Текст книги "Fall From India Place"

Автор книги: Samantha Young

Соавторы: Samantha Young
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CHAPTER 17

I was coasting along, almost a little smug not only in my present contentment, but in the fact that I’d beaten my issues with the past.

Little did I know that the past doesn’t take too kindly to smugness, to disinterest. The past can be spiteful. It can creep up on the present to taunt it with the memories and all the old hurts.

It wasn’t snowing. For this I was thankful. Snow was for when you were curled up safe inside with a fire roaring in the grate. It wasn’t for when you were driving a rental to some unknown place in Argyll.

Marco had decided he wanted us to get away for the weekend. He said we needed to talk.

I knew it had to do with his mysterious weekends away and I was glad he was finally going to broach the subject. We’d been officially dating each other for a few weeks now. It was definitely time for me to know what was behind his disappearances, and I was preparing myself for the news.

What I hadn’t prepare for was the sight of the large old cottage on a hill overlooking the Holy Loch. My lips parted in wonder as the car drew to a stop on the gravel driveway. With its multicolored stone block facade, creeping vines, and old-fashioned windows made up of lots of little panels, the cottage was like something out of a fairy tale. Smoke puffed out of the top of the roof from a chimney, and a fat tabby cat skittered across the front doorstep as the car drew to a halt.

I glanced over at Marco and he smiled.

Before I could say a word he was out of the car and hurrying around to the passenger side to open my door. My feet had just touched the driveway when he grabbed my hand and tugged me gently over to the front door. Bending down, he unearthed a key from beneath a ceramic tortoise and let us inside.

Heat hit us and I followed Marco in a daze as he led me out of a small foyer into a hallway and then to the right. My eyes grew round with surprise as I took in the large sitting room. Antique furniture cluttered the space, but in elegant coziness. There were dark plum velvet sofas in the French style, a mahogany tea chest, and a huge crockery display cabinet with china plates. But best of all was the roaring fire in the massive fireplace on the main wall. Shadows danced around the darkening room as the flames from the fire licked out at us.

My gaze dropped to the chenille blanket that had been placed in front of the fire. On it were a hamper, a bottle of wine, and a red rose.

Marco squeezed my hand. “You once told me this would be your perfect date.”

Slowly, I turned to look at him in amazement.

… there was this scene where he takes her to this tiny cottage on his land, away from everything and everyone. They sit in front of a roaring fire, drinking and eating, sometimes talking, sometimes not. It was like there was no one else in the world but them…

“You remembered that?” I asked, my voice choked with emotion.

His head bent toward me, his lips brushing mine. “I remember everything.”

“I can’t believe you did all this.” I moved into him, wrapping my arms around him.

“I had a little help from the housekeeper, Dottie. She’s a bit of a romantic, it would seem.”

I laughed softly. “As are you, it would seem.”

He cradled my face in his hands, his thumb sweeping along my jaw before coming to a rest on my plump lower lip. “Only with you.”

I closed my eyes, soaking up the feel of him holding me, the sound of the fire, the heat of it against my skin, and in that moment I was reminded of the girl I used to be, the reluctant romantic who still believed there was something really special out there for her.

“I can never get enough of you,” Marco murmured, pressing soft kisses down my neck and across my naked shoulder.

Caressing his back, I made a contented purring sound in the back of my throat. My whole body was warm and languid after the two orgasms he’d just given me.

“I’ll be back.” He pressed one last kiss to the rise of my breast and then moved off me.

I pouted. “Where are you going?”

He didn’t answer. Instead he disappeared from the sitting room and then returned a few seconds later with a washcloth.

I bit my lip and spread my legs.

A predatory look flashed in Marco’s eyes as he sat back down on the blanket in front of the fire to press the washcloth between my legs. “You keep that up and you won’t be able to walk out of here tomorrow.”

“I’m not doing anything,” I whispered, smiling innocently at him.

He shook his head, his eyes never leaving mine. “You are so dangerous.”

“Me?” I grinned mischievously as I pushed myself up and slid toward him, lifting my right leg over his knees so I could wrap both legs around his waist. He immediately put his arms around me and hauled me up so I was crushed against him. “I’ve never been dangerous in my life.”

“You’re dangerous to me.”

I pressed closer, my hands coasting down his muscled back. “I like being dangerous to you.”

His answer was to kiss me thoroughly and then bury his head in the crook of my neck, hugging me tight, almost like he needed me to ease something in him.

