Shout (The Voice Trilogy Book 3) (5 page)

CH. 6

The first restful sleep I have had in weeks and I wake with a stiff neck and a wet cheek stuck to the mattress. As I lift my weary head I see his shining eyes staring back at me. I quickly wipe the drool from my mouth,
how embarrassing.
His eyes twinkle and he wrinkles his nose, watching me stretch and wake, but there is sadness etched in the lines of his face, a sadness I do not understand. He looks as if he has something stuck on the end of his tongue. He opens his mouth, but before he can speak the nurse throws back the sliding door and starts rustling machines about.

              “Good morning, Mr. Slate. Glad to see you finally have decided to join us, we were wondering when you were going to wake from that beauty rest.” She winks at me as she takes his blood pressure and reads the monitors. “Everything is looking good so far here. I think a bit of breakfast would do you well, so I’ll be right back with a tray.” She is in and out of the room before either of us can get a word in and suddenly we are left…alone.

It’s an odd sensation this morning in this room with him. I can’t put my finger on it, but something is just not right, and as I look into his eyes I know he feels it too. He is watching me as if it may be the last time, like he is trying to take it all in, commit me to memory. My heart thumps in my chest as a familiar anxiety takes hold, only to be confirmed by his deep, soul wrenching sigh as he pats the bedside.

              “Come here, Sophie, we need to talk.” I hate those words, and suddenly I want to sprint from the room, to run out of earshot before he has a chance to say whatever it is he is about to say, to flee this impending…whatever it is. I know we have to do this but I just don’t want to. I didn’t come all this way to be hurt again, but before I can put tread to the floor, my stupid heart drives me towards the bedside and I climb up next to him, a pensive feeling in my heart. As I gain the courage to look up into his eyes, he is shaking his head at me, at war with himself and I cannot take it.

              “I think I know what you are going to say,” I blurt out, pushing away from him, inching closer and closer to the edge with every passing silent second

              “Sophie, I meant what I said. I love you.” He takes my hands into his, his fingers caressing my palms, lulling me into a false security. “But something happened after you left. Something you have to know about.” And with each syllable my heart starts to harden, a defense mechanism, my only protection. I don’t say a word as I listen to his breathing, labored, deep and deliberate, and to his heart monitor as it steadily grows in rhythm.

“I am far from perfect, Sophie, far, far from it. You know this already. I try and I will try harder. I will move mountains to be worthy of you.” His eyes are cast away from mine as he caresses the back of my hands with a hypnotic beat. “I need you to love me back, Sophie. I need it like air.” God, he is killing me and I almost think to tell him I know.
Almost.
This may be my only chance to hear his side of the story and I cruelly decide to let him sweat it out just a little bit longer.

              “Sophie, with you I know exactly who and what I want to be, and I have a lot of work to do. I just hope that you can find it in your heart to give me another chance, but I fear you will not.” My blood begins to turn to ice, slowing in my veins, throbbing under my skin. My mind struggles to throw back up those walls that he had so easily toppled before he proceeds to crush me with whatever he is about to say. He winces as he tries to sit up and I look at him, broken and battered, and can’t take another minute.

              “I know about the Hamptons, Rhys. I know about Nadja.” The words fall from my mouth like the water over Angel Falls and he is stunned.

              “What?” He turns, mouth gaping, worry etched into his forehead. “But, how could you?” I watch him for a split second angrily muse to himself about Nadja and her evil spirit. When he finally stops, I look into his eyes and see a broken man, just how she wanted him.

              “I am sorry, Sophie. Never, ever did I think I was capable of such a thing, and after what you have been through, I would not blame you if you could never forgive me. How did you find out?” he asks in a hoarse whisper, barely making eye contact.

              “I overheard her and your mother talking.”

              “She told my mother?”

              “Of course, she told your mother. That was all part of her plan, I imagine.” The corners of his eyes crinkle in question.

              “What do you mean her plan?”

              “I imagine it was all a ploy to get you back, or at least to drive me away and to bring your mother under her thumb.”

