Текст книги "EMBER - Part Three"
Автор книги: Deborah Bladon
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COPYRIGHT
First Original Edition, June 2015
Copyright © 2015 by Deborah Bladon
ISBN: 9781926440279
Cover Design by Wolf & Eagle Media
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and situations either are the product of the author's imagination or are used factiously.
All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without written consent from the author.
Also by Deborah Bladon
The Obsessed Series
The Exposed Series
The Pulse Series
The VAIN Series
The RUIN Series
IMPULSE
SOLO
The GONE Series
FUSE
The Trace Series
CHANCE
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
A Special Surprise
Preview of RISE
Preview of HAZE
Thank You
Subscribe to Deborah’s Mailing List
About the Author
Chapter 1
"He left her?" Zoe can't contain the obvious confused agitation in her voice. "Is she in a wheelchair, Bridget?"
I glance back at the portrait. When I had walked up to the woman in the museum that day, I had shown her the drawing. Her hand had swept over the paper and she'd asked where the wheelchair was. I was silent, not because it made me uncomfortable, but because I had no understanding of whether the omission of it bothered her or not.
She must have sensed my trepidation because she quietly insisted that I include it, in an abstract way. I had. I had drawn the curves of the wheels and the straight and solid lines of the arms and back of the chair so they were understated. It was apparent, but not the focal point of the drawing. I wanted her spirit to rise above any other part of the portrait and when I showed her what I had done, she had smiled brilliantly. She'd whispered that she felt beautiful. I had told her she was.
"She was sitting in the cafeteria with Dane's mom when I met her," Vanessa interjects. "I was rushing back to my shift after a break so I didn't notice the wheelchair, but she was in it yesterday when I saw them down the hallway."
The confirmation only adds to the pain that has rushed through me. I'd had a conversation with Maisy. I'd listened to her talk about Dane and within those words I could sense the deep love she felt for him. They were having a son and each time that I've shared my body with him since that day, I've taken something from her whether I've known it or not. I've stolen her happiness. She doesn't deserve that.
I may not understand the intricacies of their relationship but I know what I saw. I saw a man lovingly kiss the pregnant belly of a woman. I saw tenderness and affection. How could he go from feeling all of that to leaving her a little more than a day later?
"Have you shown that to Dane?" Vanessa asks before her smartphone's ring pierces the air.
Zoe and I stand in silence as Vanessa mutters something into the stillness about an emergency, the hospital being short staffed and her need to rush back there.
"We should talk about this, Bridge." She pushes her phone back into the pocket of her sweater. "Why don't you ride over to the hospital with me in a taxi? We can talk on the way and then you can hop the subway back here."
"I should probably just go with you." Zoe waves her smartphone in the air. "Beck isn't home yet and the sitter needs to go. I'll share a taxi with you, Vanessa. Bridget can stay here."
She hasn't glanced at her phone since she arrived. I know she's made up an excuse because she can sense my need to be alone. She's always been able to gauge when the solace of my own company is the one thing I crave.
I don't move when Vanessa, and then Zoe, hugs me. Zoe's face darts into my line of sight for a brief moment. The confusion within her eyes is a pure reflection of my own feelings. I don't open my mouth to offer any explanation about how I unintentionally drew the woman Dane loved because I still can't get a firm grasp on the irony of it.
I don't ask Vanessa for any details about Maisy and her baby because it's not her story to tell. It's Dane's and the fact that we've shared our bodies and small pieces of our hearts with one another doesn't matter at this point. The only thing that truly matters is that the day before I met him, he was in the gift shop of a museum, picking out a print to hang on the wall of the home he shared with the woman he is going to have a baby with.
I stand in my makeshift studio as I hear the door of my apartment closing as my friends take leave to go share a ride where they'll talk about the man who helped nurse me back to health. They'll discuss the fact that I had no idea that I'd met Dane's ex-girlfriend. As they say goodbye when the taxi stops in front of the hospital to drop off Vanessa, they'll both take comfort in the fact that they are loved by men who don't carry secrets with the same weight of Dane's.
My hands tentatively reach for the portrait. The ache to hold it against my chest so I can weep for what might have been between Dane and me is only silenced by the almost uncontrollable drive I feel to destroy it.
