Keeping Secrets

by Lisa Eugene

  “But you love her.”

  I stopped and stared at him. Time pulsed quietly between us and my shoulders sagged. “I do. Oh God, I do.”

  I didn’t know if it was the alcohol, but I felt desperately lost. Heartbroken and lost, like a little boy who’d been left all alone. But I could never endure watching Stats destroy herself. That would kill me. Leaving was a matter of self-preservation.

  “I just can’t do it, Henry. She won’t listen to me. She won’t get help. She has…issues. I’m afraid for her. I’m afraid that we’ll start building a life together and then—then…”

  Henry stepped closer and his hand slid gently across my shoulder. “Then make her listen. I know you, Dex. You could never abandon someone you love.”

  My head shot up and I stared into my best friend’s face. Henry’s brown eyes were compassionate. Honest. No one knew me like he did. He was truly my only family.

  “China.”

  I frowned. “What?”

  “China,” he breathed quietly. “You missed your plane. You always wondered why you were spared. I know you make fun of me and my psychics and all my supernatural stuff, but I think it’s because you and Alexa need each other. Go to her, Dex.”

  I stared at him for a long time, his words massaging my aching heart, softening it. My heart ached for Alexa, a tormenting pain that worsened by the second. Fate had spared me. Maybe this time it wouldn’t be so cruel. I sighed, checking my watch.

  “You okay?” he asked. I nodded and he continued, “Please take a cab.”

  “I will.”

  He smiled. “Good. Go make up with her. Whatever is going on, make her listen to you. She’s not Amanda, Dex.”

  I nodded, swallowing hard.

  He smiled, clapping my back. “Go make up with her. I can’t deal with your grumpy ass for the rest of my life, and frankly, Tom and I need more exciting filler for our sandwich.”

  I was lucky to get a cab right away, and ten minutes later was unlocking the door to Alexa’s apartment. I didn’t know what I’d say to her, but we needed to talk. I needed to know what the hell was going on inside her head.

  Hell, I was no stranger to secrets, but I’d never lied to her. I’d planned on telling her everything tonight. I swallowed at the tightness in my throat. I’d planned on asking her to be my wife tonight. Something I thought I’d never do again.

  Amanda and I had been married for less than six months when she’d found out about the brain tumor. I’d known something was wrong because of her constant headaches, but she’d kept the diagnosis from me. She’d lied and told me it was just migraines when she’d known it was much more serious. She’d been more afraid of the treatment than the diagnosis, living in sunny denial, blocking everything out with cheerful smiles and hard, aggressive love. By the time I found out, it was too late. The malignant tumor had already spread and was inoperable. She died a few months later after one round of chemo. I’d watched her die on November twentieth. The worst day of my life.

  Alexa’s apartment was quiet. For a moment I thought she’d gone out, that I’d missed her. Then I heard the faint sound of running water and tiny hairs stood on end all over my body. I walked into the bedroom and tried the closed door of the bathroom.

  “Stats? Stats?” The door was locked. There was no response, nothing but the sound of rushing water. I tried the door again, my palms growing clammy and a cool heat prickling my skin.

  Something was wrong.

  “Alexa, open the goddamn door!”

  Starting to sweat now, I tried the knob again. My muscles tensed with a desperate urgency. Stepping back, I kicked the unrelenting wood. After three attempts, it finally gave way, crashing against the wall with a loud thunk.

  Heaving, I burst into the room. Alexa’s name surged from my lips when I saw her buckled on the floor. At first I thought she was dead and my heart almost gave out.

  “Oh, Christ!” I cried, immediately sinking to the floor next to her body.

  A violent anguish rammed me, almost knocking me over. She was pale, barely breathing, bright red blood everywhere, like sloppy splashes from a paint brush. I couldn’t tell where the hell it was all coming from. White-hot panic sliced through me.

  My nose singed, assaulted by the potent smell of vomit in the room. Blood leaked from the corner of her mouth, a vibrant trail against her almost translucent skin.