              “I don’t understand, Sophie. What are we talking about here?” He grabs for the remote and adjusts the bed until he is sitting straight upright.

              “What are you talking about?” I ask him, more confused than ever, unable to decipher between the two of us what is actually being said. “I heard your mother and Nadja talking, Rhys, about a baby.”

              “Whose baby?” He goes white as a ghost and it hits me. He has no idea what I’m talking about. Then, what the hell is he talking about? I take a breath; pausing a beat in an attempt to measure my words, but there is no way around it. This is not going to be good. I gird myself and steady my voice.

              “She claims that it is your baby.” Atom bombs ignite behind his eyes and I see the mushrooming anger overtake him. His pulse spikes, the monitors start going nuts and two nurses rush into the room, pushing me into the corner.

              “Mr. Slate, you’ll need to calm down!”

              I watch one of them empty a syringe into his IV as the monitors calm and he sinks back amongst the pillows, the anger still etched into his face, but his body relaxed against his will.

              “Please, Mr. Slate, it is vital that you remain calm.” She turns to me, “And you, Miss, it is important for Mr. Slate’s recovery that he doesn’t get worked up. Perhaps you should go and let him rest.”

              “No!” he barks, struggling to sit back up. “No, I want her to stay. I want you to go,” he says, nodding towards the door.

              “Ok, Mr. Slate, but you must remain in bed, sir, and remain calm.” As the nurses exit the room, he nods towards the slider door.

              “Close the door, Sophie. I slowly move across the room and slide the door shut while he sits up, watching my every move. When I return to the bedside, I pull up a chair and sit down, waiting.

              “My baby,” he hisses cold and distant, he looks into me, his eyes narrow and half sleepy. “Do you think it’s my baby?” his mouth begging the question.

              “No.” And as I say it, I know in my heart, it’s true; not after seeing her with that man, not after everything she has done thus far. No. No, I don’t believe a word that woman says, and just like that I am resolved. Looking into his eyes, I see the gratitude, the sheer relief. “I don’t believe a word she says.” He sinks back into the bed with a sigh of relief.

              “Sophie, I swear I haven’t laid a hand on her in over six months, maybe longer” he stops and ponders something for a moment, “well…not in that way.” His face twists in a mask of disgust and he won’t meet my eyes.

              “Sophie..,” his voice is strained, quiet, “I don’t know…” He stops mid-sentence, shaking his head, looking so forlorn, so torn. I’m begging to speak, but he stops me. “Sophie, I hit her. I mean, I think I hit her.”

              “What?” Stunned, I stare at him, unable to see the person who would do such a thing.

              “In the Hamptons, Nadja was there as Kylie’s guest.” I sink back into the chair, blood pressure already rising, trying to hide my growing fear.

              “I know about the Hamptons,” I interrupt, not wanting to rehash the details, but he just keeps going.

              “I had too much to drink and let my guard down and, well….” I close my eyes and take a breath, filling my lungs before my head is filled with the worst possible thoughts. “I don’t remember it, and I know that is no excuse. But she showed up at my office that Monday after the Hamptons with a black eye and a split lip.” I watch his lips move, but can’t hear a word he is saying. A fuzzy white noise fills my ears and I feel like I’m drowning in static. “She was in the pool house. I remember that…I think. We shared a drink; I’m sure, and then…nothing.”

              Could it be the hands that caressed my skin, the fingers that healed my heart, and the lips that kissed my pain away, could he really be the same monster? Even as I look at him, watch him, listen to him confess, I cannot believe what he is saying. Never, never would I think that he was capable of such a thing. But his lips don’t lie, the pain in his eyes isn’t a lie, the guilt that mars his beautiful face cannot be wrong.

