Текст книги "Sex Love Repeat"

Автор книги: Alessandra Torre

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 13 страниц)

PAUL

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

I hear her breaths and hope that she is making them, hope that if this machine was to be turned off, that the controlled sounds of life would continue. I listen to the beep of her heart rate and watch the numbers on the screen, numbers that mean nothing to me.

I touch her hand softly, running my fingers over the top of it; its cool surface scaring the hell out of me. I hold it in my hands, the fingers limp and unresponsive.

“There is brain activity.” The words come from behind me and I turn to see a young male nurse, outfitted in green scrubs. He smiles. “Something came across the monitors a few minutes ago. It’s a good sign.”

“So she’ll be okay?”

His grin falters. “No. I didn’t mean that. But with her condition... we didn’t expect any brain activity. We are still a long way from stability.”

I nod and turn back to her. Squeeze her hand. There is nothing more heartbreaking than a limp hand. No life. No response. I lean over and place a soft kiss on a bit of exposed skin on her cheek—tubes and masks preventing any real connection.

I hear a commotion, raised voices, and the squeak of shoes on floor, and I know, without turning, Stewart is here. My hand tightens, without thought, on hers.

OVER THE FALLS: [prepositional phrase]

Getting pitched head-first and slammed by the lip of a crashing wave.

STEWART

The woman before me is infuriating. She blinks at me, gray hair covering half of her brown eyes, and purses her lips. “Only close friends and immediate family may go in. She is in ICU and already has one visitor.”

“I’m her boyfriend. Stewart Brand. My assistant should have called, you spoke with her earlier.”

“Her boyfriend is already in there. So unless we have a love triangle going on, I need to speak with him first. He’s the one who brought her in, he’s the one who has her identification.”

I grind my teeth at the title, never regretting a single decision more in my entire life then when I hear her reedy voice give ownership of her to another man. “I don’t need to explain the dichotomy of our relationship with you. Call Security if you wish, but I will be the one paying for her care and I—despite what you have been told—am her boyfriend. Fiancé once she pulls through.”

“If she pulls through.” The woman’s words are firm but gentle, the statement reminding me that Madison’s health is more important than the cockfight I am creating in my mind.

“I’ll find her room myself. Here is my card should you feel the need to get authorities involved.” I flip a business card out between my fingers and set it on her desk. Then I move forward, glancing in and out of rooms, hearing loud discussion behind me. I pass a room with a man, standing alongside a bed, and then stop, stepping backward, glancing at the chart hanging on the door.

Madison Decater. Room F. This is it.

I step inside quietly, pulling the door closed, the voices instantly muffled, and move forward, my eyes only on her, the man at her side stepping back, his figure muted in my peripheral vision, my horror growing as I look at the frail figure who is my heart.

She lies in a hospital bed, her face covered with a breathing mask, tubes and cords running from portable stands to her body, face, and hands. The mechanical breathing of the machine is like a beast, huffing hot breath out that sounds nothing like her sweet sighs of sleep.

“My baby,” I whisper. “Oh my God, my sweet sweet girl.” Tears spill. Tears I didn’t even know my body could still create. I haven’t cried since Jennifer, not even at Mother’s funeral. But this, seeing her before me, struggling to breath, artificially hanging onto life... it is as if I am seeing my life dissolve, right before my eyes, and have no way of rescuing it. Her life, her fire... it is gone. It is gone and I am faced with the sudden reality that it may never come back. I am faced with my mistakes, etched in stone, unable to be wiped clean and rewritten. I sink to my knees beside her bed and hold her hand, her limp, cold hand. I pull it to my cheek, a tear leaking down my cheek, my breath gasping as I press soft kisses onto her palm.

I know that I love her. I know that she is the light in my life and keeps my world from being too dark, too consumed with work. But I haven’t known, haven’t realized until now how my love for her works. How it is more than affection. How it is the only part of me that has life. She is the only feeling that exists in my body, the only feeling that isn’t tied to greed or competition or ego. She is my light, and I haven’t realized it until now, when it is so close to being extinguished.

