No Broken Bond Page 13

  On the TV, Courtney Cox screamed, “That’s not even a word!”

  In my brain, my instincts shrieked back. That’s not even important!

  No.

  Important was behind walls I couldn’t break down.

  Important was fighting for his life, on a cold table in a cold room, full of people he didn’t know.

  Important was the dark space that still stretched in my head. The presence I kept begging to wake up, to come back to us, to live.

  I felt so damn helpless. All I could do was join Drake in trying to take a calming inhalation. Wasn’t happening for either of us. “Maybe we should find some coffee or something.”

  “Outstanding idea,” he agreed at once. He circled a curious glance around. “Is Kil still here?”

  I twisted my lips. “I think he went on a cousin hunt.”

  “Ah. Got it.”

  “What do you make of that guy?”

  I accepted full responsibility for the question. It was a little like asking a powder keg what he thought of the dynamite sticks, but I steeled myself for a gamut of answers.

  In the end, Drake picked the one I hoped for the most. “Well, I don’t care for his attitude, that’s for sure,” he conceded calmly. “But I’m not interviewing for a new best friend. All I want is the best care for the friend I already have.” He surged to his feet, dragging me up, too, before finishing with a guttural grind, “The one I refuse to live without.”

  We left for the cafeteria hand in hand…two thirds of a broken heart.

  And a fear-filled soul.

  If Fletcher’s family closed us out now, our nightmare would officially become hell. We agreed to tread carefully when they arrived, good-behavior systems on full alert, and hope for the best.

  And pray for the impossible.

  Maybe, dear God maybe, if they saw how upset and concerned we were, they’d accept us, welcome us. Maybe they’d even understand our relationship a bit better—though I knew not to count on that. According to Drake, they were one self-absorbed bunch. Very likely, they wouldn’t notice anything except how this tragedy directly affected them.

  We just had to hope that somehow, our interest benefited theirs in a huge way. We had to pray they’d suddenly treat us, two outsiders, with more respect than they’d given their own son for the better part of his life.

  Chapter Six

  Drake

  I thought I’d been prepared for this.

  I wasn’t.

  When the Fords arrived at the hospital, everything spun out of control—including the intensity of their rejection. Like preparing for a key battle, I’d tried envisioning every way the confrontation would go, but I didn’t factor in the scathing sting of their outright renunciation. There was no deeper consideration for Tolly and me. No second chance. No chance, period.

  Watching them now, wounding Talia, was the worst part of it all. Her trusting, pure heart was so ripe for their uncaring destruction. Seeing them crush her hope, tearing out her soul to get to it, was like observing a second tragedy take place today. She would never give her love so freely to anyone again. Our girl had always believed in the good in every human before, but now I had to stand and witness that belief crust over with an icy layer of disillusionment.

  They sent Francine, of course, to wield the crippling blow.

  “Drake. Darling.” Though Talia was standing right next to me, the woman’s greeting remained in the singular. “Thank you for calling us, and making sure our son received the critical pieces of initial care, but we’ll handle everything from here, sweetie. Why don’t you and your girlfriend run on home and get some rest?”

  Sweetie? And ‘get some rest’—in the bed we’d never share without Fletch?

  “Please, Drake,” she continued in a sappy coo. “I insist. We’ll let Fletcher know how much you did for him.”

  “You—you can’t be serious.” My tone was incredulous. No. Screw that. I was enraged.

  “Drake?” Talia’s touch came, soft and insistent, at my elbow. “Maybe we should just…go wait in the lobby.”

  To her, the option might as well have been a banishment to a leper colony and her trembling voice reflected it. My wrath simmered right back up to the surface.

  “No, God damn it. We should not. He’ll want us here when he wakes up. And he’d never leave either of us if the shoe was on the other foot. Never.”

  “You’re right.” She sounded small and guarded and defeated. “I know you’re right, but if we’re not welcome here…”

  “I’m not leaving.” My words were seethed. My glower was savage. “If you need rest, I’ll ask Killian to take you back to the condo, but I’m not leaving.”