My chest tightened with emotion as I sensed that Marco was feeling overwhelmed somehow. To soothe him I stroked his back, relaxed in his hold.

But then I brushed my fingers across the scar on the lower left-hand side of his back and without even meaning to I tensed.

Marco felt it and pulled away to look me in the eye.

I wanted to ask him, but I didn’t want to ruin the moment between us.

He moved as if to disentangle me and I automatically tightened my grip on him with all four limbs. “Don’t.”

“Hannah, I don —”

“Was it him? Your grandfather?” I asked softly, feeling the burn of anger in my belly as I did anytime I felt the scar under my hands or saw it.

Marco sighed heavily. Thankfully, he didn’t pull away again. Instead he gave my waist an affectionate squeeze. “Babe, it’s in the past.”

“I want to know what he did to you.”

“Why? It’s done.”

“Because…” I shrugged helplessly. “I want to make it better somehow.”

His face softened. “You already do. You always have. I’m sitting here with you naked and you’ve got your gorgeous body wrapped around me. Nothing better than that. And nothing can make that turn to shit.”

“So if nothing can make it turn to shit, tell me. Now is the best time to tell me,” I said to encourage him.

He sighed. “Fine. I was eleven. I broke curfew. Nonno had slapped me around a bit before and a couple times he’d whacked me with his belt, but he’d never given me a thrashing. Until I broke curfew – and I didn’t just break curfew, I talked back to him. So he made me take off my shirt, shoved me face-first onto the kitchen table, and took his belt to me. He messed up – let his anger get the better of him – and the belt unfolded and cut a gash open on my back. Nonna went nuts at him. He never hit me again after that.” He shook his head, seeming to pull himself out of the memories as his gaze connected with mine. “They didn’t take me to hospital because of the questions that would be asked, so Nonna did her best to clean it up, but it wasn’t stitched up right, so it left a scar.”

I pushed into him, closer, as close as I could get, my lips brushing his. “I hate him,” I whispered hoarsely, feeling the burn of tears in my eyes. “I hate him so much.”

“Ssh, baby.” He kissed me lightly, rubbing his hands up and down my spine. “Don’t. I’ve let it all go.”

I nodded, but the tears escaped anyway, and I wrapped my arms around him, burying my face against his neck.

“It was all worth it to get this at the end of it,” he murmured.

I was overwhelmed by my need to make everything better for him – wishing I’d been there back then, to take his pain away. From here on out, I wanted to make it so he never felt that way again, so that he always felt loved.

Yes, loved.

Because I did, I realized.

I’d fallen deeply in love again with Marco D’Alessandro.

After a day of fooling around in the cottage, followed by a brisk walk down by the loch, we ended up having dinner at a nice restaurant in the local village before returning to the cottage. As we settled in for the evening, the only sound to be heard for miles was the crackling of the fire in the grate. Despite our romantic surroundings I’d been a little on edge, waiting for Marco to finally bring up what it was he wanted to discuss with me.

At last, as I lay against his side on the sofa, my legs tangled in his, I prompted, “You wanted to talk?”

Marco was silent for a moment as he drew circles on my bare shoulder with the tip of his finger. “Liv said something,” he replied, his voice low and amused in the quiet room. “It was that Sunday we had lunch at your mom’s. She said that you once planned an ambush with her. She took you to D’Alessandro’s so you could corner me and get me to talk to you because I’d been ignoring you. Is that true?”

I closed my eyes, every muscle in my body coiled tightly. Why would Liv bring that up to him? Why would he bring that up to me?

Embarrassed, annoyed, and feeling unbelievably vulnerable even though I knew Marco would never want me to feel that way, I stared broodingly into the fire. The night before in bed with Marco had been a far greater moment of vulnerability for the both us. However…

That had been about Marco’s past and our present.

This was about our past.

I was avoiding our past. Reminders weren’t good.

“Yeah, so?”

At my tone, his arm tightened around me. “I just couldn’t remember why I was ignoring you. I guess I wanted to remember because I’m trying to make up for everything shitty I ever did to you.”

Oh, no. We could definitely not go there tonight.

I pulled away from him, throwing him a tight smile in response to his questioning frown. “I feel like I need a shower. I’ll be back in a bit.” I was gone before he could say a word.

Stripping out of my clothes quickly, I jumped in the hot shower and leaned my forehead against the cool tiles. I tried breathing in and out slowly to ease my anxiety.

It wasn’t long before the shower door opened behind me, but I didn’t turn around. I felt his heat all around me as Marco stepped inside. I lifted my head from the tiles, my back immediately hitting his chest.

