Not Looking for Love: Episode 7 (A New Adult Contemporary Romance Novel) (14 page)

"Oh, Scott," I say, and hold his hands. "I'm so sorry this happened."

I pull him into a hug, not caring about the dried blood. If either of us caused it, we both did. No part of me refuses to share this with him.

I can feel the tension leave his body as he leans down and kisses me, gently, needfully, his lips chapped but warm, his body so soft that my arms wrapped around his waist are quite possibly the only thing holding him up.

"Let's go inside," he suggests after awhile. I keep my arms around his waist and lead him to the door.

"I just came to change," he says. "Andrew's waiting for me downstairs. I have to get back to the hospital."

I know he does, but it's so hard to let him go. I do though, and walk to the suitcase I packed his stuff in. "Will Mike be alright?"

"I have no idea," he says. "It was supposed to be me."

I was crouching and unzipping the suitcase, and I jerk up to my feet so fast I almost fall. My eyes are as open as they can go, and my mouth is too. I know it's a horrific sight, but I can't stop it. Is he just saying this? Or is it a fact?

"What?" I finally manage to choke out past all the thoughts, the implications racing through my mind.

"The guy I worked for wanted to stopped me," Scott explains quietly, taking a step toward me, then stopping. "Mike kind of stepped in the way, I think, I didn't see that clearly. I thought I was gonna die."

His voice is shaking as he says it, and I have no idea what to say, let alone what to think. That Mike would do that for him, after all he's done to keep us apart, to hurt us, sounds so unbelievable I can hardly grasp it. It makes no sense. None whatsoever. But I forgive Mike completely now for all the nightmares he gave me, all the fear, hurt and anguish he's put me through.

"I hope he recovers," I manage. Because I want to thank him.
 

"Me too," Scott whispers and rubs his palms over his face. His nails are caked with dried blood, and I'm pretty sure mine should be too. "It's just that with all he's done, I…I haven't even started to forgive him. And now…now he's the second brother I've fucking destroyed."

I close the distance between us, slam my body against his. We might both have fallen, if he didn't hold me so tightly, and if I wasn't holding him just as tightly back. "Don't think like that. You didn't shoot him."

It sounds so hollow spoken out loud, but he knows what I really mean. He can read my mind after all.

"Do you want me to come with you to the hospital?" I ask.
 

His chin brushes against my hair as he shakes his head. "No. I have to explain to them what happened, and that'll be hard enough without them blaming you too."

"But I am to blame," I say, louder than I intended. "If they blame you, they should blame me too."

His phone rings, and his body is as stiff as a block of concrete again. Though his lips are actually quivering as he gets it off the nightstand where I put it.
 

"It'll be alright," I whisper, even though I actually have no idea. I just know that whatever happens I'll love him, and he'll love me, and I hope that's enough.

"Yeah," he says, and I can her someone on the other end, but can't make out the words.

"I'll be right there," Scott replies then hangs up and gazes at me, the sea in his eyes so dark, so turbulent, so hopeless, I almost look away.

"I have to go," he whispers.

I release him, walk with him to the bathroom and watch him take of his dirty clothes.
 

"I'll get them," I say, as he makes some effort to not leave them where they fall.

I pick up his clothes and stuff them in one of the laundry bags, setting his wallet on the sink. Desire stabs through me as I watch him step into the shower, see the water cascading down his back. But this isn't the time, so I leave the bathroom and go pick out something for him to wear.
 

He emerges a minute later, a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair dripping fat drops down his shoulders and chest. If this was any other night, I couldn't keep my hands off him. I do want to rip his towel off right now, but instead I hand him the clothes I picked out. He smirks as he takes them, and I know he knows what I'm thinking, but the smile doesn't really reach his eyes.
 

Another minute later, he kisses me by the door, and then I'm watching him walk to the elevator, fighting the urge to go with him with everything I have.

"You took your time," Andrew says, unlocks Dad's car, and gets inside.

Most of me is still in that hotel room with Gail, and her absence now is a hole somewhere deep in my chest.
 

So I don't say anything as I get in the car too. He asks questions, but gives up after awhile when I don't answer any of them. A hammering headache is starting in my temples, and I'm getting sick to my stomach like I might actually have to puke soon.

They're all there in the waiting room. Except for Derek. Tina, Dad, even Marjorie, all look up at me as I enter. Dad's lost weight, if that was even possible, and looks a little like a scarecrow in the jacket and trousers that are now too big for him. My guilt over the unkind thought just mixes in with all my other regrets. Dad gets up and walks to me, hugs me so hard his bony arms dig into my sides painfully.

"Scott, at least you're alright," he says and I see Tina wipe her eyes with her sleeve. Even Marjorie's eyes aren't full of hate as she looks at me.
 

"What happened?" Andrew asks, and I know he wants to hear it now.

Dad releases me and I watch him sit down in his chair again, his bottom lip shaking.

There's no point postponing the inevitable. "Mike's been working with this crazy Serbian guy for years now…we both were for the last four months…and then the guy decided I was betraying him, and he wanted to kill me. Mike stepped in the way of the bullet. I was the one who was supposed to get shot." I look down at the floor as I say it, unable to watch the sickening disgust and accusation in their faces. The silence in the room is so absolute I can hear some monitor beeping down the hall.
 

"I don't understand," Marjorie says finally, her voice sounding very distant. "Mike took a bullet for you? Why would he do that?"

I shrug. I've been asking myself the same thing since it happened. Maybe it was guilt. Or maybe it was just an accident. An impulse, or a reflex. Or maybe he was sorry for having dragged me into Vlado’s organization in the first place. But I can't say any of these things.

