by Mara Lynne
“Good night, Ray,” I say as I continue to walk to my room.
The first thing I do after closing the door is turn off the lights. There’s a huge mirror located just across the room, and when I get in, the first thing I see is my face’s reflection in it. I do not want to see how much of a tragedy I look.
This is got to be my ugliest day for the last six months.
I jump into the bed and bury my face under a pillow, letting my tears soak through my pillow case. I dare not make any sound. Mom’s laughter is enough for the night. I don’t want them worrying about me again.
Thump! Thump! Thump!
The heavy thumping of feet against the wooden floor catches my attention. I climb out of my bed and hurry to open the door. I did not have enough time wipe the tears from my eyes. After Mom’s laughter died out, I just got this feeling that something is off. It better not be about Dad or else…
It was Ray, and he is as pale as a blank sheet of paper. He is catching his breath.
“Oh, Angel!” He sounds so worried.
“Is it Dad?” I slam the door behind me.
“No.” Ray is shaking, stumbling for the right words.
“Then what’s wrong?” I calm down for a bit knowing Dad is fine. It can’t be Mom, can it?
“The news… He’s in the news. H-he—”
“Ray, won’t you relax a bit?”
“They took him to the medical center. Oh, if you have only seen the news… the photos…”
“What exactly happened, Ray?”
Mom and Dad emerge from the corner of the hallway just a few steps away from the stair landing. Their hands are entwined, and their faces are painted with concern.
“What is going on, guys?” I ask.
“The news didn’t say much about his current condition, but I think with that kind of impact, I—”
“George,” Mom cuts in.
“What’s wrong, Mom?” Why won’t they just tell me?
Silence fills the air.
The three of them exchange looks, probably waiting for any of them to spill the news first.
“I don’t think Angel must know,” Ray says carefully after seeing my distraught expression.
“She has to know,” Dad says.
“Sweetie…” Mom walks toward me and reaches for my hand. She holds them tightly. “He was hit by a car along Johnston Station, and his injuries don’t look good.”
There’s only one thing in my mind.
One person.
Johnson Station is just a few blocks away from Kingsley Park.
“No.” I hear my voice breaking. “That can’t be true.” Fighting the tears from coming out, I let out a forced laugh.
Mom takes me into her arms and rubs down my back.
“It’s okay, honey…” she whispers to my ears.
Chapter 6: Trying
I promised Ray I won’t go near the medical center to check on Damien. All night, he was busy contacting friends who might have known Damien’s medical condition all for the love of me. He literally did not sleep because I was thinking of leaving in the middle of night.
However, I don’t think I can keep my promise.
I just have to see him even for a little while. I have to get rid of this huge baggage inside my chest because it is making my breathing immensely difficult.
I just have to know how he’s doing. The reports Ray gathered are just not sufficient.
My legs freeze at the sight of his name on the door. It is only now that I realize; what I am about to do is a big risk. Entirely clueless of what Damien will think when he sees me there, I just let out a sigh and yield everything to fate. I don’t think he will kick me out of the room. Maybe somewhere in the deepest corners of his heart, lingers a desire to mend our indifferences. Maybe he too, like me, thinks it is time to forgive and forget. Why did he even come to see me last night when he had no intentions of reconciliation?
The door opens, and a petite nurse in a light blue scrub suit comes out with a tray of medicines in her hands.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” she asks.
“This is Damien Etheridge’s room, right?” I respond, quite dazed.
“You got the right room, ma’am. Are you family?”
I shake my head. “No. Just a friend.”
“Oh, I see. The patient is still asleep. The narcotics are helping him with the pain.”
“How is he?” I don’t know what I would do if the nurse tells me something I am not ready to hear about.
“He’s okay now. Surgery was immediately done last night to stop some bleeding inside his body and to fix some broken ribs. He’ll probably wake up in one to two hours after the narcotics have waned down.”
The squeezing in my heart loosens a bit.
How okay is okay? I want to ask.
“You might want to go in, ma’am. There’s no one inside,’’ the nurse suggests.
I guess giving her a dainty smile is enough for a thank you. So I do that and proceed inside Damien’s room.
He is lying on the hospital bed with a plastic cannula on his nose attached to an oxygen tank. There’s also a plastic bag hanging on a pole beside him that delivers fluid to his body through a tube. I’m pretty familiar with all the stuff inside the room. They were my constant companion whenever Dad is in the hospital.
His eyes are closed. He is sleeping like a baby, and it reminds me of the night we were together in his gigantic library. There were so much peace and vigor then.
But it’s not the case now.
Damien looks worn out and tired. He’s grown so much facial hair, and his skin texture has gone dry and rough. There are dark circles under his eyes. He’s also lost so much weight. His arms are thin now, their usual firmness gone. He’s lost his glow. My tears freely descend to my cheeks. I have to bite my tongue so that I don’t create noise. I did not want Damien to wake up because I am moaning in misery. If there is a cure for the pain in my heart right now, I’d want it. I’d die to have it. It is hell to see Damien like this. It’s like he’s dead already. With that body of his, I don’t know how he is able to breathe.
