Salvation (Nashville Nights #2)

by Robin Covington

  She sits back down across from me and watches me as I process everything she said. I want to tell her to fuck off. To yell that she has no idea how hard this is but it doesn’t matter. Nobody but me knew how hard every stroke through the water was. How difficult it was to get out of bed some mornings and spend hours in a chilly pool. Yes, they sympathized but they didn’t know. It was my fight then and this is my fight now.

  I’ve just got to decide to fight, to focus. I might win gold or I might not place. It’s always a crapshoot after all the hard work is done. She’s right, this is no different.

  “You good?” She asks. I nod and she reopens the notebook. “Who are you talking to about this? What’s your support like?”

  I shrug. “My parents are here, hovering. I don’t want to tell them everything because it freaks them out and they just hover more. I end up wasting energy being annoyed and not putting it into my PT.”

  “So, you’re still trying to take care of everyone around you and not letting them take care of you.”

  This is well-covered territory for us. Apparently it is not uncommon for someone in an extreme health situation to want to take care of everyone around them by hiding how they are really doing and putting on a brave front. I am not unique in this but I am the poster child according to Dr. Shrieve.

  “And Mateo?” she asks when it becomes clear that I’m not going to answer.

  This is where it really gets hard. I let out a breath and get really honest.

  “I love him but I can’t talk to him about this. He’s got so much going on and I don’t want to burden him.”

  “Is that how you see yourself? A burden?”

  I think about her question. Is that how I see myself?

  “Yes. I do.”

  “Does he see you that way?”

  I shake my head. “No. Not yet.”

  “But you think he will?”

  “When we got together he knew nothing about all of this. It all happened so fast, before we really got the chance to know each other, to hash this out. It’s like I lured him in under false pretenses and now he’s stuck with me. He’s too much of a gentleman to back out.”

  “Have you talked to him about this? How do you think he’d react if he heard this?” she asks.

  “He’d deny it. He’d keep trying to do everything and be everywhere. I made him promise to not be here during the week so much, to go to class, to forget about me.” I look down at my lap and twist the tie on my sweats again, facing my fear. The boogeyman under my bed. “I’m afraid that he’ll mess this up and resent me when he finally gets the courage to leave one day.”

  Dr. Shrieve stares at me across the short distance. “You two need to talk about this.”

  “I know.”

  “Can you do that if I give you homework? Will you pick one thing and talk to him about it this weekend? You won’t know each other better if you don’t talk about it.” She glances at the clock and closes the notebook. “Build the trust and let the rest follow. Even soul mates have to work at it. You wouldn’t be worrying about this if you didn’t love him but it’s not the most important thing anyway.”

  “It isn’t?”

  “No, because even the biggest love won’t survive if you don’t have the foundation to support it. Work on that, forge that bond and you’ll work it out.”

  She leaves and I sit there in my room, watching the birds and butterflies moving in the courtyard. It’s a beautiful view and it helps me focus on what she said and what I have to do.

  “Did you have a good session?” my mother asks as she enters the room, the ever-present knitting project in her hands. I have more scarves and mittens than I will ever need. She used to bring them along to my practices and competitions and I could always count on looking up in the stands and seeing my mom, the needles clicking away.

  “I did. I like Dr. Shrieve better than the counselor here.”

  “I’m not surprised, you have a history with her.” My mom stops and peers under the bed, squinting as she squats down to get a better look.

  “What’s up?” I turn my wheelchair, trying to see what she’s looking at. I can’t help her so I sit in place and watch her drop down on her hands and knees. She stretches her arm and sits up with a folded piece of paper in her hand. She opens it and glances at the top. “It’s from Mateo’s school.”

  I take it when she hands it out to me and I open it without thinking. The first couple of lines catch my attention. I know it’s not my mail and I have no business reading the entire thing but I read every single word. It’s like a car wreck on the side of the road, no matter how many times you tell yourself to get your eyes back on the road, the rubberneck is impossible to resist.

  I read it again but the words don’t change. Mateo is in danger of flunking out of school. Because he’s here with me. At least he was. It’s been a week.

  “What is it?”

  I look up and my mother is giving me the eyeball and I debate telling her the truth. I shake my head and refold the letter, rolling over to my desk and place it inside my planner.

  “Nothing.”

  Nothing but another thing for me and Mateo not to talk about.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Mateo

  I walk into Carlisle’s room exhausted after the week I just endured but excited to see her.

  She’s in her wheelchair, looking out the window into the courtyard and I sneak up behind her and bend down to kiss her on the cheek. She leans into me but doesn’t respond in her usual way and I move around to her front and kneel down to get an eyeball-to-eyeball view of her face.

  “Tesoro, you okay?” She looks fine but I quickly scan over her body to see if I can detect any injury, any change. We talk every night but its hard not seeing her everyday. I’ve got news she isn’t going to like but Ill hold it if she’s not up for it. “Rough day?”

  “I’m fine. I had a good day. It was hard but good, I think,” she says, reaching up a hand to stroke my jaw. I lean into like a cat, craving her touch like I’ve been without it for years instead of just five days.

