Quiet Angel (41 page)

“Excuse me?”

“Get out. I want to talk to him alone.”

Her mother got to her feet. “You don’t order me around. You owe me respect. I’m your mother.”

“I don’t owe you a damn thing.”

“It’s always about
you
, isn’t it?”

“No, Mother, it’s not. You’ve always made that very clear.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re crazy.”

“If I’m crazy, you should just get out.”

“Did you ever think about what all this was like for
me
? To have to choose between your children?”

“You chose wrong, Mother.”

“You know, I have feelings, too! Do you know how disappointing it is to have to find out your only daughter is engaged, married, in the media? I raised you better than that.”

“You raised me in hell.”

“You have such a chip on your shoulder.”

“Yeah, I do. That’s what happens when your mother doesn’t protect you.”

Mrs. Baxter scowled. “Just get over it already.”

“He molested me for years, Mother. You don’t get over that.”

“You must stop blaming him for your problems. We did everything we could for you. You had the best treatment, years of therapy. Now you have a handsome husband with a ton of money. I really don’t know what you’re complaining about. I must’ve done something right.”

“You get no credit for my marriage or the success in my life.”

“Really? Because I could’ve taken it all away.” Her mother stepped closer. “I could’ve told the papers about how the next Georgia governor is married to a girl who stabs homeless people.”

“Go tell them,” Layla said. “I don’t care anymore.”

“I don’t like all this talk in front of your brother. He shouldn’t have to hear this in his condition.”

“I’ve got a right to be here. Just like you said he had a right to be at my father’s funeral. Remember that, Mother? Remember me having to stand at the coffin, across from the man who molested me?”

Mrs. Baxter patted her son’s leg. “I’ll just be gone a minute, honey. You rest. I’m going to get someone to remove her. I’ll be right back.”

“Yes, probably best to let the pedophile die in peace.”

Her mother gone, Layla stood at the bottom of his bed, running her eyes over his frail body. He could barely keep his eyes open. And he seemed to be struggling to breathe, to get a hint of air, even with the oxygen mask. There was nothing she could or needed to do to make him suffer. Nature was taking care of that. He was getting what he deserved.

For a moment, she wasn’t sure what to do, what she was waiting for, hoping for—maybe a deathbed apology or confession, some kind of “come to Jesus” moment. She’d seen it on TV before. She wondered if her half-brother was even capable of being sorry, and, if so, whether that would make a difference, whether she’d feel any differently, whether she’d forgive him.

She began to speak but stopped when he suddenly began to move, straining, his whole mind and body seemingly focused on lifting his thin arm. He labored for several moments then finally got it up and brushed the mask off his face. Then he gasped for air and managed a few awkward breaths to try to steady himself. “Still a little bitch,” he muttered through raspy breath, beginning to cough and gag, his face turning blue.

All sorts of beeps and bells began to cry out from the machines in the room. Her half-brother’s eyes popped. She could see the panic, the fear, in them. He struggled to move his arm to the mask, fighting to put it back on, his arms and hands shaking. Layla held her ground, watching, waiting. There was no need to say a thing. It was fine to be quiet now. He got the mask back on but couldn’t breathe.

Her mother came in with a nurse, the weight of death heavy in the room. “What is going on?” she cried.

Layla kept her eyes fixed on her half-brother, struggling, his body clenching, turning a deeper shade of blue. The nurse hustled to the machines and hurriedly called for a doctor.

“What the hell did you do, Layla?”

Still quiet, Layla gripped the bottom of the bed and held the man’s eyes with her own. She would’ve stood there for hours, days if she had to. The sick fuck was going to look at her face when he breathed his last breath. The beeps and bells grew louder, and his eyes grew huge. She started to tremble, the bed frame shaking slightly.

He seemed to be fighting the inevitable, her mother weeping at his side, begging him to stay alive. Then suddenly a long, extended beep filled the room, as his body went still, his eyes open, straight on Layla. His mother fell on his chest, sobbing. Layla stood frozen, numb, the dead coldness of his eyes so familiar. A doctor rushed in, but there was nothing to do. The nurse shut off the machines and closed his eyes.

A heavy weight lifted, Layla felt a blinding pain in her body. Her feet gave way beneath her, and she fell to the floor.

*

After touching down,
they took turns texting and calling, but Layla never answered. Still, Gage knew where she’d go. He knew what she’d be facing. He blew through the hospital entrance, his eyes darting for an information desk, needing a room number for the half-brother. He saw a receptionist area and headed straight there. He tapped his fingers on the desk, as Poppy and Dash waited behind him.

The young receptionist lifted her head, her eyes soft. “I’m sorry to have to tell you, but he died less than an hour ago.”

Gage smiled inside. He hoped the asshole died before Layla saw him, before he had the chance to hurt her again. He tried not to grin, not to celebrate. The only thing keeping him from fist-pumping Poppy and Dash was that he now had no idea where Layla could be.

“Now what?” Poppy asked.

Gage pinched the bridge of his nose and scanned the hospital lobby, his eyes locking on Mrs. Baxter stepping out of an elevator, dabbing her eyes with a tissue. “Dash, Poppy, wait here.” He marched towards the woman. “Where’s Layla?”