His hands drifted lightly up the curve of my waist, fingertips trailing a featherlight path over my ribs, until he was cupping my breasts in his palms. I sighed, resting my head on his shoulder, arching into his touch.

His thumbs brushed over my pebbled nipples and my lower belly rippled with arousal.

Without saying a word, Marco played my body, touching me, caressing me, kneading me. As I panted for breath, he slipped his hand between my legs and pushed his fingers inside me. I leaned my hands on the tiles in front of me and rode his fingers.

“Fuck me,” I groaned in desperation.

Suddenly Marco’s fingers were gone, my hips were gripped hard in his hands, and his cock was gliding into me. I cried out at the fullness of him inside me and reared back into his gentle thrusts.

He cupped my right breast again, pressing me back into him as he squeezed it while his other hand moved between my legs. His fingers slid over my clit, back and forth, as he continued to fuck me in slow, tormenting thrusts.

I rested the back of my head on his chest, my hands on his hips behind me, desperate for satisfaction. He pushed me toward it, until my whole body stiffened.

Marco felt it and started pumping harder, faster.

The tension inside me broke apart, the orgasm quivering through my whole body as my eyes fluttered closed in absolute bliss.

I melted against Marco and he held me tighter, his breath hot on my skin, his grunts and pants increasing as he chased his own climax. And then suddenly I felt his teeth on my shoulder as his body tightened a few seconds before his hips jerked hard with release.

He pressed me against the tiles, his body shuddering as he came inside me.

“Fuck,” he breathed, caressing my bottom.

I shivered, my heart still racing in my chest.

That had been intense.

And apparently Marco wasn’t done with intense.

He pulled out of me slowly, but I didn’t even have time to regret the loss of him before he spun me around to face him. I stared up at him to find his expression fierce. His grip on my shoulders was uncompromising. “When we were kids, I was in love with you.”

Surprise, gratification, relief, sheer joy… it all moved through me as my eyes widened at his abrupt confession.

“That never went away, Hannah.” He rested his forehead against mine. “And now that I know you again, I’m even more in love with you.”

Oh, shit. My throat closed up. I knew, I just knew, I couldn’t say it back yet.

“Ssh,” he murmured, feeling my tension. He kissed me gently. “I can wait for you to say it. I just wanted you to know how I feel. Nothing will change that.” His eyes searched mine. “Whatever that was out there, stop. I don’t want you to be sore about our past anymore. It’s done. We can’t take it back. But we have now. And now is good.”

Too emotional to form words, I just nodded and wrapped my arms around him. I rested my head on his chest, near his heart, and let him hold me as the warm water cascaded over us.

CHAPTER 18

The next morning, I sighed regretfully as I tidied away all evidence of our visit to the cottage. When Marco came in from putting our bags in the car and saw the uncharacteristic pout on my lips, he cracked a smile. “Back to reality.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Do we have to?”

His smile disappeared. “We have a lot to talk about when we get back.”

My stomach flip-flopped. “Why don’t we talk about it now?”

“I’d rather we talk about it back home. It’s a pretty big deal.”

“It is about your mysterious weekends, right?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“Okay, let’s hit the road now, because the suspense has been killing me for weeks.”

Marco pulled up outside my flat. “You go in. I’ll drop the rental off and get a cab back.”

I leaned over and pressed a soft kiss to his mouth. “Text me when you’re nearly at the flat. I’ll put the kettle on for you.”

“Sure, babe.”

I got out of the car, grabbed my bag, and ducked my head back in the passenger door, everything I wasn’t quite ready to say but definitely felt shining in my eyes. “Thank you for a beautiful weekend.”

His mouth kicked up at the corner. “It’s not over yet, Hannah.”

I reluctantly shut the door on that rather thrilling comment and hurried into my building out of the cold. As much as I loved my flat, I really did miss the cottage already. Pottering around the flat, putting on the heat, tidying up the mess I’d left in my bedroom after Marco had dropped the surprise getaway on me, I couldn’t ignore the kaleidoscope of butterflies in my stomach. I was beyond nervous about Marco’s upcoming discussion with me. In fact, it was an understatement to say I was growing a little impatient with the “family thing.” I’d even spoken to Joss about it. She reckoned Marco was waiting until I said “I love you” before divulging whatever this unspoken commitment was.

“It’s obviously important. It’s not hard to guess he just needs to know you two are serious before he tells you,” she’d opined.

“But we are serious.”

“Have you told him you love him?”

“No.”