"He's the only one who can tell us, but…" my voice breaks before I can finish the sentence. It's so surreal now and I can see Marjorie's face struggling with something. Probably calling me out on how I keep causing my brothers to take a fall for me. She's not saying it though, and I don't know when I've ever been more grateful for anything in my life.

"I thought you were getting out," Andrew says from behind my back somewhere.
 

Dad raises his head, finally looking at me again.
 

"I was, until…" but I can't finish this sentence either. I can't tell them what Mike did. Not now. My headache is growing worse by the minute.

"Until what?" Andrew insists.

There's no point in keeping any more secrets, not really. Every time I try to, things just get worse.
 

"Until Mike made me."
 

"How could he make you?" Marjorie says, voicing what everyone else must be thinking.

"He threatened to kill Gail if I didn't. And her dad," I say, and I'm pretty sure they all gasp at the same time.
 

Dad's looking at his shaking hands again, not meeting my eyes.
 

Even Marjorie is speechless now, and both her and Tina are staring at me with wide eyes.

"He wouldn’t have done that," Marjorie finally finds her voice. "You're exaggerating."

Her words lack any real conviction, but Dad still looks at her with such hope it twists my heart. He's the only one I really need to forgive me. And I'm not sure he will.

"I don't think he’s exaggerating," Andrew says and steps between Dad and me.
 

"He has to be," Marjorie says. "He's unable to actually take any responsibility for his actions."

Dad finally looks at me. My whole body stiffens under his watery gaze, because I'm dead sure he'll tell me to get the fuck out. But he just shakes his head slowly and looks down at his hands again.

"We all know Mike's not been well for awhile now," he says. "And Scott doesn't lie. Still it's a terrible price to pay."

"It is," I mutter, my own voice sounding foreign. I never imagined Dad to utter those words.

The door opens before he can say anything more, a haggard looking doctor walking in. He shakes a little as we all turn to look at him.

"We've done all we can for now," he says and clears his throat. "We've managed to stop the bleeding, but couldn't repair all the damage to the lungs. He's stable now, but his heart stopped a few times, so we decided to end the operation."

"What does that mean?" Marjorie huffs.
 

"He will need further surgery," the doctor says. "But it's best to wait a few days, a week maybe."

"Will he recover?" I ask. It's all I want to know.

The doctor turns to me, rubbing his eyes. "We won't know if the lack of oxygen to the brain caused any permanent harm until he wakes up."
 

The words aren't really connecting in my brain properly.

Is he saying Mike might never get well? That he's brain damaged? From a shot to the chest? One that I was supposed to take.

"How long before he wakes up?" Andrew asks, his voice reaching me though a dense fog of denial, disbelief, guilt and regret. I feel like I'm the one who pulled the trigger.

"Could be today, could be a month from now," the doctor says. "We have to wait."

"Can we go see him now?" Andrew asks.
 

"Sure, but one at a time," the doctor answers and opens the door again. I'm sure he just wants to go and sleep now, and that the grief that's so thick in the room it's hard to breathe doesn't touch him at all.

Dad gets up shakily and walks to the door, squeezing my arm as he passes me.
 

I'm sure I'll either pass out, or throw up before I can reach Mike's bed, but I follow Dad anyway, Andrew right behind me.
 

I watch Dad approach Mike's bed through the glass door. Mike looks lost under the sheet, a thick tube attached to his mouth, several thinner ones snaking away from the rest of his body. Dad's shoulders shake as he stands there, wringing his hands, probably not knowing what to do with them. Tears are flowing thick and fast down his cheeks when he comes back out, and Andrew nods at me to go in next. I feel like I'm rooted to the spot, but somehow I get my legs to move. The hissing of the breathing machine fills the room, the line of Mike's heartbeat turning erratic after every few normal beats, causing the monitor to beep shrilly.
 

"I'm sorry for all the terrible things I've said to you over the years," I whisper. The words just come, I don't remember deciding to speak. "I'm sorry for thinking them. But you did make it hard. I forgive you and I owe you my life, Mike."

My head stops pounding once I finish. I hope there's a part of Mike that can hear me and understand. And I really hope I get to say it all again, once he's awake.

I lean against the wall next to Dad, wait for the rest to go in.
 

"He's not really a bad person," Dad says. "He just got lost."

"I know," I say. But it's not enough. Nothing might ever be enough now.

Andrew comes out and joins us, holding the car keys to me. "Take Dad and Marjorie home to get some rest. Me and Tina will stay."

"No," Dad says, steel in his voice. "I'm staying."

"Take Marjorie and Tina home then," Andrew relents.
 

But I want to stay too. Still I take the keys. Marjorie is shooting angry glances at Andrew though, so Tina wraps her arm around his, leaning in close. I wish Gail was here so bad it's a physical pain in my stomach.

"I think we'd all rather stay, Andrew," Tina says and Andrew shrugs.

"Fine," he mutters and we all file back into the waiting room.
 

We stay there, not talking much, hardly looking at each other for the rest of the night. Marjorie tries asking me more questions, but Andrew finally tells her the hospital isn't the right place for this conversation, after which she shuts up. I wonder who's looking after her kids. Her mom probably.
 

The sky outside is turning white now, but this night won't lift until Mike wakes up. Death's sharing the room with us too, and I hope that's just my exhausted mind playing tricks, though I know it's cold presence pretty well by now.

I doze off just before sunrise, wake up to the sun blinding me and Andrew shaking my shoulder. The detective from last night is standing by the door, and my heartbeat goes from 50 to 500 in a split second. He's here to arrest me. They found enough to link me with Vlado, and since I'm the only suspect they have, I'm going down.