Shout (The Voice Trilogy Book 3) (3 page)

CH 3

I awaken on the first morning with a dark hatred weighing heavily on my fragile heart. I dreamt of Rhys, his warm lips, his strong hands. Yet every time I could muster a visual, it was of a broken and battered soul being lorded over by a succubus.
Nadja.
She lives in my subconscious and somehow I am her prisoner. Why is she suddenly posted up next to his bedside like some twisted Florence Nightingale? I don’t understand why Matthew wants to keep me away so badly, he has insisted since the moment he came home and found me curled up on his couch that I was not to go to the hospital without him under any circumstance. I’ve never known Matthew to be a brute, but that is the only proper word to describe him. Since the moment I arrived, he has been on edge, brooding and bossy. Even Olivia seems to be put off, but she remains silent, tossing him snotty looks behind his back, rolling her eyes at me, yet not letting me out of her sight. Whatever the reason for his keeping me away, she is clearly on board.

              The sweetest reprieve arrives in the form of Matthew’s mother for tea and a grill session with Olivia. She is ready for grandchildren and is not shy about saying so, almost every day since the wedding apparently. I duck out under the guise of a run while Olivia is too battered and distracted to stop me. I run until my lungs burn and my eyes water, almost three blocks. I hate running. I decide to reward myself with a bagel and start walking, searching for a bakery.

I find myself less than two blocks away from the hospital and I cannot stop my feet. Just a quick peek, what’s the harm? Being away from him is agony; every moment he lays there without me by his side is a moment we have lost, never to get back. I stand across the street for a tortured moment, wanting so badly to bolt upstairs and demand answers, demand to see his face and know he is okay, to feel his heart beating, see his chest rise and fall. I take a deep breath and muster my bravery.

              Visitors and nurses shuffle in and out of the main doors. The place is bustling and I decide to walk around the block and find another door. I dash across the street when I think it’s safe only to be narrowly missed by an asshole in a yellow taxi who lays on the horn and waves his arms sending my pulse skyrocketing. Startled, shaken, and out of breath, I slink around the corner, feeling slightly anxious when I’m stopped dead in my tracks. My ears twitch and burn from the seductive grating of a Russian purr that I will never forget. I peek around the corner of a dirty alleyway and see a couple, half in the throes of passion, half at one another’s throats, whispered anger, hushed demands, and grabby hands.

              There is an edge in her voice, a fear, if I believe her to be capable of such an emotion. When I look again, I am shocked to see her raised against the wall like a pitiful rag doll, her feet dangling off the ground. The beast has her by the throat, nose to nose. I can’t hear a word he says, but I know it’s not good. She just gazes into his eyes, nodding, her face slowly turning pink, her eyes wide with shock, a single mammoth tear rolling down her face.

I back around the corner and take a deep breath, not wanting to get caught watching, but unable to walk away, even from Nadja. When I dare to take another look, she is back on her feet, rubbing her neck where his hand just was, as he presses his palm to her belly. Grasping her chin, he forcefully raises her lips to his and claims her mouth as his own in a wholly possessive, heated kiss that screams ownership.

              She gasps for air when he lets her go pressing herself into the wall as he steps even closer, robbing any of her personal space that remained. With his hands on both sides of the wall, he leans in and I am frightened for her, until I see her hands snake around his waist and she pulls him closer. Her boney arms barely wrap around his massive form and she buries her face in his shoulder, weeping, seeking comfort from the very monster that caused her pain. It seems we have more in common than either of us would ever like to admit. Breaking the kiss, she turns in my direction and I quickly turn and dash for the street and the safety of a few blocks distance, upset that I let myself feel even a momentary concern for her.

              I turn in the opposite direction and start the long walk back to Olivia and Matthew’s, pondering that massive hand around her throat, the fear in her eyes and her quick relent. That was passion, dark and twisted, evident even from afar. I wander the morning streets after stopping for an expensive cup of coffee and a bagel that I have no intention of eating.