I lie my head on her chest, wrapping my arms around and under her body, gently grip her to me. “I need you, baby. I love you so much.”

There is a small cough, and I remember the other man in the room. The other man in her life. A man that, at this point in time, needs to take his leave, to step out of her life and allow me to take my rightful place. I release her gently and straighten, staring at her closed eyes, and squeeze her hand before turning to face her other man.

Seeing Paul’s face pulls the final nail from the coffin that is my sanity. He stands tall, taller than I remember, his chest strong, eyes fierce, blazing with the same passion I feel behind mine. I have seen his photo, Dana’s letters occasionally containing a news article or magazine clipping. But I don’t a photo to know who he grew into. I have memorized every line of his face since he was a child. Admired his athletic build, his skill in the water, his easy smile and infectious laugh. He was always our golden child, the one who talked his way out of trouble, rescued stray animals, and waltzed through life with an ease—just like Madison. The thought hits me hard, the similarities terrifying in their possibilities.

I freeze, examine the look in his eyes, try to pierce the possibilities together, try to understand exactly what his presence means and pray to God that it is not what it appears. “Why are you here?”

“For the same reason you are.” He nods toward the bed, toward the woman who I’ve spent the last two years thinking of as my own. I knew there was another man. Hell, I’m the reason she settled down with one. I didn’t want her fucking half the town, going home with strangers. I wanted to know that she had a steady relationship, had someone to go home to, someone to watch out for her and care for her in my absence. I just never thought of that person having thoughts and feelings for her, having ownership of her. I’ve always pushed that reality to the side, work taking center stage, everything else flowing, the well-oiled machine not one I needed to examine too closely. Realizing that he is her other man... Paul falls in love with baby kittens. I don’t have to look in his eyes to know that he is head over heels for her. Jesus Christ, I’ve fucked to the thought of her with him!

My legs have lost all strength, my knees physically threatening to buckle. I stagger a few steps to the side, collapsing into the closest chair and close my eyes. There is a vibration in my pocket—my phone—and I reach in and hold the button on the side, depressing it until it vibrates and is off. “How long?” the words come out a whisper and I clear my throat.

“The doctor should be back in about an hour with some results. We will know more then.” I crack open my eyes to see him sit in a chair opposite me, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, his eyes looking at her, and then at me.

“No.” My voice is stronger, though it still cracks as I speak. “How long have you been fucking her?” I open my eyes and look into his.

PAUL

My brother has changed so much. At twenty years old he was already serious, dedicated to school when I was partying, his brow furrowed over grades and projections, current events, and our family’s finances. Worry. Worry. Worry. At a point in his life when he should have been partying and fucking. Enjoying life. But he is even worse now. He has fully evolved into a rock hard frame of intensity. When he opens his eyes and stares at me, it is like being in the path of a train, frozen to the spot, unable to move even though the ground is trembling underfoot.

“A year and a half... almost two. We met in Santa Monica.”

“So this... this is coincidence?” His voice is hard, unbelieving, and it is through his petulant tone that I fully believe it is solely happenstance.

I had worked through the scenario before he arrived, turning over the realization of his identity in my head, trying to figure out the pieces, and what my part in this twisted game was. There were three possibilities. One: He had sent Madd to me—some fucked up situation that reeked of anything but the level-headed Stewart I knew. Two: Madd had sought out two brothers, for reasons known only to her, a deceitful game that would only end in disaster. Also completely opposite of the woman I love. Three: It is all a coincidence. A fucked up, someone-upstairs-is-screwing-with-you, coincidence.

“It’s either coincidence or she somehow orchestrated this situation.” I glance toward her bed. “And I don’t think she would do that.”

He closes his eyes, drops his head back against the wall. “No. She wouldn’t. Plus, I’m the one who pushed her to take a boyfriend.”