“My son is dead,” she said.

“I heard. I hope he suffered.”

“You’re a bastard. You and Layla deserve each other.”

“Where’s my wife?”

“She fainted when her brother died.”

“What?” he barked and yelled to Poppy and Dash. “See if Layla’s been admitted!” He glared down at Mrs. Baxter. “What did you do? What the hell happened?”

“She just collapsed. She always was a weak little thing.” Mrs. Baxter shook her head. “That’s all I know.”

Poppy hurried over to Gage. “Layla’s been admitted. They won’t tell me anything. Just that she’s in surgery.”

Gage turned back to Mrs. Baxter. “Your daughter is in surgery, and you’re just
leaving
?”

“I have a funeral to plan. Layla won’t care if I’m not here.”

Poppy stepped up. “Mrs. Baxter?”

“Yes.”

“You’re a pervert-loving cunt!”

Poppy looked into
the hospital room from the hallway. The surgery had been successful, but Layla still lay motionless in bed. She’d been this way—asleep, breathing peacefully—for almost 24 hours. It didn’t make sense she’d still be like this. There was no medical reason for it.

Gage stayed by her side for every nerve-wracking minute. He never ate, changed clothes, or washed his face. He barely went to the bathroom. Every hour or so, Poppy and Dash told him to get something to eat or take a walk or get some fresh air. But he never did. He had no intention of leaving his wife. He was going to be by her side. And he’d need his family beside him for whatever happened, whether good or bad.

Helen and Emerson hopped on the first flight they could. Poppy brought them up to speed. “Layla had ‘walking appendicitis.’”

“Not endometriosis?” Helen asked.

“The laparoscopy ruled that out right away,” Poppy said.

“What is ‘walking appendicitis’?” Emerson asked.

“It’s when the toxins leak out slowly rather than a full-on burst,” Poppy said. “Luckily, Layla developed an abscess of some kind that walled off the toxins from the rest of her body. If not for that, she could’ve developed septic shock and died.”

“Oh my!” Helen said. “Were they able to get the toxins out?”

“Yes, and they set up a drain to take care of the rest,” Poppy said. “She has IV antibiotics to kill off any infection.”

“Why hasn’t she woken up?” Emerson asked.

“They don’t really know. They say she’s in perfect health. They ordered a CAT scan, and it came back clean—no stroke, no blood clots, nothing.”

“Poor dear,” Helen said. “Can we see her?”

“You’d have to get your son out,” Poppy said. “Only one visitor at a time. Pretty strict policy around here.”

“Whatever,” Helen said. “I’m going to see my daughter-in-law.” She walked past Poppy and pushed open the door.

“I’m coming, too,” Emerson said.

“No, let me visit with my son first.”

*

Gage looked down
at his wife, her hands folded across her chest, her lips full and red, her skin soft and luminous. She didn’t look sick anymore. She didn’t look like she needed to be in the hospital—except she wouldn’t wake up. And the doctors and nurses were at a loss for what to do. They’d never seen anything like it. Gage was on the verge of madness, pulling at his hair, squeezing the bridge of his nose into oblivion.

He thought back to when they were teenagers, when all he wanted was to see her like this in bed, asleep, next to him. And now he’d give anything for her to wake up. He picked up her hand and caressed her fingers, brushing her wedding ring. “Please wake up,” he begged, touching the wings around his neck. “I love you.” He suddenly felt a familiar hand on his shoulder. “
Mom
?” He quickly dried his eyes.

“Emerson and I came as soon as we could.”

“I don’t know what’s going on, why she won’t wake up.”

Helen touched Layla’s hand. “Her body and soul are just in shock, honey. She’s been through a surgery and a terrible ordeal. I heard a little about her childhood. Poppy told me some. Is this why she left that summer?” Her son nodded. “She’s going to be OK. This is her way of healing, taking the rest she needs.”

“I can’t lose her.”

“You won’t, Gage.” She kissed him on the forehead. “She’ll be fine. In the meantime, you need to take care of yourself—eat, change clothes, wash up.”

“Poppy put you up to this?”

“I don’t take cues from her. This is coming from me. You look terrible.”

He felt the stubble on this face. “I’m fine, Mom. I really don’t. . . .”

“Son, you look
terrible
.”

He exhaled. “Fine, Mom. I’m not going out to get any food, but Poppy can bring me some if she wants. Please have Dash get me some clothes and stuff. I’ll change in here.”

“Good boy.”

The heart rate monitor beeped a little quicker. “Why’s it doing that?”

“She’s probably dreaming.”

“Do you think she can hear me?”

“I’m sure she can,” his mother said. “Now, you have to keep hope. Your father is watching out for her. Layla will wake up when she’s ready. Our minds, our bodies, are designed to protect us.”

*

A beautiful light
all around, Layla didn’t feel any pain. And better than that, she’d never have to see her half-brother again. This was the best dream ever, blanketed in Aria’s soft feathers, a soft hum of music raining down like a lullaby, the sweet scent of lavender all around. Nothing could be better than this. To be wrapped in Aria’s love, something she hadn’t felt in years, was even better than she remembered.