I get through the weekend by the skin of my teeth. On Monday at work, I’m barely coherent. I walk around like a zombie, going through the motions and avoiding everyone’s eyes.
It’s starting to sink in that it’s really over. Cole doesn’t want me. And no matter how much I want him, relationships take two.
It occurs to me more than once that I should quit and find a new job, but I can’t bring myself to do it. This place is the only concrete reminder I have of him. Leaving it would feel like a betrayal. Like a denial that what I told him he meant to me was real.
Oh, who am I kidding? I’m just hoping he’ll come back to work, and I can see him in the elevator. I know it’s pathetic of me, but even that much would be enough.
Knowing he’ll probably never read it, I write him an inter-office memo and give it to Scotty to leave on his desk.
Dear Mr. McCord,
Our last contact was two days ago. It’s amazing how many tears I’ve shed in forty-eight hours. Though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. When you lose such a big a part of yourself, it feels like you’ll never recover.
If I was too harsh on you, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for hurting you, but even more than that, I’m sorry for my part in all of this. I should have listened when you told me to walk away that first night. I should have been more responsible. More careful. Less reckless with both our hearts.
I miss you terribly.
The only thing that makes it bearable is knowing you’re still out there somewhere. Well, more bearable, anyway. Right now, it feels as if I’m walking alone in the dark, not even bothering to search for a light at the end of the tunnel because I know there isn’t one.
I hope you won’t forget me. Because you carved your name into my heart, and it will stay there forever.
Yours in perpetuity,
Ms. Sanders
After Scotty leaves, I call Chelsea’s cell. She picks up on the first ring.
“Hey. I haven’t heard from you lately. You okay?”
“I’m surviving. You?”
“Slightly better than that.”
We’re quiet for a moment, then she says, “Do you want to get together for drinks?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
“Great, I’m off tomorrow. How’s six o’clock?”
“Perfect.”
“Where to?”
“I know where I want to go, but I’m afraid you’ll say no.”
She laughs. “When the hell have I ever said no to you?”
That makes me smile, the first time I’ve done that in a long time. When I tell her where I want to meet, she doesn’t miss a beat.
“Okay. See you then.”
“See you then. I love you, Chelsea.”
She pauses. When she speaks again, her voice is soft and has a slight wobble in it. “I love you too, you nonsensical twat.”
We hang up, and I’m trying not to cry.
The next night, we’re sitting at a table in the middle of the hotel bar in Beverly Hills where I first met Cole.
Because apparently the term “glutton for punishment” was invented for me.
We ordered straight from the bar instead of having the waitress bring us our drinks, a new paranoia I doubt either of us will ever rid ourselves of. I’ve got whiskey, she’s got a skinny margarita, and it feels like old times.
Or at least it mostly does. Except for the hole in my chest where my heart used to be.
“So catch me up,” she says, sipping her drink. “What’s the latest?”
I give her a shortened version of my phone call with Cole. It makes her eyes bug. The she frowns. “I heard his spinal injury was sacral.”
“If I spoke ER nurse, I’d know what you mean.”
“Him being who he is, everything was super hush-hush at the hospital, but a nurse from the critical care unit told one of the nurses in pediatrics I know that the patient they code named Mr. Big had a sacral injury. Every spine injury is serious to varying degrees, but of the different types, that one’s considered the least serious. Many patients are able to walk.”
I almost choke on my whiskey. “Walk?”
“It all depends on the person and the level of damage to the nerves, but…yeah.”
My heart is hammering so hard, I have to press my hand on my chest to try to slow it. “I don’t think that’s it, then. He made it sound like nothing below the waist was working.”
“I’d go in and look at his file for you, but everything’s tracked in the system. I’d be fired if I got caught. We’re not allowed to access information on patients we’re not directly caring for.”
“I’d never ask you to do that.”
She smiles. “You totally would, and you know it.”
“Yeah. I would. But don’t. If you got fired, it would just be the cherry on top of my clusterfuck sundae.” I sigh and take another sip of whiskey. “So if him being there was so hush-hush, how’d they know to call him Mr. Big?”
“Oh, he didn’t get that nickname because he’s a McCord. He got it because he’s so girthy. The nursing assistant who changed his bedding started calling him Mr. Big the first night he was admitted.”