  “Stats? Stats? Oh, God, Stats?” I gripped her shoulders, shook hard, but she didn’t respond. She was unconscious, her body shockingly limp, her chest stirring shallowly. Lush, dark lashes formed delicate half-moons above her high cheek bones. I jerked a trembling hand down her body, still trying to wrap my brain around this nightmare, still trying to figure out where the pool of blood was coming from.

  Fingers shaking, I pulled out my cell and dialed 911. That’s when my eyes landed on her wrists. They were both cut raw and bleeding profusely. Swearing like a madman, I ripped my tie off my neck. My heart hammered like a mallet, banging my ribs. The emergency responder came on the line asking what was my emergency. I tried to beat back crippling panic as I grabbed one of Alexa’s wrists.

  “Pl-please, hurry! My girlfriend’s dying! Please, fucking hurry!”

  Asking me to stay calm, she stated Alexa’s address and I verified it, giving her the apartment number. I put the phone on speaker so I could quickly loop my tie around Alexa’s wrist to stop the blood while I answered the woman’s questions.

  I looked around the room, trying to find something to bandage her other wrist. Spotting a bathrobe, I yanked off the belt, then returned to Alexa. Time was scarce, quickly draining away like water leaking through cupped fingers. Terror wracked my body, crushed heavily on my chest. I tried to answer another question and couldn’t spit the words out. Tears clogged my throat, blurred my vision, and doused my soul with agony. I swiped at my eyes, cleared my throat, and attempted to start over again.

  “Y-yes, both wrists are bandaged tightly, but there’re still bleeding,” I breathed anxiously. “Th-the bandages are getting soaked.”

  “Find something to apply more pressure. Don’t remove the bandages that are already there.”

  She’d said an ambulance was dispatched what seemed like an eternity ago. Alexa’s color looked worse, ghostly. I could barely see her chest moving now. What is taking so long? I checked her pulse again and pulled a few towels off the rack, applying pressure to her wrists. I sealed my gaze to her face, just praying for her to open her eyes. I’d give anything to see her beautiful, blue eyes, their quick sparkle of humor, their unexpected challenge, or the timid awe of her love.

  What the fuck had I done? Why had I left her? Inside, I shuddered over and over again.

  “Stats, pl-please, don’t fucking die,” I whispered, blinking away tears. “I won’t survive losing you. I’m begging you…please. I love you…”

  How could this be happening?

  I heard pounding on the apartment door, followed by a loud crash and voices traveling through the rooms. I cried out to lead them to our location. A minute later, EMTs burst into the bathroom, taking over and ordering me out of the way. I answered their questions the best I could as they tried to make space in the small room.

  They worked frantically to stabilize her, reinforcing her bandaged wrists. One tech started an IV and hung fluids while another applied an oxygen mask to her face. My stomach plummeted when she gave a weak cough and more blood spewed from her mouth, dotting her lips and chin. Quickly the stretcher was brought in and she was loaded, but the EMTs looked grim, trading worried glances.

  When they moved her, I saw what had been hidden under her body, and I stopped breathing. It hurt to look at the bloody scalpel blade on the floor. I prayed beseechingly to the heavens and followed the stretcher, my heart trembling with grief.

  The EMTs wouldn’t allow me to travel in the ambulance. I almost leveled one of them, but in the end, I realized a confrontation would only cause delays. I hopped into a cab at the corner, aware that blood stains c
overed my clothes, my hands. Stats’ blood. Oh, God! She’d tried to take her own life and might’ve succeeded.

  Why? What would make her, or anyone for that matter, do such a thing? What had I missed? How could I not have know she’d been capable of this? Holy shit! I cursed myself for letting that ambulance take off without me. I needed to be with her.

  I pulled out my cell and called Henry, and fucking lost it in the back of the cab.

  Henry sat next to me in the waiting room of the surgical wing at Washington Memorial Hospital. I was perched on the edge of a stiff couch, elbows digging into my thighs, my head hanging low. I’d changed into a pair of scrubs the nurses had pushed at me before they’d disappeared. We were the only ones there. The room was desolate and grim, swathed in dull grays and dreary browns.