It's haunting in that it captures a human spirit that is too brave and determined to give up. I'd seen the strength in Maisy's eyes when she'd called me over that day in the museum. She wasn't in search of pity or compassionate words. She wanted me to see her and not what had altered her life in such a significant way. Her smile and the light that radiated from within her were contagious and inspiring.
I'd left the museum that day with her words about love and promise ringing in my ears. I'd called Zoe to tell her that I wanted to meet Larry. I yearned for the promise of a future with a man who adored me. I wanted what Maisy had and because of a twist of fate, I have it now. I have Dane and she has a baby on the way.
I soak in the fine lines that my pencil had captured as I sat and watched Maisy. I hadn't bothered to ask her name, and she hadn't offered. It wasn't important then. It didn't matter the night that Dane sat on my bed, in my old apartment, while he studied the drawing. Until now, Maisy has been a faceless woman who was left behind in the restaurant. I may have felt a flash of compassion for her back then, but I'd gleefully grabbed hold of the man who decided his path didn't align with hers.
She's not just anyone now. She's the bright and beautiful woman I've had a brief conversation with. She's going to be a mom and for the rest of her son's life, he's going to look to Dane for guidance, acceptance and love.
I hear my smartphone ringing in the distance but the emotional energy it takes to answer it, isn't there. I don't want to hear Zoe ask if I'm going to be okay. I don’t want to compare notes with Vanessa about meeting Maisy.
As soon as the incessant ringing stops, it begins again and I close my eyes, willing it to quiet. I can't answer if it's Dane either. I can't bear the thought of hearing his voice. It will be filled with the carefree promise that it always is and I'll have to ask him questions that I don't want to hear the answers to.
I ignore the shrill bite of the smartphone's ring as I turn on my heel with Maisy's portrait lazily dangling between my fingers. I cross the hall to my own bedroom, place the drawing onto the foot of the bed and lower my head to my pillow. As I close my eyes, I know that when I open them again, nothing will ever be the same.
Chapter 2
"Dane didn't pick up when I tried to call him."
Zoe's head darts up. Her eyes scan my face for a brief second before they fall back down to Vane. I'd arrived on her doorstep, or more specifically, in the lobby of her building, shortly after sunrise.
Brighton had answered when I'd pushed the buzzer for the penthouse. He'd pulled me into his arms in a warm embrace when I walked over the threshold and into their home. The light from the day's break was just beginning to pour into the lavish space and I'd stood for a moment, feeling his strong arms around me, knowing that Zoe must have filled his ears, and mind, with words about the shock that had settled over me once I realized that I'd met Dane's ex-girlfriend.
"When did you try and call him?" She handily buttons the jumper she dressed Vane in after giving him a bath. "Was it last night or this morning?"
It was both. I'd called him after I woke shortly after midnight in an angered panic. The pencil portrait of Maisy had fallen to the floor next to my bed. I'd shuffled around in the dark on my knees trying to find it, while I dialed Dane's number. As the empty sound of his smartphone ringing had greeted my ear, I'd wept. I was grateful, in a small sense, when his voicemail picked up. I knew my emotions were too tangled for me to express everything I was feeling. I'd hung up without leaving a message. It was then that I finally scrolled through the missed calls on my phone, realizing that it had been my mom calling hours before. She'd left messages imploring me to call her back so we could choose a day for her to visit me and see my new apartment.
After I'd retrieved the portrait, I had taken it to the spare bedroom. I'd carefully placed it back on the easel and before I turned to leave the room, I'd given one last backward glance. Then, I'd shut the door behind me, knowing that the wooden door was not a strong enough barrier to ward off everything the drawing represented.
I'd climbed back into my bed then and somehow had tossed and turned in my sheets until sleep overtook me once more. When I opened my eyes again it was just past six. There was no return call from Dane and after I had a mug of hot coffee to awaken not only my body, but also my mind, I'd pulled in a deep breath and had called him again. This time, as the phone rang over and over again, I cursed each chime, wishing he would pick up.
I rest my thigh against the crib. "I tried last night and then before I came over this morning."
"Beck said you got here right before he left for his studio." She tips her chin in the direction of the ornate silver clock that hangs on the wall in Vane's nursery. "He's usually out of here around seven. What time did you get up?"