  “Good. I’m glad to hear it.” I lean and kiss her mouth, delving in deep with my tongue. I capture her gasp and retreat, lightly biting her lower lip before I let it loose. When I pull back, her eyes are closed and she looks like the Carlisle lying in the back seat of my car or on my bed that morning when this all really began. I am counting the days when we can be there again. “There you are. I’ve missed you Carlisle Queen.”

  She gazes at me, her green eyes dark and swirling with whatever has her mouth forced into a thin line. I know it’s coming but I still clench my hand around the armrest of her wheelchair.

  “We need to talk, Teo.”

  “The worst four words any man ever wants to hear,” I try to joke but it sounds flat even to my own ears.

  She reaches down and takes out a folded letter and I know what it is before she opens it. It must have fallen out of my backpack.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about this?”

  “I didn’t want you to worry. You have enough on your mind.”

  “You should have told me.”

  She pushes her chair away from me and I immediately feel the distance between us that has grown over the past few weeks. I would expect it to leave me feeling cold but what it creates is a burning sensation in my chest as if the link between the two of us stretched to its limits.

  “I didn’t want you to worry.”

  “You said that,” her tone isn’t ugly but it is unhappy and frustrated. “I’m not fragile Mateo. I’m broken and fucked up but I’m not a child that you have to protect from the hard things.”

  “Stop putting words in my mouth. I never said or thought any of those things about you.”

  “Really? Come on Mateo, you didn’t tell me because you thought I couldn’t handle it.”

  “You have enough on your mind,” I’m firm on this point. “I do not want to be one more thing you have to worry about.”

  S
he raises her voice for the first time, her cheeks pink from her high emotion. “I thought we were in this together. Isn’t that what you’re always saying?

  I stand up and pace across the room, crumpling the paper in my hand and lobbing it at the trash can. I turn back to her and try to keep my voice calm. I feel like she’s spoiling for a fight and I don’t want to rise to the bait. It will get us nowhere to let this devolve into anger and hurtful words but she has to realize that it goes both ways.

  “You can’t throw that back in my face Carlisle. How many times have I asked you about what is going on, what you’re feeling and you shut me out?” I slash my hand through the air and then rake my fingers through my hair. “There are so many topics you have declared off limits that I’m not sure we really have anything to discuss unless you want to stick to the weather. If we’re talking about who’s shutting who out, then let’s take a good look at you too.”

  “Are you still in danger of being kicked out of a school?”

  I stare at her, my mouth hanging open at the way she has completely ignored my comment.

  “Just tell me how you are doing in school,” she grinds out at me, it’s dark and guttural and indicates just how upset she is with me.

  “How was your day? “ I ask, letting the sarcasm drip from every syllable. “And don’t tell me it was fine.”

  She sighs and wipes a hand over her face and she takes a few seconds to bring it down a notch. When Carlisle looks at me again, her voice is softer, more controlled.

  “I’m not sure I can do this right now.”

  I hear the fatigue in her voice and it stops my temper from rising any further. As much as she doesn’t want to admit it, she is fragile and her focus can’t be distracted by outside things.

  “You’re right.” I agree, moving to sit down on the sofa near he. I reach out to take her hand in my own. “We can talk about this when we aren’t both on edge.”

  She doesn’t squeeze my hand back, in fact her grip is loose in mine. I search her eyes, not liking what I see.

  “I think I need to go somewhere and just focus on getting better,” she whispers and I think I didn’t hear her right.

  “Go somewhere? What are you talking about?” But I know. I know exactly what she’s doing. I just need to hear it.

  “I’m going to transfer to another facility for my rehab.” The expression on her face looks pained but determined and my stomach sinks into my toes. “Not in Nashville.”

  “Where would you go?”

  “I think I need a clean slate. Nothing on it but getting better. I feel like I’ve got too many things weighing on me and I can’t concentrate.” Her voice sounds dejected, flat. It’s as if she has the weight of the world on her shoulders. “I’m going to go, Mateo.”

  “Carlisle,” I say, swallowing hard to get around the boulder lodged in my chest. It’s painful and I have trouble sucking in oxygen. My skin is clammy with fear. “Are you breaking up with me?”

  She starts crying at my question. Big, fat tears rolling down her cheeks as she sobs quietly, little hiccups of emotion breaking out from between her lips. She has a death grip on my hand and I wonder why she is doing this if it is so damn painful.

  “I think the biggest joke in the universe is finding the right person at the wrong time,” she whispers and my blood runs cold with her meaning. “I love you but I can’t stand the thought of you walking away from me one day.” She lets go of my hand and scrubs the tears from her face with the back of her hand. “The only thing worse is that one day you’re going to realize what a burden I am but you’re going to stay anyway.”

  “I would never do that,” I insist, angry that she is placing behavior and thoughts on me that are not mine. But clearly, they have been rolling around in her head. “I love you and I don’t care if you are in a wheelchair or running marathons. I just want you.”

  “I want that to be true.”

  “It is true.”