I stare at her in horror.
After a moment, she says, “At least they didn’t call him Mr. Shrimpy. Or Boomawang if it was curved. I’ve heard those too.”
“Dear God. Remind me never to set foot in a hospital again.”
She raps her knuckles on the table. “Knock wood.”
We sit in silence for a while, nursing our drinks. Then she says, “So your mom. How’s that going?”
“We’re talking every Sunday now. She’s still not drinking. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, but so far, so good. I’m going to see her for Thanksgiving.”
Chelsea reaches out and squeezes my hand. “Okay. Silver linings, right? We take ’em where we can.”
I exhale and shrug. “Yep. Have you talked to Jen or Angel lately? I’ve been so wrapped up in my own little bubble, I haven’t reached out.”
Chelsea doesn’t answer. I glance up at her, and she’s staring over my shoulder with big, unblinking eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
She says faintly, “Um. You might want to turn around.”
Frowning, I look over my shoulder. Then I see what she’s looking at, and my stomach drops, my lungs seize, and my pulse skyrockets.
The dark-haired man in the booth is gorgeous, but I can tell with one glance that he’s also trouble. A wolf dressed in sheep’s clothing. In a conservative black suit and white dress shirt, he could be any other businessman enjoying a drink with friends after work.
Except he’s alone.
And he’s not enjoying himself.
He looks how I feel: miserable.
Tears well in my eyes. My chest constricts. With the scar on his face and his hair buzzed short like Axel’s, he looks so much the same as the last time I saw him but also very different.
He’s thinner. Paler. But dear God, how those blue eyes still burn.
To the right of his booth is an empty wheelchair.
I’m on my feet without making a conscious decision. I run across the bar, dodging tables and almost knocking a waiter off his feet, then throw myself into Cole’s outstretched arms and burst into tears.
I cry and cry as he holds me tightly, rocking me and murmuring my name over and over like a prayer.
Still sobbing I say, “It’s you. You’re here. How are you here?”
He answers in a voice impossibly warm and soft. “I finally realized I was never going to get rid of you. I knew you’d keep coming back, like mold. Oh, and Scotty sent me your memo with a courier. I figured since I’d carved my name on your heart, I should probably claim it.”
I want to pound a fist on his shoulder, but only cling to him instead, relief and euphoria burning through me. “But how are you here?”
“Just lucky timing, I guess.”
Wet faced and hiccupping, I pull away and look at him.
His smile is small and breathtakingly beautiful. “Okay, fine, I called the chief and had him put one of his guys on you.”
“His guys? You mean a police officer?”
“Yes.”
“You had me tailed by the police?”
“It sounds bad when you say it.”
“Because it is bad!”
“It was only the one time. I just wanted to see where you’d be today so I could come surprise you.”
“Baloney!”
He sighs. “Not even two minutes in, and you’re already hollering at me.”
I decide I’ll be mad later. Right now, I’m too overwhelmed to do anything but cup his face in my hands and kiss him.
Against my mouth, he murmurs, “I’m fucked up, baby. I’m really fucked up.”
“Don’t care. Stop talking and kiss me.”
“It’s not gonna be easy. I’ve got a long road ahead. I won’t ever be the same as I was.”
“You’re alive, Cole. You’re alive, and I love you. Everything else is details.”
I kiss him all over his face, not caring that people are probably staring or that our lives will be complicated or that I might never get to feel him inside me again.
The only thing I care about is him.
After a moment, I stop kissing him and frown. “Cole?”
“Yes, baby?”
“Did you by any chance forget to take anything out of your pockets?”
“No. Why?”
“It’s just that something’s poking me in the butt.”
When he smiles a knowing smile, I lose my breath.
“But I thought…you said…”
“The only other time it happened is when this nurse was giving me a sponge bath in the hospital. It was pretty embarrassing, but he told me not to worry about it.” His smile grows wider. “I mean, he was pretty cute, though. Way cuter than a hairless Chihuahua.”
I’m crying again. Crying and laughing at the same time. Then he’s crying too, and kissing me, and telling me over and over that he loves me.
And that I don’t look like a hairless Chihuahua, not even a little bit.
