Indisputable (24 page)

Oh God.  My walls begin to clench around
him.  “Make me feel it, too,” I pant. 

“I plan on it.” 

So hot.  So beautiful.  My body stiffens and
begins to shake.

“Fuck, Tatum.  Come with me.  I’m waiting
for you.” 

His words, the rough, husky edge of his voice, are all
it takes for me to shatter in his arms. 

“Yes, baby.  Never better.  Never.”

We come down slowly together.  I’m clutching the
desk for fear of crumbling to the ground, and Jacoby has is face buried in my
hair just breathing in my scent. 

“Meet me at my house in twenty minutes.  You
leave first and I’ll be right behind you.”

I don’t even have to consider his request.  At
this point, there’s only one answer that matters.  “I’ll see you there.”

Jacoby kisses the side of my head before letting me
go.  We both right our clothing and exchange shy grins with one
another.  A swarm of butterflies take flight in my stomach.  For the
first time in a really long time, I feel like I’m going to be okay.  I
give him one last lingering smile before I slip out the door and head toward
his place.  I know we have some less-than-happy topics to discuss, but I
don’t have the usual feeling of dread.  In fact, I feel lighter than I
have as far as I can remember.

Jacoby

“Will you tell me about her?” 

Tatum and I are curled up in my bed about two hours
after our reconnection in my classroom.  For the rest of my employment
there, I will never be able to walk into that room without a smile teasing at
my lips.  Just thinking about what we did has me getting aroused all over
again. 

We’ve been lying here fully clothed since I met her at
my house and found her in my room, lying on my bed waiting for me.  As
much as I wanted to lay her down for round two, I knew we had to talk. 
Both of us had secrets to get out and the sooner that happened, the sooner we
could move on. 

Together.

I’d just begun to tell her about my past.  That I
grew up in a small East coast town, how I didn’t have any of my own family
left.  How I fell in love with a girl at the tender age of sixteen, and
her family adopted me as if I were their own.  Moments away from revealing
my deepest, darkest secret and the seed of the guilt I’ve harbored for over two
years.  How I’m the reason for Harper’s death. 

“She was…,” God, it never gets easier to relive the
past.  I clear my throat and start again.  “She was so smart. 
And beautiful.  We started out as friends in high school.  I grew up
in foster care, but that didn’t matter to her.  She came from the perfect
home.  Loving parents and an older brother who’d do anything to protect
her.”

“Did you love her?”  Tatum quietly draws along my
stomach beneath my shirt while we talk.  Her touch is soothing, and I
don’t sense any trepidation in her questions.  She’s openly curious, but
not in a disdainful way.  It feels as though she’s trying to soak up
everything about me. 

“I did.  We got engaged during our second year of
college.  She knew I always wanted to be a teacher, so she went to college
with me to keep me motivated.  She was majoring in psychology.  I
questioned myself a lot back then.  I didn’t know if I could go through
with it.  I didn’t have the confidence.  But I’ve always had this
passion for kids.  For wanting to make a difference in their lives and
help the ones who grew up in broken homes like I did.  So she stuck by me
and pushed me when I felt like I couldn’t take one more step.” 

“What happened?” She asks quietly, sensing we’re
coming to the tragic part of the story.  And it was tragic.  For
Harper and for me.  Nobody’s life should be cut short so suddenly.

As soon as the question leaves her lips, I’m thrust
back in time. 

“Jacoby Ryan?”

Her dull hollow voice floated across the
silent expanse of the too bright waiting room as the nurse’s eyes flitted from
face to face.  My breath caught at the lack of emotion in her tired
features—graying hair hung limply from a bun, smudged make up beneath her
hardened brown eyes, pale mouth with lips turned down in the corners.  I
bet she was pretty once, with kind eyes and smile lines instead of the wrinkles
that now encased that blank stare.  I wiped my sweaty palms against my
pant legs, taking just enough time to compose myself. 

I cleared my throat, trying to sound more
together than I felt inside.  “Yes.  That’s—I’m Jacoby.”  It was
hard not to miss the way she scanned me from head to toe, surely taking in the
ragged tiredness of my jeans, ripped and dirty from the mud, all the way to my
bloody shirt.  I didn’t give a fuck about the way I looked. 

“This way, please.”  She turned
without making sure I followed.  Of course, I followed like a damn eager
puppy dog, but her lack of friendliness was starting to bother me.  This
woman was either leading me to hear the best possible news or the worst fucking
news of my life, and she couldn’t seem to get it together enough to show me
some compassion. 