              I don’t tell Olivia what I did or that I even considered trying to see him without her or Matthew, not wanting her to alert Matthew and lose what little freedom of information I did have. I just sat on it and thought, plotted how to get to him, to get around Nadja. My mind reels at the possibilities, and the obvious reality that she is entwined with that brute. Rhys lays helpless at the mercy of his mother and this deceptive bitch. It makes me angry to the point of tears; heavy, angry, reflective tears for two solid days.

              The third night post-accident, Olivia was able to coax me out of my plotting and growing self-pity temporarily with wine and nibbles. She came home with a wrapped bottle of Chianti and fried ravioli from the little Italian restaurant on the corner.

              “I’m so sorry to hear about Lola’s house, Sophie. I know how much her house meant to you.  Is there nothing you can do?” She sets the bottle down with three empty jelly jars, prompting Matthew to pour us each a glass.

              “It’s already done. Every cent I was able to scrape together barely covered her debts. I could never have come up with the money to actually buy the house.” I take a slow drink from the dry wine and feel Lola pulsing through my body; her hot Italian blood, wise beyond measure, stubborn beyond reason. “It’ll go up for auction soon.”

She was the strongest woman I have ever known, always on her own, born to be a matriarch, her mother before her was the same way by outliving four, count them, four husbands, and raised her girls alone. My Lola did the same. She outlived my grandfather who lived just long enough to see my father smile. She raised her three children on her own, in a time when that was practically unheard of. My uncle, her pride and joy, didn’t make it through Vietnam. When I think of all that she lost, it’s so hard to imagine how happy she was all the time. Just to be alive, she loved life, loved everyone around her. A trait my father shared deep in his core, but hated to admit to.

              Matthew takes a seat next to me at the long, sleek marble bar while Olivia flits around the kitchen before us, arranging the ravioli and other snacks.

              “I know this waiting has been torture for you, Sophie, and you have just been through so much in the last few months. I feel like I have missed it all. I haven’t been there for you like I should, and I need to check in with you and make sure you are ok. Are you…ok?” She stops and looks at me picking up a jar of wine, waiting for my prompt.

              “I will be,” I return softly as we toast and each silently sip our pleasantly cheap red wine.

              “Oh this reminds me of your Lola,” a cherubic grin spreads across Olivia’s rosy cheeks. “God, I loved her. She was so much better than both of my grandmothers.”

              “Tell me about your grandma, Sophie,” says Matthew as he pops an olive into his mouth.

              “Oh, Matthew, you would have loved Lola. She drank her wine from the jug.” Olivia raises her glass in toast to me before continuing. “She did not stand on ceremony, like my stuffy-ass grandparents, unless there was a saint to be worshipped.”

              “Wine started after coffee,” I interject with a wink, taking a slug of my wine. “She taught me to cook, and drink, and pray.” I empty my glass and choke on a chuckle as I remember one of her many sayings. She always has a tid bit of wisdom usually pertaining to drinking and praying that would apply to any and every situation.

“You must learn to carry the guilt in your heart, it frees up your hands for bread and wine.”

              “Interesting life philosophy,” says Matthew.

              “It was the pride of being Italian. She would say, ‘God’s chosen people. Why else would the Pope, God save his soul,” Olivia and I both do the sign of the Trinity across our chests with a giggle and a nod, “live in Rome? Italians can pray with a sausage in their mouths and a glass of wine in their hands.”

              “She made me want to be Italian. I was always so envious of your Lola, Sophie.”

              “I know!” I exclaim and stick my tongue out at her. “She was the best. I am really going to miss her.” A heavy moment passes over us but doesn’t last long. She wouldn’t have wanted that; she would hate for us to be sad. She would want us to drink and eat and laugh, and Olivia knows this well. She pulls a loaf of bread from the oven with a bubbling cauldron of artichoke fondue, one of Lola’s favorite recipes.              

              We eat, drink and tell stories until early in the morning and it is cathartic and therapeutic, and for a fleeting moment I almost forget that Rhys is laying in the hospital, in a coma, and I can’t get near him.