“Why?” It is a question I have always wondered. Why a man would send someone like Madison out into the world, not concerned with the possibility of losing her. It is a question I have always contained, not wanting to rock the boat with Madd, and a little scared at what the answer might be.

He sighs, opening his eyes and staring at the ceiling. “I assume you know how she is, with sex. From the beginning, I couldn’t give her the time she needed. For sex, for a relationship. She deserved a full-time boyfriend and she knew it. Refused to be exclusive with me. And I couldn’t stop thinking about her. I wanted her as a constant in my life, but I wanted her to be safe, and happy, and loved. And... fuck. Satisfied. I didn’t want her out fucking around. And I didn’t want her out of my life.” He pushes away from the wall with his shoulder and meets my gaze. “I thought if she had a man, someone to spend her days and nights with—someone who understood that I was there, that I had a place in her life... it would keep her happy and give me a spot in her life. Give our relationship some security.”

I frown. “Without you... I could have had a normal relationship with her. I could have made her happy.” My voice strengthens as I speak, anger flowing through my veins. “I could have been everything she needed.”

He laughs, a short bark that only pisses me off more. “Paul, you’re a kid. You float through life in some imaginary world in which you do what you love and are lucky enough, so far, to make enough to live off of. What are you going to do when you can’t surf anymore? How are you going to provide for her? At some point in time you have to join the real world. And the real world changes people. The real world takes your cheery little smile and turns you in a dark cloud of reality. It drowns you in bills and expectations and adds piece after piece of reality onto your shoulders until you are struggling under the weight of it all.” He stares at me, his features tight, face angry, and I want nothing more than to punch him, hard enough to crush bones and draw blood, but his words stop me. Words filled with as much anger as conviction. “You can’t be everything she needs. You are a fuck. Probably a good one. And you are fun. You’ve done a good job of keeping her company. But you can’t be her everything. You are barely your own everything. And you will fail her. Just like you failed Jennifer. Fuck—you were probably with her when this happened. Were you?” He stands, stepping closer to me, his eyes dark, his jaw tight. “Were you there when she drowned? Did you just let her die, like you did with Jennifer? How many women who I love are you going to hurt with that smile? With that casual attitude that lets everything important slip through the cracks?”

There is a level when your heart breaks past a point of repair. When it is shatters into pieces that cannot be glued back together. His words are knives into my chest, the truth behind them lacing the blades with poison. At some point in his speech I stand, my temper flashing as I face his affront. But then, halfway through his final words, when the truth and guilt burn its way into my soul, I weaken—in the end dropping to my knees, my hands falling to my side, my eyes wincing when the final stone finds its mark and shakes my soul.

I barely notice when he steps away, when he moves out the door and the click of the door sounds.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale. Exhale.

Her haggard breathing is the only sound in the room until I sob, gripping the bars of the gurney, holding onto them tightly and leaning against her bed. “Please wake up,” I plead to her unresponsive body. “Please, baby. Please. I love you and need you so much.”

I do. I need her arms around me. Her eyes, staring, smiling into mine. They make me feel as if I can do no wrong. As if all we have is time and our time is golden. No worries, no regrets. Two people running through life with our arms outstretched and the sun on our back. We don’t need much. We have love. We will make everything else work. Fuck Stewart. Fuck him and his speech and his intensity.

I love her.

I need her.

I need her.

I need her.

I sob and pray reverently to a forgotten and ignored God and pray for forgiveness and for her.

Madison. My heart.

STEWART

I cannot go back in there. I cannot go back after the words that I just said. I cannot face him after I saw his face crumble. He has stood up to me so rarely in his life. And in there, in his anger and his accusation... I saw the man he has become. The man he has grown into. He was right. Without me and my selfish need to have her light, he could have had a normal relationship. Whether it had been him, or someone else, she would have found a normal life. Someone one hundred percent devoted to her and not a job. Someone whose world focused on making her happy. Someone who fucked her senseless so she didn’t need a second cock. His words were honest and hit home and I pushed back with every pissed off bone in my body.