  Henry had been pushing cups of black coffee at me for the last hour. I’d taken one sip and it’d hit my stomach like battery acid. I couldn’t possibly think about eating or drinking now. Alexa had immediately been taken into surgery. Ironically, they’d been more worried about the blood coming from her mouth than her wrists.

  From what I was told, the vascular surgeon would start the repairs to her wrists, but they’d also called in a thoracic surgeon to evaluate the presumed damage to her esophagus. The doctors had asked me about her bulimia, about her habits. With all the lies she’d thrown at me, how would I know her habits? I just wanted them to fix her. The resident in the emergency room had told me that a ruptured esophagus was rare, but most often fatal. I didn’t need to hear that.

  The elevator doors slid open. I looked up just as Alexa’s parents came rushing out, scurrying forward like lost sheep. I closed my eyes and let out a long breath. Just the sight of her father had a deep rage sprinting through me. From the cab, I’d asked Henry to call them. Luckily, he still had their number from their dealings with the car crash.

  I stood as her father stalked toward me at an angry clip. His face pinched tight, his brows wrinkled with open anger.

  He stopped in front of me, Mrs. Kennedy behind him.

  “I should have known you’d be in the middle of this!” He shook a long finger in my face.

  I was drained mentally and physically, distraught, but I’d be damned if I’d take more shit from this man. I was no longer in his home.

  “I told you! I warned you that Alexa was fragile. I feared something like this would happen!”

  My face tightened, shock and disbelief squaring my shoulders. Was he saying this was my fault? Is that what he was implying?

  “Obviously, Alexa has some major issues,” I replied. “But I never would’ve seen this coming. And I can bet that whatever her issues are, they started long before she met me.”

  “You let her get out of control, you destroyed her focus!”

  His finger jabbed into my breastbone and I had to squelch the urge to remove it from his hand. Anger burned through my core, hot and explosive. The entire horrific evening came back with crushing force.

  “I’m sure having an overbearing father all her life is what destroyed her. You pushed her too hard! She was terrified to make a mistake, stressed out about school. She felt she needed to get perfect grades, felt she needed to be the best at everything. That’s just fucked up! That’s too much pressure for anyone.”

  Mr. Kennedy looked like he was about to foam at the mouth, but he didn’t back down. He squinted, eyes flaming in my direction. Mrs. Kennedy stood behind him, wringing her hands in circles, looking like she wanted to burst into tears.

  “You know nothing, Mr. Blakewell!” he spat. “I’ve always had my daughter’s best interest in mind.”

  I gritted my teeth and leaned into his face, fury clenching my fists. “Is that why you burned her? I know what you did with those lighters on your desk, you sadistic fuck! I’ve seen what your best interest looks like!”

  Startled, he stumbled back, brown eyes wide as he glared at me. He was breathing heavy now, nostrils flared wide. His face wore a mask of indignation and rage.

  “You know nothing, Mr. Blakewell!” he repeated slowly. “My daughter’s wounds were self-inflicted. She burned herself. Alexa is a very troubled young woman. She—”

  His words were thunderous in my ears, my mind refusing to believe them. Angrily, I lunged at him, grabbing his coat and dragging his face inches from mine. My muscles tensed and strained, my breaths heaving from my chest like they were my last.

  “You’re a fucking liar!” I snarled, shaking with the urge to do some serious damage.

  Henry’s hands gripped my shoulders, pulling me back.

  “This has to stop!” Henry yelled, thrusting his face between us. “This is doing Alexa no good. Now, both of you—calm down!”

  My mind reeled from Mr. Kennedy’s words, thoughts spinning away wildly. I pinched the bridge of my nose and jerked away from Henry’s clutch, needing space. Walking the length of the waiting room, I stared into the dark night through the high windows.

  What the fuck? Dear God! My fingers raked my scalp. I hated Alexa’s father, refused to give credence to his words. I saw how he’d treated her at Thanksgiving. He was an unforgiving prick. I’d bet my life that he abused her.

  A tidal wave of anger surged, crashing only to rise again. Mingled with it was harrowing guilt. I should never have left her, never walked out. I’d had no idea Alexa was capable of this. It had been hard getting inside her head, but the little I’d glimpsed was probably just the tip of the iceberg.