              I’m able to force myself into a short two hours of sleep before I can’t fake it anymore. The dawn is barely breaking, the smog filled New York skyline glows a pearly pink while people begin to move. Garbage trucks and street sweepers dot the street below and the bakery on the corner is lit up and already bustling. The thought of Rhys lying there alone tortures me, takes over my mind, consumes my thoughts, and clouds my vision. A walk, a walk will clear my head. I know I will see him soon, today maybe. Matthew says I must be patient. Bianca is on the war path, and I am not family.

CH. 4

              The dark tower rising into the early morning water color clouds called to me and I couldn’t think of anything else. I had left with the intention of a mind clearing walk. The fact that my feet took me the twenty-three blocks to the hospital in the darkest hours of the dawn couldn’t be helped. Before I had made the conscious choice, I was already walking through the sliding doors. The smell of antiseptic and floor polish hit me like a ton of bricks and a slow panic begins to creep.

              A quick smile to the elderly woman behind the information desk and I check the directory for the ICU and wait for the elevator.
Tap, tap, tap
. My foot taps unbidden on the cold tile floor, echoing across the small corridor that houses a large bank of elevators. The elevator crawls torturously, allowing too much time for my anxiety to rise and reason to creep in. When the doors open on the ICU floor, the desk is deserted, the lights are low, and it is quiet, except for the rhythmic chirping of the various life support machines. There is a half circle of rooms that surround the desk, each with its own sliding glass doors.

              The faint light from machines cast shadows around the ward, and there he lies in the first cubicle, his messy dark hair the giveaway. I forget to breathe and my chest constricts around my beating heart. He is still while the machines rattle on, his skin is looks pale and ashen, his limbs lifeless. My heart drops like a rock and I fight back a curtain of tears, wanting so badly to rush to him. A glass door slides open and I duck around the corner, down an empty hallway unsure of what I’m hiding from, but unable to walk boldly to Rhys’ side. He looks so unreal, like a nightmare, a hallucination. 

I hear the elevators open and three voices emerge; one slow and soothing, one high and shrill, the other filled with grief.

              “It appears that the swelling has begun to recede which is good, as long as he continues to make progress they will want to wake him up as soon as possible. The swelling is the main concern for us at this point, but we will know more tomorrow. There is really nothing more we can do but observe him. Now, you really should go home and get some rest.” I watch the shadow of the nurse stretch and disappear before the voices continue.

              “He can’t leave me like this, Bianca. He just can’t.”

              “Don’t you worry, Mon Cher. I’m sure he will pull through, you’ll see. You tell him about that baby and my Rhys will pull through. That’s just the kind of man he is.”

              In the blink of an eye a series of events is unleashed completely beyond my control or comprehension. My heart leaps into my throat and I choke and cough on Bianca’s words. Nadja turns in a whirl of blonde hair and running mascara. Bianca’s eyes almost pop from her head before she shrieks.

              “Nurse!” At the top of her lungs, she raises the alarm. “Nurse! Nurse! Where is the fucking nurse?” The French bend in her words makes her sound oddly elegant as she shrieks like a lunatic. She turns and slaps the countertop of the empty nurses’ station. “This woman is trespassing and harassing my family! Where is a goddamn nurse?”

              Two nurses emerge from behind a sliding glass door as a security guard appears swiftly from around the corner. Bianca is on him in an instant before I can even take a second breath.

              “This girl does not belong here and is not welcome. I want her removed from this ward and kept away from my son. Do you understand?” Wagging her finger in the guard’s face, she turns to the nurses. “Did you hear me?” she demands, her shrill voice bouncing from the cold hard floor, filling the ICU with her desperate anger.

              “Yes, Mrs. Slate. Now please lower your voice, ma’am. There are patients sleeping.” The brave nurse steps forward before Bianca cuts her off. “Do not tell me to lower my voice. I want this person removed and I want it done now. My son is lying in that room, clinging to life! She is no friend of his and certainly not part of this family. My husband contributes a substantial amount of money to this hospital and I want her removed. So remove her.” With every word her tone becomes calmer, and ever more menacing. She has found her power. The nurses’ eyes bulge as they look to each other for guidance before the guard grabs me by the arm.