I don't need a reminder that losing sleep over a man isn’t good for me. I know Zoe and right now, there's a lecture sitting on the very tip of her tongue. I didn't come here for that. I came here to escape the suffocating knowledge that the man that I'm falling in love with, neglected to mention to me that he's about to be a father.
"I got up early," I say in an effort to steer the conversation in any direction where the final destination isn't going to be Dane. "I went to bed right after you and Vanessa left."
"We left before eight," she points out. "You went to bed then?"
I couldn't face the world so I had done the only thing I could think of. It was the same thing I'd done when I was a child and I'd heard my parents contemplating the end of their marriage. The mention of my name had pulled me from the quiet solace of my bedroom and into the hallway. I'd listened intently as I'd stood out of their view near the corner that leads to the kitchen.
My father cried as he begged my mother to stay. There was no other man she'd told him. Her heart was empty and the passion that she once felt when she looked into his eyes was replaced with a friendship that was too quiet and comfortable. As I heard him beg her for another chance, she had broken down too and they'd sobbed in that small little house.
Neither of them ever mentioned separating again and just a few weeks ago, as they were both helping me recover, I'd caught them in a tender embrace in the hallway of my apartment. The storm cloud that had threatened their marriage had passed, and apparently, the bond they had forged after they faced the mutual realization that they may lose one another, was enough to cement their marriage.
"I wasn't feeling well," I mutter under my breath because I know in the scope of excuses, it's a lame one.
She bends down to pull Vane into her arms. "Vanessa didn't say a lot about Dane after we left your place. She doesn't know him as well as you do."
The irony of the statement isn't lost on me. I'm not going to assume that I know Dane better than anyone, including Vanessa. The tangible proof of that isn't just in the fact that up until last night, I didn't have a clear understanding of the depth of his connection to Maisy. It goes well beyond that.
Our relationship grew from a chance meeting in a restaurant when he was rushing away from a promised future while I was trying to find one. We haven't taken the time to discuss our deepest wishes and life goals. Up until yesterday, the thought of Dane being a father was a foreign concept. I certainly had never given it a moment of consideration in terms of what our future together might hold since we haven't even defined whether we're dating each other exclusively. The assumption that we are, is there, but talking about the direction our relationship is headed, hasn't hit my radar yet.
It obviously isn't something Dane thinks about because if it were, I would have known that a baby was in his immediate future.
"Why don't you go over to his place to talk to him?" she asks flippantly. "If I was dating a guy and I had questions about his past, I'd be out on his stoop waiting for him to get home."
I can't do it. I can't confess to my best friend that the man I'm seeing actually doesn't have a home because his pregnant ex-girlfriend is living in his. "I don't know his schedule this week. I'll stop by the fire station this afternoon."
The smile that floats over her lips is a clear signal that her only focus in this moment is her son. "That sounds like a plan, Bridge."
It's a plan, whether or not it's the right one, doesn't matter at this point. I want answers and the only person who can give those to me is the father of Maisy's baby who just happens to be the man I thought I was falling in love with.
Chapter 3
"I tried to call you twice but you didn't answer."
Dane's voice catches me so off guard that my left shoe lands firmly on the toes of my right one. I hadn't looked up at all as I walked quickly through the crowded streets of Manhattan. After I'd left Zoe's place, I'd tried to call Dane once more as I fidgeted in front of her building, while the doorman kept a watchful eye over me.
There wasn't an answer. I'd hung up just as his voicemail picked up before I'd tucked my phone back into my purse and started the hike from Park Avenue to the fire station Dane worked at. I kept my gaze far enough ahead of me that the possibility of locking eyes with anyone on the street was a non-issue. I didn't want to run into a regular patron of the pub who would pull me into a discussion about where I'd been for the past few months. I didn't have the emotional capacity to listen to another stranger tell me that they recognized me as the girl who had been hit by the police car. I had one focus that only intensified with each step I took and that was talking to Dane.
I couldn't hide the disappointment that swept over my expression when a man dressed in the same type of firefighter gear that Dane was wearing the night of my accident told me that he wasn't there. He tossed the words out in a breathless panic as he boarded the fire truck that was already pulling out into the street. I could only watch as it sped away in its pursuit to stop the destruction that only a fire can cause.
