beyond relief.

  Honestly, I still was.

  Seeing Lailah in that recovery room, knowing the heart beating inside her chest was no longer destroying her, had made every minute we were apart worth it. As I’d held her hand and kissed her skin, I’d known she would have such a bright future ahead of her, and it killed me to know I wouldn’t see it. Leaving her for a second time had been like leaving my soul behind.

  I’d returned even more confused.

  I’d done what I needed to do. Lailah’s surgery had been paid for and completed, and she was going to recover.

  Couldn’t I go back now? Take what was mine and still keep the family business afloat?

  As I’d stepped into Cavanaugh Investments the morning after I’d returned from L.A., I’d found my brother waiting for me.

  “Dad passed away last night,” he’d said. “The board meets in thirty minutes.”

  That day, I’d lost my father, and my brother and I had inherited our legacy. Everything since then had been a blur of endless meetings
along with helping my family mourn a man I barely remembered and negotiating all the paperwork that had come with it.

  I couldn’t go back to her.

  Seeing my mother grieving over my father’s casket as it had lowered into the ground made that clear. Walking into a boardroom of middle-aged men who expected me to save this company had solidified it. I had made my decision when I called Roman, and I’d chosen my fate.

  Now, I was living with it—barely.

  When I’d agreed to come home, I’d told Roman things would be run differently. I’d held him to that, and since the day I’d arrived back home, I’d completely restructured how everything in the business worked financially. It wasn’t a perfectly oiled machine yet, but it was running better. We were making money again.

  That was where Melody had come in.

  I still remembered the look of complete shock and surprise when I’d told Roman that once we were back on our feet financially, I wanted to donate a significant percentage of our profits to charity. Not only that, but I wanted to hire someone to run the donations and also raise additional funds.

  We would no longer be in it solely for the profit. We would give back.

  If working in the trenches of a hospital for three years had taught me anything, it was that people were always in need.

  Tonight marked the first charity ball organized by my newly hired Director of Charitable Donations, and if the one million dollars raised tonight said anything, I’d say she was good at her job.

  She’d also been subtly hitting on me for weeks.

  Melody saw me like the rest of the world did. With such a tragic past, I was the wounded puppy who needed to be cuddled and loved by just the right person.

  Every woman on the Upper East Side thought she was just that person.

  None of them were.

  Warm breath tickled my ear. “Do you want to dance with me, Jude?” Melody whispered. She smelled like expensive perfume mixed with scotch.

  I glanced up and met her hooded gaze. The dress she’d chosen was tight and cut low, exposing the perfect curves her body had to offer.

  I felt nothing.

  “I’d better go,” I answered, rising from the stool as I slapped a twenty on the table.

  “But the evening just started.”

  “I’ve got a pile of work waiting for me, and I still need to go visit my mom tomorrow,” I answered before adding, “Sorry. Everything is great, Melody, really. I just have to get out of here.”

  I fled, loosening my bow tie as soon as I hit the cool chill of the outside, and I hailed a cab for downtown. My gut twisted as we passed a billboard sign covered in green hills, advertising Irish tourism.

  Life really was cruel.

  I guess no one ever said being a martyr would be easy.

  My father had done one or two things right during his thirty-year rein of Cavanaugh Investments. One of those was relocating the main headquarters to its current location.

  As I looked out of the floor-to-ceiling windows that put the New York skyline on full display, I felt a kind of kinship with the man I’d barely known. I remembered walking into his office, which was now mine, and seeing him standing in the corner with a drink in hand as he looked out at the buildings, thinking, planning, and plotting.

  Family life was always split in our household. I was my mother’s child, and Roman was my father’s. It was the reason I was compassionate when my brother was greedy and the reason why I’d put myself above others when Roman would gladly just take everything for himself.

  But our father had had one thing that Roman had yet to figure out. Dad had had Mom. That woman had kept his greed and need for power tethered. When it got too out of hand, she’d reel him back to earth. Granted, she could only do so much, but she was his anchor nonetheless.

  My brother had nothing.

  Nothing kept him tethered, and I worried that he might someday step so far over the line for something he wanted that he would get burned. Then, he’d finally understand what true loss was like.

  “Somehow, I knew I’d find you here,” Roman’s deep voice said as he entered the dark office.

  “Do you remember how Dad used to drink whiskey and count under his breath?” I asked without bothering to look up.

  Footsteps sounded behind me until I saw the black of his tuxedo jacket out of the corner of my eye.

  “Yeah, he’d stand here, just like this, and slowly sip his single malt and count. I asked him once why he did it, and he simply said it kept him sane.”

  “I guess we all need something,” I commented as we continued to watch life go on beyond the glass.

  “What do you need, Jude?”