  Richard, apparently roused enough to make his way to the waiting room, strolled into view. “Newland.”

  I raked him from head to toe, standing there in his Easter egg-colored golf wear. “Dick.”

  “Really, son—”

  “I’m not your son.”

  “Bah.” He waved a hand as if batting away a fly. “Stop borrowing a page from Fletch’s melodrama script. There’s nothing more you can do here now. This is time for family.”

  “I am his family!” I sprang at the condescending douche, seeing pure red. “You know damn well how close we are.” With a raging stab of a finger, I pointed at Tolly. “We are in love with this woman. She makes your son happy. You know that, damn it. Pretending things are different won’t make them untrue.”

  A massive harrumph made the man’s shirt resemble roiling Pepto Bismol. “This is neither the time or the place for that discussion. Listen to me right now. If you’re as fond of Fletcher as you say, you’ll honor our wishes. Look at what you’re doing to his mother. She’s beside herself. I’m barely holding it together myself.”

  “Yeah. I can sure as hell tell.” My statement dripped with sarcasm.

  “Just what is that supposed to mean?” Richard snatched the bait but tossed it. “You know what? None of it matters.” He shored up his posture, notching both arms at forty-five degree angles. Oddly, his fists resembled spoons, about to dip into the antacid of his shirt. “At this point, it doesn’t matter what you think at all. The sooner you realize that, the easier it will be for everyone. Fletcher’s mother and I will decide what happens next, and what happens after that, and after that. None of this concerns either of you anymore.” He glared down his beak of a nose. “It really would be better if both of you left.”

  Kerosene. Fire. That was the chem lesson the man just instigated inside me. Sure, Dick Ford was a big dude, but I’d taken down guys twice his size before, in settings much less appropriate than this.

  “With all due respect, Mr. Ford, I’m. Not. Leaving.” I motioned toward the nurses’ station. “Go ahead. Have them call security to drag me out of here. What a fun story that will make for the front page of tomorrow’s gossip section, hmmm?”

  Ford cocked his elbows back farther. “How dare you.”

  “No, sir. How dare you. Why do you people need to be reminded that your son and I have been best friends for over a decade? We’ve spent more holidays, weekends and special occasions together than he ever cared to spend with you phony pieces of society page—”

  “Drake! Stop!” There she was, saving me in the nick of time with her cooler temperament. Talia pressed up against me, ignoring the wrath burning off me like black smoke from a torched oil rig. “Listen to me, baby. I know you’re angry. I’m furious, too. But this won’t help Fletcher right now. Saying things you’ll later regret…none of them will change this awful situation.”

  I ordered myself to breathe. Again. Though my chest still pumped on those desperate breaths, I wrapped her tight into my embrace, burying my face in her hair. She was absolutely right—and I was absolutely saved. From myself.

  “Thank you for that,” I whispered for her ears only. “And thank you for not giving up on me.”

  “I love you,” she whispered back.

  “As I love you.”

  “They’
re awful.” Her voice was still quiet, but I could see the tension around her eyes and lips.

  “Yes…they are.”

  “But fighting with them will only push us out of the loop further.”

  “You’re right.” I even forced a small smile. “As usual.”

  Her stare warmed. “Let’s just sit over there, under the TV”—she grimaced, because the Friends hour had been followed by a Dukes of Hazzard marathon—“and wait to see what happens next. If nothing else, Killian can probably get his cousin to speak with us in private so they don’t know we are being kept abreast of what’s being done.”

  At once, I nodded. As soon as we sat, I wrapped my arm up and over so she could burrow as close as possible to me. For a moment, I sagged against her, too. Dipped my head and smelled her, so rich and vibrant and womanly. Then let the words in my heart simply spill off my lips.

  “How are you so amazing?”

  She tilted her face up. Her features were still soft and warm, the umber in her eyes reminding me of the perfect part of a sunset. “Well, I wouldn’t say that.”