“Then how does he know how serious you are?”

I wondered now, after he had said, “I love you,” if there hadn’t been some truth in what Joss said. We had grown much closer over the last two weeks. Perhaps Joss was right. Maybe he had just needed to know I was serious about him.

In an attempt to take my mind off it until he returned to finally clear up the whole mystery, I decided to do some housework, starting with my bedroom.

I’d barely begun when my phone went off. Assuming it was the text message from Marco, I was more than a little surprised to see Suzanne’s name on the screen. I swiped it, opening her message.

Don’t shoot the messenger. I was at the German Market last weekend and saw this. I thought it through and finally decided you needed to see it.

My heart now flipped in a much less pleasant way as I clicked on the photo attachment to enlarge it – and felt the world narrow around me.

The photo captured Marco by one of the market stalls. He was carrying a little boy and smiling at a pretty brunette who was laughing up into his face.

The little boy… he had Marco’s coloring… Marco’s smile…

The phone slipped from my hand and I felt my knees wobble.

Suddenly I was on the carpet, attempting not to throw up at the implications of the photograph. My heart was racing too hard. I couldn’t breathe properly.

I willed myself to calm down, exhaling and inhaling in measured breaths until my heart rate slowed.

Trembling, I reached for my phone and flicked open the picture again.

Suddenly everything began to make sense and I knew, I just knew, what Marco was returning home to tell me. I forwarded the picture to him so he’d know I knew too.

Suzanne just texted this to me.

It felt like forever as I waited on the floor for an answer, but it was only a minute or two at most before my phone rang. I clicked the ANSWER button.

“Hannah” – Marco sounded out of breath – “I can explain. I’ll be ten minutes.”

“Marco —”

I heard the click as he hung up.

This was bad. This was… I knew it. I was right. If it were anything else he would have explained over the phone. I knew what he’d say when he walked through that door.

Just like that, the past blindsided me, taunting me for my earlier smugness.

Not wanting him to find me on the bedroom floor, pale with shock, I got to my feet and walked into the sitting room. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I was a jittery mess.

The buzzer went off.

In a daze, I let Marco into the building, opened my door for him, and returned to the sitting room. I frowned at the mess I was supposed to be tidying up. I had books scattered all over the flat because I was reorganizing them into the bookshelves Marco had built for me.

“Hannah.”

I whirled around to face Marco as he strode into the room, his eyes glittering, his face flushed. He was coming straight for me. “Don’t.” I held up my hands to stop him. He froze. “Explain first.”

I watched the muscle tick in his jaw. “I was going to tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

He cursed under his breath, rubbing a hand over his close-cropped hair. “That I have a son.”

The words hung heavy in the cold air. I closed my eyes against the truth.

“His name is Dylan. The woman in the picture is Leah, his mom. I was at the market with them last weekend along with Leah’s fiancé.”

Breathe, Hannah.

“You have a son?” I opened my eyes, sure the pain of that truth was blazing clear for him to see. “That’s what today’s talk was supposed to be about?”

Marco’s features were strained as he nodded. “He’s three.”

I did the calculations in my head and they took my breath away. “When you…” I was starting to shake. “When you came back to Scotland you… you knocked someone up?”

He took a placating step toward me, as though I were a wounded, abandoned dog, unpredictable but needing comfort. “Hannah, Leah and I were friends at school. Sort of. We hung around with the same people. I was back in Edinburgh a couple of months and I was still trying to sort my head out about Nonno, everything, and a friend invited me to a party. I thought loosening up might help. I got really drunk. Leah was there and she was wasted too. We hooked up.” He said it gruffly, like he felt guilty about it. “She got pregnant. We didn’t want to be together, but I’d never leave my kid the way I was left.”

He was saying it all. Explaining the situation. I heard it. I know I did. But the past was so much louder than his explanation.

“I get Dylan every other weekend and we alternate holidays, but his mom, me, and her fiancé, Graham, are pretty tight. We have a good relationship, which is great for Dyl. And Dyl…” Despite my distraction I saw a happiness in his eyes I’d never seen before. “Hannah, he saved me. You want to know why I got over all the shit my grandfather dealt me? Dylan. Everything changed when he came along. I have someone who needs me to have faith in myself so that he can grow up and have faith in himself. But also I need to have faith in myself so that he has faith in me that I’ll always be there for him.” He gave me that half smile of his I loved. “Kid thinks I’m a goddamn superhero… but he’s the one that saved me. He’s the reason I wanted another chance with you. He made me feel like maybe I could deserve you.”