  I turned to him, surprised by his question. “What do you mean?”

  “What do I mean?” he scoffed, taking a step backward. He began to pace. “I mean, you’re spiraling, little brother. I see the work you’re doing for the company, and damn, Jude, it’s amazing, but then I find you here, late at night, like some creepy hermit. Why do I get the feeling that coming home was the last thing you wanted to do?”

  “I’m here. Isn’t that all that matters?”

  “No, damn it. It’s not!” he yelled, throwing his hands up. “I know you might think I’m some heartless asshole, and to most people, I am. What I did to you, after Megan died—I’ve been living with that regret for years. I should have flown out there and helped you, gotten you back on your feet, done something besides think of myself.”

  “What kept you? If you were so distraught over me, so filled with guilt, why didn’t you just pick up the phone or fly out and see me?”

  “Because I was angry. Dad got sick. You weren’t here, and Mom—well, she couldn’t handle it all. I was suddenly everything to everyone.” He let out a choked laugh. “Cruel joke, right? The goof-off, the one everyone turns to for entertainment, was suddenly in charge of everything. They all wanted you, and all I wanted to do was prove to them just how wrong they were about me.

  “When you called and said you were coming home, I thought my prayers had been answered. Finally, I could step back and be what I was supposed to be. But you know what? Those three years changed me. I can’t leave now, and I can’t stop caring about this company and the family that’s woven around it.”

  I looked up at my brother as he came to a stop in the middle of the room. We looked alike in so many ways, yet we were so different.

  “You can’t limit yourself to only caring for us, Roman. Eventually, you’re going to have to broaden your horizons and take in a few extras along the way.”

  He ignored my words, his eyes blazing. “What did you need the money for, Jude?”

  I gave an exasperated sigh. “You know that day I went to go see Mom and Dad when I first came home? Do you know what Dad said to me when I saw him?”

  He shook his head. “Probably, who the hell are you? He hasn’t recognized me in over a year.”

  “No,” I answered. “His eyes widened in instant recognition as I entered, and his lips puckered as he tried to find the words. Seeing him like that, so frail-looking after the many years I’d looked up to him as such a formidable man, was terrifying. It was like watching a god fall to the earth and become a mere human. It didn’t seem real.”

  “I know,” he answered.

  “When he finally found the words, tears wet his cheeks, and he said to me, ‘I’m so sorry, son. It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault.’ He kept repeating that phrase until the nurse had to settle him down with drugs.”

  “What was his fault?” Roman asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

  “The accident. He sent us to California. I never came home. Mom said after he got over being angry at me for refusing to return, he fell into a deep depression, and that’s when the dementia set in. He’d talk to me when I wasn’t there, apologizing for everything.”

  “It wasn’t his fault,” he said softly, his head moving back and forth.

  “I know that,” I answered. “But he didn’t. And because of the
selfish decisions I made after that accident, because I stayed, I changed so many lives. This is me trying to make it right.”

  He walked to the door before turning back around. “You know, it wasn’t your fault either. It’s time you stop punishing yourself.”

  “Love is never a punishment,” I answered.

  “DO YOU HAVE it on yet?” Grace hollered from the other side of the door.

  “Almost! Hold on. The zipper is caught.” I bent down, trying to squeeze and pull the fabric tight to allow the zipper to move up the track. “I swear, I’ve gotten fatter since my last fitting,” I lamented. I took a deep breath in, and the tiny teeth came together to close off my oxygen supply.

  “Oh, stop it. You have not. And even if you did, who cares? The extra bit of weight you’ve gained because of the anti-rejection drugs have done amazing things to your figure. I wish I could gain a few pounds and turn into a sex goddess.”

  I snorted, smoothing the fabric down around my waist. “Sex goddess? I think you’re delusional.”

  Without bothering to look at my reflection, I opened the door of the dressing room and stopped. Two sets of eyes widened as they took me in.

  “Lailah, you look beautiful,” my mother said, blotting tears from her eyes.

  “I was going to go with hot. You look hot.” Grace laughed.

  Walking the short distance to the center of the room, I took a step, stood on the wide carpeted platform, and finally looked at my reflection in the mirror.

  “You really had to choose pink, didn’t you?” I smiled.

  Grace ran up to me, squealing. “It’s perfect! And yes, I had to choose pink. It’s the best color ever. You look amazing in it. You can’t argue with that.”

  The dress was actually beautiful, but I had to give her a hard time. Any girl who themes her wedding Sophisticated Princess deserves a bit of hassling. The sweetheart neckline and high waistline gave way to a flowing blush-colored skirt that reminded me of the silk scarves my mother always loved to wear. It ebbed and flowed as I walked and—well, yeah, it made me feel kind of like a princess.