              “Come with me.” I look down at his large, calloused hand around my arm, and then up into his tired, confused eyes. An apology is evident as is a healthy fear that drives him to push me towards the elevator. As the doors open and he leads me in, I hear Bianca.

              “You are to make sure she does not return. I don’t want her anywhere near my son.” The elevator doors slide closed and I fear I may never see Rhys again.

              Twenty-four hours later all I can hear are Bianca’s words bouncing around my head
. “You tell him about that baby and my Rhys will pull through.”
I have been trapped in my own personal hell; one more minute will drive me insane. As I stare down into my phone, scrolling through contacts, lost as to what I should be doing, I see Nina’s number, his gate keeper, if anyone knows anything, it would be her. I scroll back and think twice before dropping my phone and running to Olivia’s room.

              “Liv, I need to talk to you.” She is perched up in her bed watching Bravo, computer in her lap, phone in her hand, and Bluetooth in her ear.

              “Come in, sweetie, I’m so glad you are finally up.” She takes the Bluetooth from her ear and closes her laptop, pushing it away from her. I climb into her plush bed next to her.

              “I wasn’t sleeping.”

              “You have been so quiet, Sophie. What have you been doing? I miss you, talk to me.” She silences her phone before placing it on the bedside table and I sidle up next to her, resting my head on her shoulder.

              “I did something, Liv.” She just watches me, waiting for me to continue. “I went to the hospital early yesterday morning.”

              “Did you see him?” she asks as she plays with my hair.

              “You aren’t mad?”

              “Sophie, of course I’m not mad, sweetie. I’m surprised it took you this long, to be honest. I half expected you to jump out of the car that first day. I know Matthew has been a bit of a stickler, but he really is just looking out for you. It would not be good if you ran into Bianca, trust me.”

              “Well,” I sit up and turn towards her, my head hanging, my eyes barely meeting hers, “she was there and she had me kicked out of the hospital and banned.” The reality of the moment, what I heard, and the memory of his broken form converge and I can no longer hold back the tears. A soft shower of salty sorrow falls across my face and my voice breaks. Olivia just rubs my back and waits for me to catch my breath all the while whispering to me how sorry she is, cursing Bianca under her breath.                 “That’s not the worst,” I say, shifting out from under her hands. I have to face this moment head on. There is no hiding from it, and quite frankly her reaction will tell me more than anything at this point. If what Bianca said about a baby is true, could possibly be true, Olivia will surely know and she won’t be able to hide it from me; and if she doesn’t, she will know just who we need to go to.

              “What could be worse than Bianca throwing you out of the hospital?” she asks, her forehead crinkled in confusion. I take a deep breath and prepare myself for a reality that will change everything. A horrible truth, I fear with every fiber of my being she will confirm. “What is it, Sophie?”

              A flood gate bursts and waves of information pour forth; tales of his mother screaming like a lunatic, the sound of her shrill voice bouncing from the stark walls, the monotonous rhythm of the machines playing a sad lament, the mortified nurse and Nadja's tear stained cheeks, every last detail, until I’m blue in the face and have to stop to take a breath. Olivia’s face is frozen motionless for a split second before I watch every word slowly register and a fire grow behind her eyes.

              “Are you fucking kidding me right now? No. Just, no, that…No. She cannot be pregnant. Not by Rhys, Sophie, that is just too convenient and total bullshit. No.” She grabs her phone and scrolls. I smile unable to do much else, overwhelmed by putting words to my pain, but totally in awe of her determined response. She takes a deep breath and looks me in the eye, centering herself, centering me. “I’m sorry, Sophie,” she takes my hand in hers, “I’m so sorry that all of this is happening, that the world seems to be just…shitting all over you right now. But, this…this cannot be true. You have to know that. Do you believe me? I don’t believe it. We are going to get to the bottom of this, and we will start with Nina.”