I knew that was a good thing. I knew that.

But that feeling of happiness for him, that relief for him I knew was in me somewhere, was buried under a mountain of irrational fury.

“Hannah, baby, please say something. I’m sorry I kept this under wraps, but I wanted to give us a chance first. I thought if I told you right away it would scare you off, and I needed the chance to remind you how right we are for each other. I knew after last weekend that you and I are solid, so I was going to tell you today and then introduce you to Dylan next weekend. Leah already knows about you, but I needed to be sure about us before Dylan meets you. I’m sure, babe. You know that. But I had to be sure that you loved me back, that this was serious, and that we definitely have a future.”

It was the most he had said in one breath since the first night he’d come to my flat.

I stared at him, keeping my silence while I tried to keep a lid on my emotions. Something like panic flickered in his eyes. Beautiful eyes. Eyes I loved.

Eyes I wanted – no, needed – gone.

I searched for a semblance of numbness to get me through the next five minutes.

“Hannah —”

“I don’t want kids,” I said dully, holding on to the numb sensation.

Marco blinked in confusion. “What?”

I took a step toward him, trying to herd him out of my home. “I don’t want kids. Ever.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You’re a schoolteacher.”

“So?” I shrugged, my expression carefully blank. “I don’t want kids. Mine or anyone else’s.”

“Hannah, just take a minute. We need to talk about this. This is us.”

Looking him directly in the eye, I replied with calm and authority, “As of right now there is no us.” The calm slipped somewhat. “You should have told me you had a son.”

Suddenly my upper arms were gripped in his hands, his body brushing mine, his face close. “Why are you acting like this? This isn’t you.” He gave me a little shake, as if trying to loosen me up, get back to something that made sense.

It worked.

I wrenched out of his hold, my face twisted in anger. “You don’t know me.” I shoved him, stumbling away from him. “Obviously.”

“Goddammit. I can’t believe this shit.” His voice lowered to a growl. “You’re not even going to discuss this? Just… we’re over? After everything? After spending the best few weeks in the fucking history of weeks, you’re seriously showing me the door without talking it through?”

Struggling not to let my rage and pain explode all over him for fear I might actually do physical damage, I clenched my hands into fists at my sides and held on to self-control. “This isn’t a little thing, Marco.” The self-control was slipping already, my voice climbing higher on every word. “You kept a son from me. A son! And yes… we are over! You lied!” I panted, shuddering from the weeping wounds inside me. “I don’t want kids. I certainly don’t want yours. So get the fuck out of my life and stay there.”

If I hadn’t been so tightly clasped inside the past’s vicious grip, I might have faltered in my resolve at the expression in Marco’s eyes. The incredulity. The loss.

Then his face tightened with his own fury.

He leaned into me, eyes sparking with fire as he hissed in my face, “It’s a good thing I did keep Dylan away from you, because I wouldn’t want him around whatever shit this is.”

Wearing a look of disgust, Marco turned around and stormed out of the flat.

I jumped at the sound of my front door slamming and immediately swayed with dizziness. My hands groped for the couch to steady myself.

I took a few shallow breaths.

My feet started to move, walking me through a fog, cold little pinpricks of nausea covering my face. I reached the bathroom and lifted the lid on the toilet seat seconds before I threw up the past…

The wind was bitter and bracing on North Bridge. It whipped my short hair back and stung my cheeks. It felt good.

I smiled at Cole as he walked beside me. Jo was just a little ahead of us, talking on her phone to Cameron.

Three months ago. Well, just under. That’s how long since I saw Marco – my last image of him was India Place… that horrified look in his eyes as he dressed and then hurried from the room. I didn’t expect to hear from him after he’d taken my virginity and then rejected me, but after four weeks of nothing I finally went to ask after him at his uncle’s restaurant. Imagine my total and complete heartbreak to learn that he’d left for America weeks ago. Without saying good-bye.

My family and friends had noticed my despondency. They were worried. I was worried. When I didn’t feel numb, I felt like crap. I’d had a sickness bug that I couldn’t seem to shake, and I had pains. I didn’t feel like myself and I knew if I didn’t go to the doctor soon, my parents would force me to.

Everyone was taking their turn with me. Trying to cheer me up. Today was Jo and Cole’s turn. Cole and I were friends, not close friends since he was a year younger and we went to different schools, but I found his presence soothing. He didn’t ask a lot of questions, which was always nice when you didn’t have a lot of answers.

Jo grinned over her shoulder at us and murmured something into her phone.