With my hand shaking, I reach for his, my fingers intertwining with his. I bend down on my knees to kiss his hand.
Somehow, this is better. Damien will have no way to avoid me.
“I’m sorry I did this to you,” I mutter, crying. My tears go straight to his skin. “I betrayed your trust.”
I wish I could tell him everything I feel today—my regrets, the pain, the longing for him, the future I have in mind with him—just everything. It will be useless, though. He cannot hear me.
I just know one thing: I love him… with all my life.
He is my first love, my firsts in everything. The one whom I have trusted my heart with. I was a fool for not cherishing someone as precious as him. Now, I have lost him.
Is it really over for the two of us? Are second chances an impossibility for us now?
Has Damien truly gotten over me? If not, why didn’t he try to reach out to me? Why did he avoid me all this time? Why didn’t he yell at me and tell me I was such a jerk? Why didn’t he drag me away from Hunter and his family that day in the Musgrove’s? Why did he let Hunter continue the game? Why was he so silent the entire time?
I waited for him to do something.
I waited for him to go wild… to act like what the real Damien would if he finds out his girlfriend was lying to him. I waited for him to make a scene.
And for the next months, I kept waiting for him.
But he did nothing.
I tried many times to convince myself that maybe what was ours was a fraud from the beginning, that what we had was similar to what smitten teenagers have, that it was just temporary and nothing serious—but I failed many times. I am always reminded of the great things we shared together. I saw how he changed for the better. I knew something deeper about him that others don’t. Damien opened up his life to me, and he welcomed me with open arms.
I can’t beli
eve it was all a lie because it seemed all real to me.
He loved me, he said. I just don’t know if he feels the same for me now.
Standing up, I watch the rise and fall of his chest. There’s nothing more I could ask for at the moment. His safety and timely recuperation are in my prayers. Reconciliation would follow when he is all better.
I bend forward and kiss him on the lips.
Some part of my brain is telling me that when I open my eyes after our lips part, I will see his gray eyes watching me with wonder and surprise, that Damien will feel the warmth in my kiss and that he will be awakened just like that night in his library.
Keep on dreaming, Angel, I tell myself.
He’s not going to be awake for another hour. He’s been drugged with narcotics. Who am I kidding? It’s pretty clear I always like to deceive myself during times of great misery. This time is not an exception.
“Goodbye for a while, Damien,” I say in soft words over his mouth.
“Miss Grant?”
I pause from searching for my phone in my bag when I feel recognition hit my spine. Instantly, I know who she is.
“Angel Grant, is that you?”
Slowly turning on my heels, I catch a glimpse of my face on the glass wall. It is ashen pale, and my eyes are red, partially recovering from the crying.
Mrs. Etheridge appears like she’s in dire need of sleep. She hasn’t got make-up on her face. I hardly recognize her to be the sophisticated woman I know her to be.
She looks around her, then asks, “Are you with Hunter?” Her eyebrows are hoisted to meet with her hairline.
I left my mouth open. I literally don’t know what to say to her.
“It’s a surprise Hunter would even come to see Damien,” she hisses after she’s found me speechless, probably after realizing Hunter’s absence. “He’s not usually the caring older brother type, you know. So what exactly are you doing here?” She crosses her arms together and moves forward as if to impose intimidation upon me.
She continues, “I presume you and Hunter Stone are back together. You wouldn’t be here if not for him. Perhaps, his conscience bugged him to at least look for a proxy to send instead of wasting his time on unproductive activities.”
“I don’t know what you have against Hunter.”
“Oh, please,” she chuckles. “You don’t have to defend him. When his father got sick, he barely came to visit. Now that it is his little brother, I bet my life that Hunter Stone will never come to see him.”
Such big words coming from a mother.
I don’t exactly know the issue Mrs. Etheridge has with Hunter about Damien. It must be some unknown family drama. But for the love of God, how come I didn’t know that Damien and Hunter are brothers? I’ve been living in this city all my life, and I have known the Etheridge family ever since I learned the value of pi in my geometry class. Everybody knew who they are, but this thing about Hunter being part of the family is a shocker. Do people even know about this?
“Well, Ms. Grant, you tell Hunter that he can go on with his plan of marriage even in these great times. I believe it is you now that he has his heart and soul. I have not heard of a new woman after your break-up, and now that you’re back, a wedding, I think, is just the ceremony to welcome you to the family,” she utters in the most sarcastic fashion. She holds both my shoulders and pulls me close to her. “It’s not going to be an easy ride, Ms. Grant. You know what the Etheridge family is. It’s as complex as a spider web. You know what I mean.” The whisper is more than a threat, I believe.
She doesn’t like me at all.
My phone keeps ringing, but as much as I want to ignore it, I think I have no choice. I am on my way to the Mezzanine. I know I am late for work, and Thatcher will be going wild again. So in order to reduce the damage, I guess I have to pick up her phone call.
I answer, clearing my throat. “Five minutes, Tessie!”
The cab driver seems to have detected my distress as he steps on the gas and speeds off.
“Eva Goble’s in The Rose. Go get her!” Then she hangs up the phone.