              My heart sinks to the cold hard ground and a terrible hole sits between us, heavy and rife with despair. It is palpable, the shame rolling off of him, the dismay that surrounds me, and we sit in silence, a cold heavy silence. My mind races replaying every lovely thing he has ever said to me, every word about my worth, about Collin’s cowardice. It doesn’t add up and then Nadja pops into my head; visions of her suspended against the wall by that brute and suddenly I am overcome. My mind refuses to accept that he would do such a thing, and a startling clarity crashes over me like a wave that knocks me down and steals my breath, sending me tumbling through the surf until I emerge with an entirely different perspective.

              It all starts to make sense. Blocks of information bouncing around in my head, coming together to form a more complete picture, a picture of desperate manipulation and unfortunate misunderstandings, assumptions and accusations, none of which holds any weight. When the pieces align, it becomes infinitely clear. I look into his eyes with more determination and clarity than I have felt in ages, and as guilt mars his face, triumph fills my heart. It all makes sense, twisted sick sense. Clearing the fog, I begin to work it out, out loud.

              “I saw her the first time I tried to visit you, with a man. It was so odd; I didn’t know what to do.” I shake my head and let the remaining pieces fall into place while Rhys watches curiously. “He put his hand on her belly, how could I have missed that?”

              “Sophie, what the hell are you talking about?” I just look at him blank and it all falls into place.              

              “I have to call Olivia.”              

              “First, you have to tell me what you are talking about, please! I am totally lost.” His eyes plead for my response as I furiously type out a text to Olivia. I take a deep breath and center myself before launching into my hypothesis.

              “I don’t know for sure, Rhys, but I can’t believe that you would hurt her, that she would allow you to hurt her. When I heard her say she was pregnant, I was stunned. I told Olivia and she got pissed, insisting it was not possible.”

              “It’s not possible, I swear it.”

              “I know, Rhys, I believe you.” I kiss the back of his hand and sit on the edge of the bed. “Olivia wasted no time once I told her. She called Nina right away and had her run down your personal schedule. Nina confirmed that it wasn’t possible, that you hadn’t even seen one another until the wedding, Nadja was not even in the country at the time she would have conceived.”

              “Thank God, Sophie. I swear I would never, ever do that to you.”

              “Rhys, she saw an opportunity and jumped; you got hurt, the coma, it all worked out so perfectly for her, but she wasn’t banking on me coming back, on Olivia calling her bluff. I had bits and pieces of information, but it didn’t fit together until now. Your mother was keeping me away.” He waits with baited breath while I spin the tale. “I saw her, Rhys, with a man in the alley just outside. They were clearly…involved, but he was being very rough with her, I mean really rough. He choked her and held her against the wall. I have no idea what he was saying, but I’d bet it was threatening. Yet, in the very next breath they embraced. He put his hand on her belly, Rhys, like an expectant father would.” He sits back against the pillows and struggles for a deep breath.

              “Sergei.”

              “Who is Sergei?”

              “Nadja’s ex-husband.”

              “Is he a violent man?”

              “That’s a bit of an understatement,” he scoffs, adjusting himself, pressing the call button for the nurse.             

              “What can I get you, Rhys, let me help.”

              “I need to see my father, Sophie.” When the nurse comes in, he asks to see Michael. She scurries off to find a wheel chair while we wait in virtual silence and Rhys quietly seethes. “I can’t believe she would do this.” It’s barely a whisper, and not meant for my ears. I just hold his hand and wait for the nurse to return. When someone finally arrives with a wheelchair, it takes them a while to get him out of bed and into the chair, an IV pole trailing behind him. I hop up to follow them and he stops me dead in my tracks. “No, Sophie, you stay here.” My heart sinks, making it impossible to hide the hurt on my face. He reaches out to take my hand. “Trust me, please.”

              A deep, discontented sigh rips from my lungs yet I agree under duress, tired of being left out, weary of always being asked to just trust. I am tired of this woman pulling the strings of my life, doing everything in her power to make me miserable, to make Rhys miserable. I want to rip her to shreds, to scream at the top of my lungs,
‘What the FUCK!’
Instead, I muster a disingenuous smile and sit back down on the hard hospital chair and wait.