  How could I not have seen something that was right in front of my face? We’d spent practically every minute together. I’d failed her. I’d probably pushed her over the edge by walking out. I’d been selfish, afraid of getting hurt, thinking of only myself. Self-preservation. That’s how I’d lived the last five years. I hoped it wasn’t too late. I loved Alexa to death.

  Quiet footsteps sounded behind me. Henry’s image appeared in the window.

  “Don’t do this to yourself.”

  I sighed, my focus still out into the dark night. Traffic clotted Second Avenue. How could the world continue as if everything was okay?

  “Do what?”

  “Blame yourself,” he whispered. “I can tell by the way you’re standing here, deep in thought. I know what you’re doing and I’m telling you, this wasn’t your fault. As you said to her father, her issues started long before you.”

  I swallowed hard, my throat resisting. I sucked in air and started again. “If only I’d—”

  “Nothing. You did what you could. You saved her. Thank God you got there when you did. Now it’s up to the surgeons in that operating room. Give yourself a break.”

  I nodded, but his words couldn’t penetrate my wall of despair. Henry sighed, his cheerful irreverence gone.

  “They said it would be a few hours. Why don’t you go home and change. Grab something to eat and then come back. I’ll call you if I hear anything.”

  “No fucking way.”

  He chuckled low beside me. “I kinda figured you’d say that, thought I’d try.”

  I cut my eyes to the corner of the room where Alexa’s parents sat, motionless. Her mother dabbed a handkerchief to her eyes. Her father stared straight ahead.

  “Just keep that man away from me. If he gets in my face again, I can’t be held responsible for my actions.”

  Henry expelled a long breath, his gaze following mine.

  “Done.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Dex

  Always the peacemaker, Henry spent time with the Kennedys, offering them coffee and speaking words of hope to Alexa’s mother. They’d called the ER on the way to the hospital and had been updated on her status before she’d been taken into surgery. They, too, knew how grim the situation was. I could see it in their glassy eyes and stooped shoulders. I sensed it in the grief rising from them like steam off a hot tar road.

  After a few hours of pacing the deserted waiting room and crawling out of my skin, I heard the heavy thread of footsteps on the marble floor. I turned fro
m the window as a weary surgeon entered. A permanent crease bisected his forehead, but his eyes were perceptive and intelligent. He wore a surgical cap that matched his blue scrubs. Flipping through a clipboard, he looked up, the crease in his forehead deepening.

  “Dex Blakewell?”

  I stepped forward quickly, my heart rate picking up. Alexa’s parents sprang up from the couch, also rushing forward.

  “I’m her father,” Mr. Kennedy bellowed. He shot me a warning glance and approached the surgeon.

  The doctor’s gaze ping-ponged between us. He frowned, obviously sensing the tension in the room. He’d called my name because I was the one who’d brought Alexa in. I’d been listed as her contact. Not in the mood for petty bullshit, I levied an anxious gaze at the surgeon. The unknown was killing me.

  “How’s Alexa doing? Is she going to be okay?”

  He indicated a nearby couch, motioning us all to sit down. Henry conveniently made his way to the other side of the room to give us privacy. When we were seated, the surgeon introduced himself as Dr. Adams, then gave us a rundown of Alexa’s intraoperative course.

  “To be honest with you, her status is critical. We will know more over the next twenty-four hours. We were able to repair the vessels in her wrists, but she’s lost a lot of blood. She also had multiple tears in her esophagus. Fortunately, it did not rupture, but one tear was leaking significantly. We were able to repair it. She’s a very lucky young woman.”

  “So you expect her to make a full recovery? She’ll be okay?” I asked eagerly, clinging to his last sentence.

  Dr. Adams sighed. “I wish I could tell you that. She’s young. She has a strong heart, but her body shows signs of long-term abuse. She’s weak and malnourished. She’s severely anemic, her electrolytes are off, and she has mild liver damage. On top of that, she was very hypovolemic—lost a lot of blood. When that happens, we worry about damage to her kidneys as well as other organs. Like I said, the next twenty-four hours will be crucial.”

  “Will she need more surgery? You said she had multiple tears,” her father asked.