How will I get Eva Goble when my mind consists of nothing but Damien? I try to call Thatcher again, but she isn’t answering her phone. Is this how power play goes? I don’t even know where exactly Goble is.
“Hey, mister. Change of destination. The Rose, please.”
“No problem, miss.”
As soon as we arrive at the building, I quickly mount off the cab and call May.
“Hey, May! I’m at The Rose. Thatcher said Eva Goble will be here.” I go straight to the lobby. “Where exactly in The Rose will she be? I can’t explore the place like some wild hunter, can I?”
“Calm down, Angel. I was just about to text you the details,” she says. “Anyways, she’ll be going for lunch at the Emerald Suites. It appears that she will be meeting with Samuel Evans of the Stone Publishing.”
“And Thatcher wants me to just drag her out of the suite and kidnap her?”
“I don’t know. Is that what Thatcher told you to do?”
“No.” I shrug my shoulders.
I quickly go into the elevator and press the tenth floor.
“But it seems like she wants me to terrorize Eva Goble,” I say. Why does it have to be that impossible woman? There are a lot of potential good writers who can bring good cash into the company. I can name more than ten. Why Eva Goble? She’s tied with the Stone Publishing, and it’s making things difficult for us. There’s no way a small rising company like McGraddy will be able to outbid Stone.
“Just go in there, Angel. You might get something from their conversation with the help of your espionage skills.” I can hear May giggling from the other line.
“You are really helping.”
“Good luck, dear!”
This is more than impossible.
Emerald Suites is a posh restaurant that serves Scandinavian dishes. It’s small but very expensive. They only cater reservations made one month before. But lucky me! It’s Friday today, so walk-ins are allowed.
From the entrance, I can already see Eva Goble in her glimmering cocktail dress at the far end of the room. She’s with a man in a dark blue suit. I assume right away that it is Samuel Evans. From the looks of it, it seems that Samuel is trying to convince her to accept the offer, but Eva does not appear happy with the cards being laid on her table.
There’s an empty table beside them, just behind Eva Goble’s seat, so I make my way over there to commence my duty. I take out my pair of dark glasses and wear them right away. The waiter comes to me to ask for my order. I could only ask for a cup of tea. Everything in the menu is way too much for my pocket. Even if I have to use the company’s credit card, I thought it’s not nice to be wasting money for one grand meal especially when your business is in a state like ours.
“Oh, no, Samuel!” Eva sounds so unsure. “I don’t think that will do. You are undervaluing me. I have sold millions of copies of my first ever book. Now that I have my third one, you are giving me this kind of offer?”
“Mrs. Goble, the second one did not live up to our expectations. The sales were a little low this time. This is the best we can offer you.”
“No!” That is a one strong no. She must be really pissed. “I want my old editor back. She’s the best in the company! Why are you giving me a new one—an inexperienced editor at that!”
“Tobby Hughes has done a lot of works for a couple of writers,” Samuel Evans replies. “He did Martha Andrews and Celino Paprizzo.”
“Who are they, anyway?”
God! Eva Goble is so unbelievable! She doesn’t care about what she says. I can’t imagine what it will be like to have Goble and Thatcher under the same roof. This is probably the reason why Thatcher had me on this mission. She won’t be able to display her madness and bitchiness around Goble because she will definitely be eaten alive by this woman!
“You know, Evans. A lot of publishers are interested in my work. If you don’t give me what I ask for,
I will have to look for others,” she says.
“Wait up, Mrs. Goble…” Finally, Samuel Evans has begun to feel the pressure.
“I am serious, Evans. I will look for a publisher who listens. I am afraid you and I are now a thing of the past.”
A smile forms on my face. That is exactly what I want to happen.
Now, it is time for me to make an appearance.
I stand from where I was seated and move a few steps away from them. If I want to make this look real, I will have to pretend that I have just newly arrived in the vicinity.
“Mrs. Goble?”
That was a horrible starting point. It feels like something was stuck in my throat.
She turns to face me with a surprised look.
“Hi! Remember me? Angel Mohr from McGraddy Publishing.”
Her face lightens up while Samuel is caught lost somewhere in the conversation.
“Yes, I remember you.”
This is probably going to be my lucky day.
Chapter 7: The Beast Out for a Hunt
“McGraddy Publishing?” That serious tone in Samuel Evan’s voice gives me more courage to act bold and brazen.
“Yes,” I answer as enthusiastically as I could. “I was just going to take my late breakfast when I saw you, Mrs. Goble. I see that you have company, I might—”
“No, Ms. Mohr. You can join us,” Goble says, gesturing with her hand to the seat next to hers.
“By all means.” I gracefully said but slyly laughed inside my head.
I see Samuel Evans throwing me sharp looks out of my peripheral vision.
“It’s on me, Ms. Mohr,” Goble states as she calls for a waiter.
“Oh, no, Mrs. Goble. I can have my company pay for my meals.” I take my company credit card out from my bag and hands it over to the waiter. “I’ll have Danish baked omelet and fried apples. And this…” I paused, pointing at our table, “ is on me.”