I'd walked back to my place, the fuel beneath each step a stirring mixture of anger and frustration. I didn't bother to look at my smartphone and as I rounded the corner to head up the block towards my building, I'd stopped to buy two apples and a chilled bottle of juice from a vendor who set up his cart in the same spot floors beneath my bedroom window each day.
I hadn't eaten before I'd left for Zoe's and although she offered me an omelet and some toast, I couldn't stomach the taste then. Right now, the fruit and juice is enough to tame the hunger pangs that I can't ignore any longer.
"Bridget," he says my name just as his hands reach out to grab my wrists to steady my balance. "I've been trying to call you for the last hour."
I stare up into his face. His features are exactly as they were the last time I saw him but there's something remarkably different in his stance. His shoulders are tense and pulled forward. His shoe is tapping against the pavement and as his skin touches mine I feel the tremor in his grasp.
"What's wrong, Dane?"
Just as swift as I see relief float over his face, it's gone again. "I know that you tried to call me last night and again early this morning. I couldn't get to my phone. I'm sorry."
"I wanted to talk to you about something," I begin before I look past his shoulder to a delivery truck that has pulled up next to the curb. The jarring string of horns honking a symphony of displeasure at the truck's driver fills the air. "It's really important."
"You want to talk about the fire, don't you?" His eyes dart back to where the truck is now parked. It's blocking a full lane of traffic on the already crowded street.
I want to talk about his son. I want to know if they've chosen a name for him and when Dane thinks his birthday will be. I want to know how he felt when he learned that Maisy was carrying his child and I want to hear him tell me, in his own words, what's going to happen when the baby arrives and what his plan is for every tomorrow after that.
"The fire?" I finally pull my wrists free of his grasp. "What fire?"
His eyes slowly scan my face as if he's searching for some semblance of understanding there. He's a fireman. It only stands to reason that he's talking about a fire he was called out to. I'm guessing it's the fire in Queens that Vanessa mentioned when she'd first arrived at my apartment last night. I assumed when she was hurriedly called back to the hospital, that it was because of that.
"It was bad." His hand darts up to his face to cover his mouth. "There were two kids. Their mom left them alone and..."
The audible gasp that escapes me stops him mid-sentence. I feel a rush of emotions as I remember the woman on the television who had been brought to her knees on the lush green lawn in front of one of the houses that was near the blaze. The wail that came from her had lingered with me and even this morning as I tried to catch a quick glimpse of the day's headlines on the muted television while I watched Zoe feed Vane his breakfast, I'd wondered about that woman and the loss she must have suffered.
"We tried to help them." His shoulders pivot towards me. "They don't know if they'll make it. I stayed at the hospital all night. Ben says it's touch and go."
"I'm sorry...I didn't...I had no idea that happened," I stammer, knowing that throwing a slew of questions at him about Maisy and his son will only add to the overwhelming emotional weight that he's already carrying on his shoulders. I don't want to feel compassion for him right now but I can't help it.
"I wasn't working the fire," he says quickly. "I was at my house and saw the smoke. I ran over there."
I know that the kindhearted thing to do is to ask about the children who were caught in the fire. I feel the tug at my heart as I think about small Vane and what it would do to Zoe, Beck and even myself if he were hurt. I want to stay in that place emotionally not only because it's the honorable place to be, but also because I despise myself right now for wanting to push his concern for those children aside to ask him why he was at the house he shares with the soon-to-be mother of his child.
"I know those kids, Bridget."
"You know them?" I whisper the question back, suddenly feeling guilty for not recognizing how completely torn up he is.
He scrubs his hand over his face. It does nothing to settle his expression. "They live a block over from me. They set up a lemonade stand every Saturday afternoon during the summer. I always take them a few dollars, when I'm not working, to buy a glass and talk to them. They're great boys."
I close my eyes against the flood of emotions I feel. My hand darts to my mouth. It's not because I feel a sob approaching. I need to physically stop myself from blurting out something about the little boy that him and Maisy are about to have.
"I don't know what I would do if I had a kid of my own and they got hurt." His voice turns gruff and takes on a raspy tone. "I sat with their mother all night at the hospital. She could barely talk. It's got to be hell to watch your sons suffering like that."
"Being a parent can't be easy." Taking a deep breath, I push all reason and compassion aside and say the one thing that has been there, tugging at me since last night. "You'll know that soon since you're going to be a dad."