  “You say that now because you’re an honorable man but when you flunk out of med school and throw away this opportunity, you will resent me.”

  I stand, unable to sit and have this conversation one minute longer.

  “Stop putting words in my mouth,” I argue. “This isn’t how I feel. You’ve got to stop this soundtrack of negativity going round and round in your head.”

  “It’s how I feel Mateo. It’s what keeps me up at night and keeps me from paying attention in physical therapy. It’s real and it’s hurting me.”

  “You think that I’m part of the reason you’re not making physical progress?”

  “I think worrying you and school and how my treatment is taking over everyone’s lives and how I feel like I’ll be double failure if I never get out of this chair is making me crazy. I’m a mess. It’s eating me from the inside out and I just don’t have it in me to fight it out on multiple fronts.” She takes a deep breath and when she continues. “When I was training, everything else fell to the side. Things that took up too much headspace had to go and I was ruthless about making the hard call. I’m making it now. I need to go somewhere else and immerse myself in my recovery.”

  She’s crying now and I know from her tones that she has her mind made up.

  “I love you—”

  “Then don’t fucking do this,” I say, the words like knives in my throat. “I love you too.”

  “I love you but I have to go and I’m not asking you to wait and I know if I come back, you may have moved on. I know this isn’t fair.”

  “There is nothing about this situation where you make all the decisions about ending us is fair.” I struggle to keep my voice down, everyone in this place does not need to witness the moment where my whole fucking world comes to an end. “You cannot do this.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You said that.”

  “I hate it but it’s what I need to do,” she looks up at me, her agony etched on her face but I don’t have it in me to touch her, to comfort her. I’m in pain and contact at this point would bring me to my knees. “I’m not asking you to forgive me.”

  “Good, because I can’t give it to you.”

  And even though I want to beg and plead for her to change her mind, I walk out of the room and leave. We need to time to cool off. Clearly things have come to a head and now that she’s gotten this off her chest, we’ll talk about calmly later. I’ll come back tomorrow. This is not how we end.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Mateo

  Ten months later

  I am late. Again.

  My family and friends have gotten used to my constant state of incurable tardiness. I get caught up in the lab or my volunteer work at the clinic and the clock and little stuff like food and sleep become irrelevant. To my surprise the clinic is the most common culprit. The patients lined up in the waiting room, needy for free medical care grab me and it takes almost no effort to get me to work a few extra hours. Nobody is more shocked about this development than I am.

  But the work keeps my mind off of the topic that is absolutely never discussed in my presence. Yeah, I know they spend hours hashing over how I’d buried myself in school when Carlisle left me. They’d given me my space, tiptoeing around the almost-mute asshole I’d been and then thrown about a dozen women at me in an effort to get me to move on. I’d finally caved, going out with a woman named Anne Price, a junior librarian at the Nashville Public Library my mother knew through some ESL class she helped coordinate.

  I had intended for our first date to be our last but then she got me to laugh with her pitch perfect Monty Python quotes at dinner and we kept laughing when we tumbled onto her bed two hours later. That was three months ago and we’re still together, seeing each other a couple of times per week and never letting our conversation venture past the here and now. But lately she’s gotten this look in her eye after we both come; the look that tells me she wants me to say something other than “fuck, that was good” before we roll over and go to sleep.

  Anne is shit
out of luck. That isn’t going to happen.

  “Something more” has run me over like a fucking freight train once already and I’m not stupid enough to jump back on the tracks again.

  Anne hasn’t given me the ultimatum yet but I know it’s coming sooner than later. I’ve never lied to her about what we are and what I can offer her, so she knows what my answer will be. But it hasn’t happened yet and so tonight I’m running late for our mid-week dinner date with some of her friends and I still need to drop some stuff off for Kit from my mother.

  I pull into the driveway of Max and Kit’s house, nodding at the extra hands they have working on the old farmhouse and the large, landscaped yard. The nauseatingly happy couple will be married in the gardens later this summer when Kit returns from her tour and all the home improvements are on hyper speed. I lend a hand as often as I can but that isn’t happening tonight.

  I snag the box of invitations from the backseat and take the front steps two at a time, skidding to a stop on the doormat and hitting the doorbell. I glance around me, noticing for the first time the silver Volvo parked on the driveway to the left of the house. I don’t recognize it or the license plate and I throw up a silent prayer they have company so that I have an excuse to keep my moonlighting as a UPS man as brief as possible.

  Max opens the door and his usual smile does not appear. He doesn’t even say hello. “Oh shit” is all he gets out before he glances over his shoulder towards the large family room off the main foyer and I see someone sitting on their sofa.

  No. Not someone.

  Carlisle.

  “Oh shit” tumbles past my own lips as her gaze tracks to the door and locks with mine. Even at that distance I can see the widening of her eyes, the perfect “o” formed by her mouth.

  I drop the box in my hands and grab the doorframe. I sway a little on my feet and wonder for a split second if I will be able to maintain the last shreds of my dignity and remain on my feet. Shocked. Gobsmacked. Blindsided. You pick the term you like best and that is me.