“What do you think she’s saying right now?” Cole squinted against the winter sun.

“That we make a cute couple,” I answered wryly.

Cole looked surprised. “You think?”

“Something I’ve learned watching the women around me fall in love… it makes them want everyone else to fall in love.”

“I’m not sure I like where this is going.”

I laughed weakly. “Don’t worry. I’m not interested in falling in love. We can fight any attempts at matchmaking together.” I felt a stab of pain in my abdomen and flinched.

“I kind of have a girlfriend anyway,” Cole confessed, distracting me from the pain. “I haven’t told Jo yet.”

I smiled. “Yeah? What’s her —” Violent pain shot through my abdomen and I bent double, sucking in my breath.

“Hannah.” Cole wrapped his arm around me. “Jo!”

More pain. Agonizing. I think I screamed. I felt a rush of wetness between my legs.

Pain. Nausea.

Fear.

Black spots in my vision, hundreds, thousands… until all was just black.

There was a beeping sound.

It was bloody annoying.

Pushing through the dark of sleep, that beeping sound grabbed hold of me and pulled me into consciousness. My eyes fluttered open slowly, my vision hazy. I took in the fading cream-colored walls of the room. The polystyrene ceiling.

Where the hell was I?

I felt weird. My mouth dry. My body weighted.

Catching movement out of the corner of my eye, I turned my head on the unfamiliar pillow to find my mum sitting on a chair beside the unfamiliar bed I was in. Her elbow was braced on the arm of the chair, her chin braced on her hand.

Her eyes were closed. Her cheeks pale.

The beeping behind me seemed to speed up.

“Mum?” I tried to say, but it just came out as a croak. “Mum.” I tried again, more successfully.

Her lashes fluttered and then she was looking at me in surprise. The surprise immediately disappeared as her face crumpled and she started to sob.

“Mum?” Scared, I lifted my arm a little to reach for her hand and I spotted the IV stuck in the bend of my elbow. “Mum?” My voice shook now.

She grabbed my hand. “Oh sweetheart, you’re okay.” She smiled through the tears.

“What happened?”

“Hannah?”

I turned my head to see my dad standing in the doorway. His features were strained, his eyes bloodshot. He rushed toward the hospital bed and leaned over me, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Sweetheart,” he whispered hoarsely.

I started to cry. Silent tears. “What happened?”

A little while later a doctor arrived to explain. She introduced herself as Dr. Tremell, my surgeon.

She stood on my right, while my parents stood in each other’s arms on my left. Dr. Tremell stared down at me kindly. “Hannah, you had what is called an ectopic pregnancy.”

What? Pregnant? No. I turned to look at my parents in denial. “No… I would have… known.”

The doctor shook her head gently. “Sometimes with an ectopic pregnancy there is bleeding, spotting, that is often confused with menstruation.” She must have seen on my face that that’s exactly what had been happening these last few weeks. “An ectopic pregnancy is when a fertilized egg implants itself outside of the womb. In your case, Hannah, the egg implanted inside your left fallopian tube. Unfortunately, because you were unaware of your pregnancy, any symptoms you might have had were not picked up on.”

The sickness. The pain.

I closed my eyes in disbelief.

“The egg continued to grow inside your fallopian tube until it ruptured the tube. You were bleeding internally when you arrived at the hospital. We had to perform surgery immediately. As I explained to your parents, we lost your heartbeat but managed to resuscitate you.”

I’d died?

I looked at my parents and saw it written all over their faces.

“Hannah.” Dr. Tremell’s voice had grown softer. “We removed the damaged tube and you should make a full recovery from surgery. We’re administering pain medication to you, but if you feel any pain, please let your nurse know and we’ll administer more if needed.”

I looked up at my parents and saw in their ragged expressions what the last forty-eight hours had done to them.

I closed my eyes.

This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be real.

Two months.

I sat on the end of my own bed, staring around at the things in my room, feeling strangely detached from the person who owned them. I didn’t feel like that girl anymore.

Nearly dying, weeks of pain and recovery, missing school, dealing with the rumors at school… all without him, all without Marco by my side. The one person I needed.

It had been a long two months.

A life-changing two months.

And I still hadn’t explained anything to anyone.

I couldn’t bring myself to talk about it.

My eyes locked on a photograph of Jo and me last Halloween. I’d convinced her to dress up with me. She was a sexy nurse and I was a mischievous angel of death. I had my arm around her shoulders and I had pouted dramatically at the camera, laughter and joy in my eyes.