I stripped him bare and left him there. Alone with his insecurities.

I can’t go back in there. But she’s in there and so I have to go back. I can’t leave her alone. But I can’t face him again.

I am an asshole.

He is my brother.

She has my heart.

Fuck.

DANA

I am at lunch, sipping artificially-sweetened strawberry lemonade and debating between a Caesar salad or tuna roll when my phone rings. I debate ignoring it. It is probably the office, and I don’t feel like dealing with numbers and IRS regulations right now. I let it ring three times before my OCD gets the best of me and I slide my finger across the screen without looking at it, lifting it to my ear and catching the eye of the waiter. “Hello?”

“Dana. It’s me.” The catch in his voice has me instantly alert, my hand waving the approaching waiter away with a hurried motion.

“What’s wrong? Is it Paul?” I feel a tightness in my chest I haven’t feel in ten years, not since I stood in front of my mother and heard the news that broke apart our world.

“No. Yes.” He breathes deeply, and I suddenly see him, my brother, pinching the bridge between his eyes, inhaling as he struggles with whatever it is that is about to come out of his mouth. “Paul is fine. But I need you. Can you come to Venice Regional?”

“The hospital?” I am on my feet and moving, my purse in my hand, abandoning my drink, my hip hitting the corner of a table hard, and I wince. That’s gonna leave a bruise.

“Yes. How soon can you be there?”

“Fifteen minutes. I—I moved back to LA. A year ago.” I feel guilty saying the words. But its not like he’s answered any of my calls. Hard to share information with a brick wall.

“I’ll be in the ER lobby. Please hurry.”

The phone goes dead in my hand, and I jog to my car, my heels clipping on the sidewalk, my hand stuffing the phone into my purse. I feel momentary disappointment that he didn’t comment on my move—we are, after all, in the same city now. But I knew that wouldn’t matter much to him. It wasn’t as if he had the time, or desire, to meet for lunch or grab dinner one night. It didn’t matter to him if I was fifteen minutes or fifteen hours away. But he needs me now. And that makes my heart beam. He had needed someone, and he called me. Paul is fine. Whatever is wrong, both of my boys are safe. I unlock my car.

I see him as soon as I step inside the lobby, his tall frame tense, his legs moving quickly to me, and he grabs me tightly, wrapping his arms around me and pressing a tight kiss on my head. “Let’s step outside,” he whispers.

He speaks to the receptionists, a gray-haired woman who regards him with disdain, an odd reaction to Stewart’s looks and traditional charm.

We step into the afternoon heat and he releases my arm, moves to the side and leans against a column of the overhang. “You got a light?”

“A cigarette?” I stare at him. I dig in my purse, pulling out a pack of Marlboros and a lighter. “What happened to your health kick?”

“It just ended.” He taps one out and lights it, cupping his hand around the flame and then inhales deeply.

I take the pack from him and shake out another, stuffing the box back in my purse. “What’s going on Stewart? As delighted as I am to hear from you, it’s been two years.”

He blew out a stream of dirty smoke. “I know, Dana. I’m sorry about that. You know what life’s like. Time is gone... before you even know it.”

“Whatever. I don’t think you have any idea what life’s like. You know what work’s like.”

He is silent for a moment, staring out at the parking lot. Then he looks over at me, his gaze intense. The intense gaze that he’s had since he was eight, a stare that cuts through any bullshit that might exist, one that protects him while he invades your soul. “I don’t need your depressing views of my life. I called you here because I need your help.”

I bite back the sharp retort that sits hot on my tongue. “Then talk to me.”

He looks out, onto the street. “It’s about a girl.”

Reality hits me like a hundred pound wrecking ball and I curse my own stupidity. Duh. I know only one fact about his current life. One blonde fact who prances between him and Paul. Of course this is about her. How did it take me five minutes to get to this bright shiny light bulb of obviousness? I should have known it the minute I heard his voice. “Go on.”