  Her shy smile touched the darkest place in my heart. “I would,” I insisted. “If not for you, I’d probably have my fist down Dick’s smug pie hole by now. Wait, no. I’d have already pulled back and they’d be hauling me out of here in cuffs for it.”

  I finished with a chuckle. Talia didn’t join me. “Don’t even think about that again. I need you right now.” She poked a finger into my shoulder. “Fletcher needs you. We both need you to be here, alert and present. And free of handcuffs.”

  She still wasn’t kidding—and her words cut me to the quick. With a few words, she’d hit the damn nail on the head, making me see what an ass I had been.

  Shit.

  I’d let my emotions get too damn keyed up—and none of this horror was about me. I needed to step back. Way the fuck back. I had to consider what was in Fletch’s and Talia’s best interests, instead of what sated the worthless beast in me.

  “I love you.” It bore repeating, especially right now. It was the perfect, and only, way to sum up the thoughts bombarding my brain.

  “I love you, too.”

  We settled into each other a little deeper. As Bo and Luke Duke yee-hawed over our heads, we resigned ourselves to a long damn wait.

  * * *

  We watched, feeling increasingly helpless, as Francine, Richard, and Sasha were each allowed a turn to go back and see him. At one point, the nurse turned to Talia and me, rocketing our hopes—but Francine was too quick. She pulled the nurse aside, whispering to her like a gossipy courtesan, compelling her to turn heel back into the ward. It felt like another blow to the gut.

  And an even bigger one to our hearts.

  If Fletcher came through all of this, he would never forgive his family for the way they treated us.

  Not if.

  When.

  I refused to believe any differently.

  Eventually, Mac Stone emerged from the closed-off section of the unit. Not openly acknowledging us, but not disregarding us either, he announced, “Well, we have some hard decisions to make.”

  Richard paced forward. “Doctor, can we have this conversation somewhere private?” He stabbed a glare toward Talia and me.

  “We can,” Mac readily replied, gouging our hopes he’d have a soft spot for our cause, “but really, what are you all trying to accomplish with that plan?”

  I jolted forward in my chair. Talia was with that program, copying the move.

  Francine’s face took on a fly-up-my-nose twist. “I…beg your pardon?” she fired at Mac.

  “No pardon to give,” he rejoined. “But sure, if you insist.” He lifted his head with new purpose, ticking it just to the side in that nerve-grinding way. “But back to the larger point here.” He ticked it the other way—toward us. “You know, I saw those two people when your son was brought in here earlier. They were more distraught than a lot of family members I deal with.”

  So maybe the guy didn’t get on my very last nerve.

  Especially as he unleashed the full glory of his arrogance on them.

  “Your point, Doctor?” Richard asked impatiently.

  Mac volleyed with a pointed glare. “My point is, why are you making this harder than it already is? Your son needs all the positive energy he can surround himself with right now. Creating an environment filled with animosity and anxiety is the farthest thing from his best interest. What harm is it for them—his friends, his lovers, his housekeeping staff, who the hell cares—to know what’s going on? You and your wife still hold all the cards, but where is the harm in having more people on Mr. Ford’s team who care about him?”

  Richard grunted. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” And now the true snob emerged.

  “Really?” Mac’s eagle-sharp eyes flared, making his brows jump, too. “You seriously think this is my first rodeo, man? I do this shit every single day of my life. I deal with fucked-up families using a tragedy to make a point as often as I deal with the tragedy itself. And let me tell you something I’ve observed about all that, Mr. Ford. Those shenanigans never end well.

  “Your son will wake up if I have anything to do with it. And when he does? You’re going to have to answer to him.” He shrugged his broad shoulders and worked his square jaw back and forth. “So do what you will—but I’d just like, one fucking time, for people to do the right thing and treat each other with the same respect they’d hope for if the situation were reversed.”

  Mac turned from us all, rubbing at the back of his neck. Tension stretched through the muscles there, until they could be seen under the bright blue scrubs he now wore.

  So…not the last nerve, for sure.

  Maybe not even the one next to that.