She led me down the hallway with white
tiled floors and green painted walls, overly bright with fluorescent lighting,
and smelled that awful, stomach churning smell of bleach and death. 
No.  I couldn’t—wouldn’t—think of death, because she’s not dead.  She
was alive and someone was going to take me to her.  My stomach rolled, and
a light sweat coated my forehead, dizziness erupted from somewhere deep within
me so suddenly, I clutched the wall for support.  My lungs were fighting
to expand against the crushing force within my chest, and I fought it down,
forcing myself to breathe deeply against the pain.  She was going to be
okay.  She was fine.  They fixed her.  This became my mantra. 

“Mr. Ryan?  Are you alright? 
Please, step in here,” the nurse said, gesturing to the next room on my
right.  Her mask of indifference finally slipped into one of
compassion—wait, was that sympathy?  No.  I mentally shook myself,
no. 

“I’m fine,” I replied, as she started reaching
for me.  Pushing myself off the wall, the only crutch I had, I followed
her into the room. 

The room was small with space for only a
mahogany desk and two padded chairs.  The walls were painted an
obnoxiously bright shade of yellow, and a framed painting of a colorful meadow
adorned the wall above the desk.  A row of floor to ceiling windows were
behind the seating, but the blinds were closed.  Which fucking sucked
because I needed something to focus on besides the crappy painting. 

“Have a seat Mr. Ryan.  The surgeon
will be in briefly to speak with you.” 

I stood frozen, watching her examine me,
probably weighing if she should leave me alone after my episode in the
hallway.  She must have convinced herself I’d be fine, because she turned
towards the door and began walking past me. 

“Wait!  Please, wait,” I called out
abruptly, surprising myself as much as her.  She turned slowly to face me,
her careful mask was still firmly in place, no sign of the emotion she revealed
in the hallway.  “Is she,” I started but my throat clogged up.  “Is
she okay?” I tried again, desperate for something, to not be left alone with my
own racing thoughts again.  This was it.  The clock was ticking down,
and I was about to know if my life was going to be okay, or if my life was
going to end.  And as much as I needed to know the answer, I dreaded the
answer.  As much as I wanted to know right then, I wanted to stop time and
never know.  I didn’t want to live this.  This was not supposed to be
my life.  I looked that nurse directly in the eyes, my own eyes implored
her to answer me.  She shook her head slowly.

“You need to wait for the doctor to speak
with you.  I’m sorry, but I don’t know anything.”  She reached out,
giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze, and to my shame, my eyes welled with
tears.  “Do you need me to wait with you?”  She asked in a soft voice
I hadn’t yet heard her use.

My breath came out in an unintentional
huff.  Fucking tears.  “No.  Thank you.”  I willed myself
not to cry, not yet anyway.  Not until I was alone. 

I turned my back to her hoping she took
that as a cue to leave. 

As soon as the door clicked shut behind
me, I took off like an animal in captivity.  I paced that tiny fucking
room over and over, back and forth.  I sat down for what felt like
minutes, when really only seconds had passed, and I jumped back up again, not
content to sit and wait.  I walked to the windows, peaked out beneath the
shades to the view of downtown stories below me.  I’d been there all
night; it was early morning, and people were bustling about on their way to
work.  Work.  What a joke.  I don’t think I’d ever work again
after this.  Just days away from finishing a teaching degree, a degree she
helped me work through.  What was the point?  If she’s, fuck, if
she’s gone, there won’t be a point.  My life would be meaningless. 

I gazed down at the street below, the
people nothing but colorless specks, wondering what it would feel like to
jump.  To freefall, flying towards the ground from a dizzying height,
letting go of fear.  Of everything.  I’d never been much of a hopeful
person, and right then, I was feeling pretty fucking hopeless.  I wanted
her to recover.  God, I needed her to recover.  But I saw the
blood.  I saw her lying there, a broken mess of limbs.  She looked
like a fallen angel—broken—yet, still so amazingly beautiful. 

The familiar click of the door startled
me, and I snapped the shade back as if I had been caught doing something I
shouldn’t.  They wouldn’t know the disturbing direction of my
thoughts. 

A tall man walked in, his hair covered by
a surgical net, wearing what I assumed to be fresh scrubs.  At least he
had the decency to change his fucking clothes.  There was no way he worked
on her and came out blood free.  I was going to be sick. 