“I’m in love.” I tilt my head, stepping closer to him, the foreign word surprising. “She’s amazing, D. She’s amazing and beautiful, and I’ve screwed it all up.”

I keep my mouth shut, sucking on the end of the cigarette.

“I was too busy. Working—you know my schedule. She wouldn’t give me an exclusive relationship, not when I could only see her once a week or so.”

I arch my brow and glance over at his handsome profile, a sliver of grudging respect wedging its way into my “I hate this woman” campaign. “She shouldn’t have. You don’t have time for a house plant, much less a woman.”

He thumbs the cigarette before placing it between his lips. “I know. So I told her to see someone else. I told her I’d share her. Told her to date him and me at the same time.”

I almost say Paul’s name. Almost blow my cover. I swallow the words and aim for a casual tone. “Share her? With who?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t know. Didn’t care. I just told her to find someone who made her happy. Someone who understood that I wasn’t going anywhere.”

“And you thought that would work out?” I toss my cig to the side and step on it, crossing in front of Stewart and planting my feet, staring up into eyes that I haven’t seen in far too long. “You thought what? She’d date both of you? Forever?”

He meets my stare solidly. “It was that or lose her. What was I supposed to do?”

I scoff, an expression that trips and somehow becomes an unladylike snort. “Work a normal schedule. Cut back to eighty hours a week. Enjoy life. Have an actual relationship with someone. Not timeshare her out!”

His face hardens, lines forming where there once were none. “I regret it now. I know that I fucked up. But at the time—I didn’t love her then. I had just met her. I didn’t know where it would go.”

I look into his eyes. “You love her.” I test the words on my tongue, knowing, as I stare into his eyes, that he means it. That my big, strong, only-cares-about-work brother has fallen in love. Then I remember where we are standing and my blood runs cold. “Why are we here, Stewart? What happened?”

His face crumbles for a moment, a flash of weakness before he busies himself with a puff of smoke. “There was an accident,” he says softly, the last word swelling in his mouth. “A surfing accident. They don’t think she’s gonna make it.”

A surfing accident. This situation suddenly has taken a nosedive into hell. I don’t need to ask if Paul was there. I don’t need to know the many parallels that must exist that tie this incident to the one ten years ago. I swallow hard, and my heart aches for my boys.

He wipes at his face, pressing both hands over his face, the cigarette burning down, close to his skin, my desire to keep him from being hurt overridden by my understanding that I should give him space. “Paul.” He chokes out. “Paul was who she found. God’s twisted fuckaround in our lives. And when I found out... God Dana – the things I said to him.” He drops his hands, drops the burning cigarette to the ground and falls back against the column, his eyes staring out, red and filled with tears. “How did this all happen?”

I go to him, wrapping my arms around his waist and hugging him tightly as my mind sorts through all that he has just said. I had the entire situation wrong, had never dreamed that they were willingly sharing her with an unknown stranger. “Does he love her?” I pulled back and look up at Stewart. “Paul. Does he love her, too?”

“He’s Paul.”

I understand instantly what he means. Paul is a lover. He loves freely and easily; his love accepts faults and is unconditional in its strength. He wouldn’t be with her if he didn’t love her.

“Will you go talk to him?”

“I think you should.” I say gently. “I think you are about ten years overdue.”

His jaw tightens. “He shouldn’t have let her go with them. You know that.”

I glare at him. “He was fucking nineteen! And Jennifer’s not coming back, whether the relationship between you two is intact or ruined. But you know what she would have wanted.” I pull at his arm, make him look me in the eye. “She would have wanted you to be close. To be what you used to be.”

He meets my stare, his shoulders dropping slightly. “I can’t do it, Dana. I can’t go back in there after the things I said. Just go find out what he’s thinking. I called you here because I need you. We need you.”

I can’t deny that request. Not when it is the first time one of my brothers have reached out to me in years. I give him one final hug and then step back inside, anxious to see Paul. It has been so long.