              “Yes,” she taps her phone and it begins to ring, “Rhys is far from perfect, Sophie.” She looks me in the eye demanding my attention, “far from perfect.” She nods as if to affirm that I understand. “But that man is lost for you, he has talked of nothing else. He has not been with Nadja and she is just crazy enough to try something like this when he is unable to answer for himself. It’s uncanny timing, and I just refuse to believe it. You should do the same.”

              Nina’s phone goes straight to voicemail.

              “Nina, this is Olivia. I am sitting here with Sophie. Please call me back as soon as possible. It’s an emergency.”

              “An emergency?” I question, unsure I’m ready to open what could be a can of worms.

              “Fuck, yes, it’s an emergency. My girl’s heart is breaking and I mean to fix it. Now, Sophie, let’s talk about what we do know, what you know.” My heart sinks at her tone, her ‘
I’m about to hurt you with some truth
’ tone.

              “All I know is what happened between them before I left. I assume…or assumed that he hadn’t seen her again. Now, I’m afraid I was wrong.” I take a pensive breath and gird myself, “What do you know, Olivia? What have I missed…again?”

              “No, Sophie. It’s not like that. At least, I don’t think so.” A familiar look of pity briefly passes across her eyes and I hate it, I hate being back here in this moment, this limbo of not knowing, not understanding what has happened, or the consequences it will bring upon me.

              “I know that he spent the weekend in the Hamptons earlier this month, and I’m pretty sure she was there.” I cringe at the thought as she continues, her voice drifting as if she is whispering to herself. “I don’t understand why Kylie can’t see her for what she is. She opened the door this time, and, of course, Nadja just lit it all on fire!” She rests her head in her hands and sighs, frustration seeping from every pore.

              “He went away with her?” It takes a moment for the thought to register, for my mind to accept what she said. And then the buzz, roaring, white noise fills my head and my blood boils, but before I can wander too far down angers dark path, Olivia stops me.

              “No! He didn’t
‘go away’
with her; he went to the Hamptons with his family. Kylie brought Nadja along, if I understand correctly.”

              “Why? Why would she do that? Did he know that she was going to be there? This is all so fucked up, Olivia. I don’t know how much more I can take.” I refuse to fucking cry, instead holding in my breath until the tears pass. “I feel like my heart is shredded.” I drop my head into my hands and close my eyes. “This can’t be happening. I don’t know if I can go through this again.” My voice is hushed and I’m barely aware that Olivia can even hear me. All I can hear is the pounding of my own heart and the sound of being alone.

              “Let’s not jump to any conclusions, Sophie. You’ve held on this long, you can hang in there just a bit longer until we find out the truth. I know there has to be an explanation for all of this.” She grabs my hands and centers her attention on me. “In all the time I have known Rhys, I have never known him to be so distracted. He has never been one to easily have his head turned, Sophie, but you have taken over this man’s thoughts. I swear he never talks about anything else. It’s so damned annoying.” She smiles and I laugh, unable to fight her charm or the memories. I will cling to the words we have shared, the moments we made, and the promises he has made to me. I will cling to his words and his actions and not let the doubt and manipulations of Nadja seep in and make me forget.

              “In all seriousness, Sophie, I think he loves you.” She beams with a secondhand pride and waits. I get lost in the thought, recalling that moment when he blurted over the phone those three little words. I can’t imagine that’s how he meant to deliver them, but I couldn’t have cared less about the scene or the fact we were on the phone; the sound of his voice saying those words to me, the sincerity and utter conviction, the need. I love him. I knew I loved him the moment I left him. I knew I needed him the moment Olivia told me I might lose him.

              “I know he loves me.” When I finally say it, the words take flight like a million fireflies and illuminate everything around me; clarity, finally.

              Her face lights up and she crouches closer to me, gossip stance, head tilted slightly to the left, eyes wide in anticipation of some juicy news.

              “Has he already told you he loves you? And you didn’t tell me?”

              “He has,” I return with a coy smile and a sigh, “the day of the accident. He called me that morning and asked me to come back.”