  As a matter of fact, my outlook on the good doctor might’ve just peeled out a full one-eighty.

  Dick shuffled over to Francine, who glanced around her husband to hurl one more visual dagger at the doctor. Then her catty regard found Talia and me. Was she expecting us to cower? Hadn’t she realized by now that we were the wrong damn kids for that game? Emboldened by Mac’s mandate, we stuck to our glares—daring the woman to make the right decision.

  She dipped a nearly unnoticeable nod at Dick and Sasha.

  At once, they opened their conversational circle toward where we sat.

  “Mr. Newland? Ms. Perizkova?”

  Mac’s voice was an invitation for us to join them. We jumped up, nearly tripping each other in eagerness to make it to the pow-wow. If they wanted to change their minds, it was too damn late now.

  Talia gripped my hand tightly in hers. I was thankful for the anchor. But before Mac could begin, she reached out with her free hand—

  To touch Francine’s forearm.

  As one, we all gaped at the gesture with open shock.

  “Thank you.” Talia’s gorgeous brown eyes brimmed with impending tears. Fuck. There might have been a few hundred stinging the backs of mine, too. Two simple words, saying everything for us. I was so fucking proud of her the beating organ in my chest literally threatened to rip its way out. In that moment, she proved why she was the woman who’d won my heart—and the human I would strive to be.

  Francine was having a much harder time dealing with the overture. For a moment, she almost looked ready to throw up. Then her eyes, usually a shade lighter than Fletcher’s, turned the same Caribbean blue from her own tears. But before they became worse, she ducked her head, halting any more chances of the moment becoming a new emotional foundation.

  That, we soon learned, was just the start of the fun.

  One hour stretched into the next, interminable and nearly unbearable, as Mac Stone went to work on our guy. The surgery, performed to relieve the pressure in Fletcher’s head, entailed making burr holes in his skull then placing a catheter so the collected fluid could drain, reducing the swelling of the brain tissue.

  The risks? Try about a thousand. All the normal dangers for surgery applied, with the additio
n of the sensitive condition in the skull and brain itself. Everyone was excruciatingly aware of all this, so hours passed with few words spoken in the waiting room.

  Thankfully, someone turned the TV off. The first family was replaced by a second, though they wore the same haunted looks on their faces. Must’ve been an unwritten admission ticket to the place.

  Once again, I vowed to kill my best friend for putting us all through this. But first, God damn it, he had to survive. No other outcome was allowed in my mind. None. He would survive all this. He had to.

  Eventually, Talia drifted off in my arms. I gently laid the top half of her body across my lap and began absentmindedly stroking her spine and hair. The movements felt essential, her closeness my comfort, using her steady breaths as my focal point. A hospital volunteer came in with a light blanket, arranging it across Talia’s back. I mouthed my gratitude so my girl wouldn’t stir.

  Our girl.

  She needs you, Fletcher. Damn it, we need you.

  As we closed in on the fourth hour of waiting, the door to the room swung open. In swept Killian, with Claire and Taylor right behind.

  As soon as the commotion hit the air, Talia bolted upright. In a flurry of squeals and cries and gasps and ‘ohmygods’, the females converged on their friend, all but hauling her off my lap.

  “Oh, baby. I’m so sorry.” Claire gathered her close and rocked her gently.

  “Is he okay?” Taylor was more impatient, firing questions as Talia struggled to fully wake up. “Have you seen him yet? What’s going on? When was your last update? Did they even offer to text you every hour? They do that now. They should be doing that.”

  “He’s in surgery right now.” I kept my voice modulated while addressing the willowy blonde who’d come up through the SGC sales and marketing ranks along with Talia. I’d heard Taylor had earned the nickname ‘firecracker’, and now knew why. “It’s been close to four hours,” I added. “And the last we heard, everything was going according to plan. He’s holding up well. We opted out of texts because we want everyone in that room one-hundred percent focused on helping Fletch. His surgeon will come out when they’re finished and tell us how everything went.”