“Mr. Ryan, my name is Dr. Kunst.  I
am the lead surgeon of the team who took care of Miss Lewis.  Please,
sit.”  He gestured to the chairs beside the desk.  Dr. Kunst also
wore the tired eyes of the nurse; but in contrast, his were sympathetic and
filled with an emotion I couldn’t quite place. 

“I can’t.  Please just tell
me.”  I begged.  I was done with formal niceties.  “Is she
alive?”

I knew the answer before he spoke; I could
feel it in the deepest parts of me.  Maybe if I’d paid attention to my gut
earlier, instead of quieting my own thoughts, I’d have known sooner.  I
could have prepared myself better.  I could sense it in the way he took a
deep breath, the way he extended his arm to my shoulder, the way his head
drooped slightly in acknowledgement to my pain.  

“I’m sorry, Mr. Ryan.  Her injuries
were too extensive.  We did everything we could.”

I come back to the present when I feel Tatum’s small,
warm hand squeezing my bicep.  “It’s okay.  I’m here,” she soothes,
and when her soft fingers caress my cheek, I realize I’ve been crying. 

“Thank you.  I’m okay.”  I grab her hand
from my face and plant a kiss on her palm.  “We were on our way to our
monthly dinner at her parent’s house.  The college we went to was about
four hours away, and we lived together in an apartment off campus.  We
were so…excited.  Her dad had recently had a heart attack, but we weren’t
able to make it home to see him due to finals.  Neither of us could wait
to get home and share the news we decided to move the wedding sooner.  We
had originally planned to get married after we graduated, but Harper was so
worried her dad wouldn’t make it until then.

“I was stupid.” My voice cracks on the last word, and
I have to clear my throat to continue.  “I was distracted.  It was
raining, and she kept kissing me while I drove and I let her.  Fuck, but I
should have told her to stop.” 

Tatum snuggles up closer to me, sensing my need for
comfort.  I pull her closer until her body is flush with my own and let
the soft strands of her hair sift through my fingers.

“She was getting hot, so she took off her seatbelt to
remove her coat.  I looked over at her, laughing and scolding her to
buckle back up.  I didn’t see the car coming right at us.”  I feel,
rather than hear, Tatum’s gasp against my body.  “Yeah.  Some drunk
fuck crossed the median and hit us head on.  I lost control on impact, and
we went rolling down a ravine.  She was alive on the way to the hospital
and went into surgery but she…she didn’t make it.”

She was covered with a sheet up to her
shoulders, her pale skin ghostly white, deep purple and blue bruises blossomed
across her beautiful skin.  It was Harper, my beautiful, beautiful
Harper.  And she was dead. 

I catalogued her features, committing her
to memory for the last time.  Her dark hair was damp and matted around her
swollen face.  Her thick dark lashes rested gently, fanning against her
pale cheeks.  I ignored the scratches marring her delicate skin as I
gently traced the curve of her nose, the soft pale pink of her once cherry red
lips.  I reached down, searching for her hand one last time, and found it
hard, limp, unmoving beneath mine. 

My world shattered into a million fucking
pieces.     

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, my voice
breaking, cracking.  “I love you, Harper.  I’m so sorry.”  I
squeezed her hand for the last time, kissed her lips for the last time.  I
touched her for the last time.

Tatum’s voice calls me back.  “I’m so
sorry.  God, I know those words are stupid, but I don’t know what else to
say.  I’m sorry that happened to you and to her.”

“I appreciate those words from you, Sweetheart, but I
don’t deserve them.  If it weren’t for me, she’d still be alive.”

She pulls her body off mine before she drops back down
straddling my abdomen.  She leans down and takes my face in her hands,
pressing her forehead to mine.  Her scent soothes me, apricots and
rain.  I close my eyes and take comfort in the way she surrounds me. 
Her body wrapped around mine, her smell permeating the air, her hair providing
a curtain around our faces.  The feel of her hands pressing into my skin
has me meeting her soft gaze.  Her hazel eyes look so sad, and desperate,
and determined.  

“Jacoby, no.  I can tell just from your voice
that you hold onto so much guilt for what happened, but you have to let it
go.  It’s not your fault.  You said it yourself, some drunk hit you
head on.  You were young and in love, acting silly.  We all make
mistakes, but your mistake is not what killed her.  It was the other
driver’s actions that led to your wreck.”